I am ready to share my story

Every love story is a tale of self-discovery, of becoming someone new in relation to the one who captures our affection—the nuances of being in love.

Periodically, I challenge myself to break free from habits or confront things I've conditioned myself to fear. So, during my birthday month, I embarked on a getaway surrounded by loved ones, leaving behind social vices that had once become everyday routines.

Every Monday, I'd wake up with resolutions that rarely made it past Wednesday ladies' night. But this birthday was about realignment and conquering mountains. Dharamshala had been a long-time desire, and now, successfully into my third day of self-reflection, I found myself amidst strangers, engaging in conversations and board games.

Amidst the laughter and games, I heard a sharp whistle, reminiscent of my father's. I've always found such whistles attractive. Two nights of enjoyable company led to a deep fondness for a stranger. Over coffee and a few glasses of beer, our connection grew even more intriguing, culminating in an embrace that would reshape both our worlds.

Every relationship possesses its unique charm, but this one etched itself onto my calendar—a chance meeting that evolved into a date and eventually blossomed into a profound and enchanting love.

I discovered layers of myself, some shedding easily, while others stubbornly clung, demanding hours of painstaking extraction. It was irrational, beyond reason, and perhaps that's why every encounter was filled with passion. There was no logical explanation for our love; it simply was. Maybe if there had been a reason, we would still be together. But manipulating the course of love seems to tarnish its sacredness. Should love be considered sacred, or is that realm reserved only for the Divine? Perhaps it would have survived without that sanctity.

We belonged to different worlds, and that intensity stemmed from our contrasts. He made me feel at home until he didn't. His world was vibrant and carefree, a stark contrast to my mundane routine. I found it incredibly appealing, and I cherished those moments in his world.

Despite the vast distances, I felt at home, as though I belonged. This felt like my forever, though it lasted less than twenty-four months. My life went from a perfect square to every imaginable angle. Months later, I still struggle to fit in anywhere—it's what I'd call a perfect mess.

What I cherished about myself in this love story was my ability to conquer towering mountains and navigate deep emotional seas. No caution, just absolute madness—I embraced the words "Junoon" and "majnoon."

I prayed to the Divine, using both known and unknown names, begging and pleading with the forces that brought us together until I had nothing left to give. They responded after forty days, instructing me to love and serve, to joyfully prepare each meal and await his footsteps. Only to discover that love had already departed. I learned that I could serve with love even when dealt a bad hand. Looking back, I wonder where that patience and love came from. Was it so crucial to feel at home? Is that what I've been searching for? Will I continue searching for that sense of belonging? All this longing and loving as if there's no one more deserving of my affection.

This story is etched in my soul, a chapter in my life's narrative. I used to think it was a deep wound until I realized it showed me the enduring strength of my soul.

Our life stories are treasure troves, filled with chapters to be cherished. We often revisit these precious moments.

Yes, there was excruciating pain, a constant soundtrack of "Karz" playing in my head. Panic attacks, anxiety, loss of appetite, days spent drinking until I passed out, wishing for life to end, and days of staying in the dark, with clothes piling up in every room. Waiting endlessly for the phone to ring. It felt like I wouldn't make it to another day.

I believe I might have caused him similar pain in another lifetime. And now, we are even. I longed to bless him, to speak words of life, and I did. I yearned to be cared for, and I was. I wanted to cook to my heart's content, to take care of him, and I did. I received an abundance of kindness, and love of a different magnitude; my treasure trove is filled with precious moments.

I've learned that love never truly ends; it merely shifts its status quo.

With each love that has passed through my life, I've discovered my capacity to love. It is indeed better to have loved and known both myself and another deeply than to have never loved at all. I'm grateful for the courage I had to experience this love.