The song came on. Our song. “Tera mera pyar amar…”

I looked at Keshav.

He didn’t look up once.

Mum says Keshav is lonely. But then, I’m lonely too—lonely even with two men in my life.

They don’t talk. They don’t communicate.

Even Arif, whom I thought would be a cuddler, turned out to be aloof in bed.

Making love needs a time table now, making me feel completely unattractive. 

Trust has always felt like a one-sided street in my relationships.

I’ve been cheated on.

That led me to open up my relationship, in the hope of finding honesty somewhere in the blur.

But I was left heartbroken by someone I thought would stay.

He didn’t.

Then someone else came along. He looked at me like I walked on air.

He loved being with me, was in awe of me.

He isn’t anymore—and oddly, I don’t mind that.

I don’t need to be idolised.

I’ve always known that love fades, or rather, softens at the edges. The awe wears off. The gold tarnishes.

But what I miss is the warmth.

He used to hold me like he needed to. He couldn’t wait to be with me.

He was the first man I surrendered to completely in bed. I let go.

He never judged me.

But today, he snapped at me.

Called me grumpy.

I live with depression.

Every day. If people knew what it took to put on a smile and charm, they’d know it’s like clawing at rock. With people I love, I get to say I am in pain. But all I do is not smile much. 

Then I have a terrible shoulder injury. Been going through physiotherapy and I’m in constant pain. So it’s difficult to smile. Yet I do. Many a time. I’m the teaser. The fun child. It’s hard not to be – because if I am not – it would be endgame.

And some days I wonder—am I capable of being loved for who I am? Not for the home I create or the material comfort I provide. Just me.

If I were that bad, they wouldn’t be with me.

Would they? I don’t know. Even my best friend didn’t choose me for me. 

So, I doubt.

Worse—I doubt myself. Even though I know I should not.

I’ve seen love born. I’ve seen it die.

I’ve seen it change. I’ve seen it try.

I only wish we could sometimes step over our own lines to enter someone else’s comfort zone—and comfort them.

I wish I could say, “I can do it myself.”

Because I can.

In heartbreak, I somehow become outwardly beautiful—enigmatic, even.

But when I’m in love, I shine from within. The facade becomes one of comfort.

And still, this shifting—between the inside and the outside—feels constant.

We’re never just one thing, are we?

But I deal.

I talk.

I work through it.

I still think of him when I hear a song and glance his way.

I still want to be held.

And I still melt when an arm wraps around me at night.