I Surrender

One evening, soon after I moved back to Bangalore from Kerala following my brother’s treatment, I saw the woman who taught me what love really meant at twenty five. At an age when everyone insisted love was just a fairytale, she made it real for me.

We stood there and made small talk, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world to reunite after everything. I looked into her eyes, searching for something familiar.

Still, that night I went to bed and cried until there was nothing left in me.

Because in her eyes, I saw the truth. She was no longer mine. She had grown into someone new, someone who had walked forward while I was still standing where we once were. The eyes that once lit up when they saw me no longer held that light. And you don't need words when the eyes have already spoken.

Still, I was selfish. I was cruel to beg for her love. I was rude to plead my case. I let my tears become a burden she did not deserve. I tortured her and tried to hold on to the last thread between us.

Yes, I was all of this, except one. I wasn't on time.

I thought I had time.

All those days making plans to meet her after returning to Bangalore, I thought I had time. All those nights falling asleep staring at her picture, I thought I had time. All those times I zoomed into her DP, a picture I myself took, I thought I had time. All those late night 'me-time' drives where I imagined the longest hug when I see her again, I thought I had time. When I bought the Harry Potter collection to gift her, I thought I had time. I believed that at least until we met again, time would wait for me.

I was wrong.

Even ChatGPT was wrong as well.

Today, the very day I had once imagined would be ours, I learned the hard way that time and tide wait for no man.

They say time heals. They say time is the best therapist. But for me, time has only grown heavier. Each passing day feels like another confirmation that I must live without the love of my life. It has been seven months, and the weight has not lightened. I have tried. I truly have. But deep within me, I know I'll never love the way I loved her, and that realization consumes me.

The love we had broke something inside me in a way I don't know how to fix. And yet every morning I'm expected to wake up and function, as if a part of my heart hasn't been quietly torn away.

Social media makes it harder. I see posts about interfaith marriages, about couples writing “Our Kerala Story,” and I can't help but imagine that it could have been us. That's why I stay away from it. It feels like being pierced over and over again.

On the brighter side, I know I'll meet new people someday. I know I'll laugh freely again. My appetite will return. My chest will not ache the way it does now. I will open up. I'll feel wanted. I'll feel loved.

I just don't know when.

I wish I could move on as quickly as she did, but I know I can't. Still, I trust that one day my smile will be real again.

Yet somewhere deep within me, I know I'll still look for her. Every time my phone lights up, there will be that split second of hope. That quiet wish that it's her name on the screen. Even though I know it will not be. Even though I know that chapter has ended.

In the silent spaces between conversations, in the pause before sleep, it is still her. I don't know when that will change. For now, I'm no longer fighting the feeling. I'm allowing myself to sit with it.

She was surrounded by people who feared change, people who didn't want her to disrupt the norm. They didn't want us to work.

And she was also surrounded by admirers. Now she stands on the brink of marrying one of them. They obviously didn't want us to work either.

There is irony in that. The first person she met while trying to move on may become her forever. I remember her telling me, “I will compare him to you, and he will fail.” I hope she understands that doesn't sound like someone who has moved on.

When I pleaded again, she defended him. In three or four months, he gave her the clarity I could not give in four or five years. She sees a future with him. She told her parents about him, something she was never ready to do for me. That alone should have been my answer.

Maybe it is selfishness speaking, but I can't imagine myself defying her if she begs me. I can't imagine replacing what we had. But as she said, I don't know what's going on her mind and what she has been through.

She said another thing too, "I will never get this vibe from anyone else". As if she don't see the person sitting right in front of her. You will, darling, I'm right here.

I'm angry at my friends too. They tried to protect me instead of telling me the truth. They knew she had moved on it seems. They knew she had consciously chosen a life without me. They knew that telling her parents about another man was the clearest sign I would ever get. Yet they let me hold onto hope. They let me drive toward one final attempt.

Until yesterday.

Yesterday, one of them finally had the courage. They said it plainly. She is not yours anymore. There is nothing you can do.

I wanted to prove to her that I would've asked her out again. I would've come back for her even if there was no other man. But she will never believe that. I was too late. Her heart has made room for someone else. A heart that once belonged to me.

This reminds me of a promise we once made;

Her memory cannot be erased. It lives in the quiet corners of my days.

Every time I open my gallery with the intention of deleting our photos, I find myself unable to go through with it. I get lost in moments we once lived. 

Every time I gather the courage to delete the songs sung by her, I tell myself, “One more day.” Just one more day of holding on. One more day of allowing the music to carry me back to a time when everything felt certain.

I even bought the same perfume she used to wear. Just because I wanted the illusion that she is near.

Deep within me, I know what it felt like to be loved by her. I know how it felt when her heart chose mine. And because I've known that kind of love, my heart will forever recognize its absence. That's the part that aches the most. 

It hurts to admit that now, I lost my way around her. I forgot how to make her feel loved in the ways she needed. I was late with my clarity. Late with my courage. Late with everything.

And yet, even now, every inch of me loves her. 

I hope fate brings her a greater love than the one I gave. I hope she finds someone who loves her better than I once knew how to.

And I hope, wherever she is, she never has to ask for that kind of love like she did with me. She is the best and deserves the best of it.

And I hope one day, all these tears will make sense, the wanting to burn things will make sense, and the raw anguish will make sense.

Today, I stand before a closed door. A door I foolishly believed would remain open until I was ready. A door I gathered the courage to knock on only when it was almost shut. A door I kept knocking on even after it closed.

She told me that my words, my pleading, my inability to let go were hurting her. That what felt like love to me had begun to feel like emotional torture to her. 

Love should not feel like torture to the person you claim to love.

So as my final act of love, I am choosing to walk away. I accept defeat, I surrender.

I will not knock on that door again.

I will leave my own door open, though I don't know for how long.

But I will no longer chase what has chosen to leave.