Nothing

There are different stages of falling in love.

First, you notice them.

Then, you want them.

Then, you need them.

And somewhere along the way, if you're not careful, you lose yourself in them.

I didn't know when it happened to me.

I only knew that somewhere between loving him and being loved by him, I had forgotten how to exist without him.

I used to have a life before him.

Friends I talked to for hours.

Things I wanted to do.

Places I wanted to go.

Little dreams that belonged only to me.

Then he came along.

And slowly, without either of us noticing, he became part of everything.

My first thought in the morning.

The person I wanted to tell every stupid little thing to.

The name I searched for whenever my phone lit up.

The person whose mood could make my entire day beautiful or ruin it completely.

I didn't just love him.

I built my life around him.

And perhaps that was my first mistake.

Because when he started pulling away, I didn't know how to stand on my own.

Sometimes I would lie beside him at night and remember the boy he used to be.

The boy who couldn't fall asleep without hearing my voice.

The boy who used to send me random pictures throughout the day because he wanted me to feel included in every little part of his life.

The boy who once held my face between his hands and said,

"You know I'll never make you question how much you mean to me, right?"

I had believed him.

I had believed him so completely that I never imagined there would come a day when I'd be sitting beside him, staring at the side of his face, wondering whether he still wanted me there.

But that day had come.

And I was living in it.

Every single day.

He was lying beside me now, scrolling through his phone.

I watched the light from the screen fall across his face.

I wanted to say something.

I didn't.

I'd learned that lately.

I'd learned how to swallow words.

How to keep questions inside.

How to pretend I wasn't waiting for him to notice that I had become quiet.

But eventually, silence became heavier than fear.

“Are you awake?”

He didn't move.

I waited a few seconds.

“Baby?”

He sighed before answering.

“What?”

The irritation in his voice immediately made me regret speaking.

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you waking me up?”

“I wasn't trying to wake you.”

“You literally called my name.”

“I just wanted to talk.”

He put his phone down and turned toward me.

“About what?”

I looked at him.

There were so many things I wanted to say that suddenly I couldn't choose one.

So I whispered,

“Do you still love me?”

His expression changed.

Not heartbreak.

Not concern.

Just exhaustion.

“Why do you keep asking me that?”

I looked down at my hands.

“Because I don't know anymore.”

“I've told you I love you.”

“I know.”

“So why isn't that enough?”

My eyes filled with tears.

“Because sometimes I need more than words.”

He stared at me.

“What more do you want?”

“I don't know.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

I took a shaky breath.

“I want to feel like you still want me.”

“I do want you.”

“Then why does it feel like I'm the only one trying to keep us together?”

He looked away.

I moved closer.

“Please don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look away from me.”

“I'm not looking away.”

“You are.”

He sighed.

“I'm tired.”

“I know.”

“Then please understand that I don't want to have this conversation every night.”

My voice became smaller.

“I don't want to have it either.”

“Then stop asking.”

“I can't.”

He looked at me.

“Why?”

I stared at him through tears.

“Because I'm scared.”

He was quiet.

“I wake up every day scared that you're going to wake up one morning and realize you don't love me anymore.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“You say that.”

“Because it's true.”

“Then why don't I feel safe?”

He didn't answer.

And that silence told me more than his words ever could.

I hated who I was becoming.

I hated how often I checked my phone.

How quickly my mood changed when his replies became shorter.

How I could spend an entire day wondering whether something was wrong because he had used a period instead of an emoji.

I hated that I needed his attention so badly.

But I hated the thought of losing him more.

So I kept trying.

I tried being quieter.

Then sweeter.

Then more understanding.

I stopped complaining about the things that hurt.

I told myself he was busy.

Tired.

Stressed.

I defended him even when there was nobody to defend him from.

I became an expert at making excuses for the person who was hurting me.

And every time he gave me the smallest amount of affection, I treated it like proof that everything was going to be okay.

One hug could erase an entire week of loneliness.

One “I love you” could make me forget every unanswered message.

One good night could convince me to stay another month.

That was how desperate I'd become.

I wasn't asking for happiness anymore.

I was asking for moments that could convince me to survive the unhappiness.

One evening, I finally broke.

He had been sitting beside me for almost an hour, scrolling through his phone.

I watched him.

Then I whispered,

“Can you put it down?”

He didn't look up.

“Why?”

“Because I want to talk to you.”

“We've talked.”

“No. You answered me. That's different.”

He locked his phone and looked at me.

“Okay. Talk.”

I stared at him.

“Do you know what scares me the most?”

He waited.

“It's not that you might leave me.”

His eyebrows pulled together.

“Then what is it?”

“That you could stay.”

He looked confused.

I laughed through my tears.

“Because what if you stay but keep loving me like this?”

He didn't say anything.

“What if I spend years beside you feeling exactly like I do right now?”

My voice broke.

“What if I keep begging for the same things? Your time. Your attention. Your affection. Your reassurance.”

“I've never asked you to beg.”

“No.”

I wiped my cheeks.

“You just made me feel like I had to.”

His expression hardened.

“You're blaming everything on me now?”

“I'm not blaming you.”

“You are.”

“I'm telling you how I feel!”

“And I've told you how I feel. I'm tired of constantly being made to feel like I'm failing you.”

I stared at him.

“You are.”

He went silent.

I immediately regretted saying it.

But I couldn't stop.

“You are failing me.”

My voice trembled.

“And I'm still here.”

He looked away.

“Why?”

The question escaped me before I could stop it.

“Why am I still here?”

He didn't answer.

I started crying again.

“I don't even recognise myself anymore.”

He finally looked at me.

“I've changed everything about myself to keep this relationship alive.”

“That's not fair.”

“I stopped doing things because you didn't like them. I stopped saying things because I knew they'd upset you. I started thinking about every word before I spoke because I was terrified of another fight.”

I pressed my hand against my chest.

“I've spent so much time trying to become someone you could stay with that I don't even know who I was before you.”

His expression softened.

But I wasn't finished.

“And the worst part?”

He waited.

“I would do it all again.”

He stared at me.

I laughed bitterly through my tears.

“That's how pathetic this has made me.”

“Don't call yourself that.”

“Why not? I'm sitting here begging someone to love me properly when I know I shouldn't have to beg at all.”

He reached for my hand.

I pulled it away.

“I don't want your pity.”

“It's not pity.”

“Then what is it?”

“I love you.”

I closed my eyes.

Those three words.

The words I'd been waiting to hear.

The words that used to make everything better.

Now they just hurt.

“Don't say that.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe you.”

He looked at me.

“And that's the problem.”

Later that night, I packed a bag.

Not because I wanted to leave.

God, I didn't want to leave.

I wanted him to stop me.

I wanted him to take the bag from my hands, pull me into his arms and tell me that he finally understood.

I wanted him to fight for me.

Instead, he stood near the bedroom door and watched.

“Are you actually leaving?”

I kept folding clothes.

“I don't know.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I don't know how to stay anymore.”

He walked closer.

“You don't have to leave.”

I laughed softly.

“Then give me a reason to stay.”

He went quiet.

I looked at him.

“Please.”

That word came out so naturally that it broke my own heart.

“Please give me one reason.”

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

I nodded.

“That's what I thought.”

He reached for me.

I stepped back.

“Don't.”

“I'm trying.”

“No.”

I shook my head.

“You're trying because I'm leaving.”

“That's not true.”

“Then why didn't you try when I was still begging you to?”

He had no answer.

I picked up my bag.

My hands were shaking.

“I love you so much.”

He looked at me.

“So much that I forgot that I was supposed to love myself too.”

Tears filled my eyes.

“And I know I'm going to miss you. I know there will be nights when I'll want to come back. I know I'll probably look at my phone hoping your name appears.”

My voice broke completely.

“But I can't keep living like this.”

He whispered my name.

I looked at him one last time.

The person I had made my entire world.

The person I had loved so deeply that losing him felt like losing a part of myself.

And maybe that was why I finally had to leave.

Because somewhere along the way, loving him had stopped being something beautiful.

It had become something I was surviving.

I walked toward the door.

Behind me, he said,

“I do love you.”

I stopped.

For one second, I almost turned around.

Then I closed my eyes.

“I know.”

A tear fell down my cheek.

“That's what makes this so much harder.”

I opened the door.

And walked away.

Not because I stopped loving him.

Not because I suddenly became strong.

Not because I didn't want him anymore.

I left because I finally understood that sometimes love doesn't end when someone stops loving you.

Sometimes it ends when you realize that loving them has made you disappear.

And as I walked away from the person I had once called home, I finally understood the cruelest part of all.

He hadn't given me nothing.

He had given me just enough.

Just enough love to make me stay.

Just enough affection to make me hope.

Just enough words to make me question my own pain.

And somehow...

nothing had ever been harder to leave than that.