Even if it destroys me

Chapter One: The Calm Before Her I was ordinary... but not so ordinary. I wasn’t the loudest in the room. I didn’t wear confidence like perfume. But somehow—people noticed me. Maybe it was the grades. Maybe the way I carried storms in my silence. Or maybe... they saw a mystery and wanted to unravel it. People wanted to talk to me. They smiled, tried, asked questions. But I wasn’t interested. Not in small talk. Not in meaningless connections. Not in people who didn’t know the chaos I hid beneath my calm. I had a few friends. Just a handful. But they were loyal. They stayed. And that was enough for me.I wasn’t looking for love. Never had. Never planned to. I thought it was overrated—just another wound waiting to happen. And I already had too many of those. I was an overthinker—every moment stretched, replayed, broken down until it lost meaning. A self-harmer—not always with scars on skin, sometimes just thoughts sharp enough to tear through my soul. A collection of issues in a human disguise. I smiled. I laughed at times. I lived. But I rarely felt genuinely happy. Not the kind that warms your chest and softens your eyes. Just temporary highs, fading fast like smoke in the wind. And then… she came. But this isn’t her chapter yet. This is mine. This is the story of who I was— Before Isla. Chapter Two: A Glance, A Storm We met through a common friend. Not love at first sight—more like annoyance at first breath. I didn’t like her. And she didn’t like me. We never talked. We avoided eye contact like it was a sin. Something about her irritated me—and maybe I did the same to her. "Ugh, her again?" I remember whispering once. She rolled her eyes like it was her signature. “Don't worry. I’m not dying to talk to you either,� she snapped back. We were… opposites? Maybe too similar? Whatever it was—we just didn’t click. Not until we became benchmates. And suddenly, the silence between us wasn’t enough. One awkward “Can you pass the notebook?� turned into “So... do you even like being here?� And then something shifted. Slowly, quietly—conversations started happening. Then more. Then every day. She wasn't what I expected. She was more. She was sassy and stubborn—always had a comeback. She got angry too fast and forgave too slow. She was possessive. Way too possessive. And she never liked losing an argument, even if she was wrong. But God, she was weirdly perfect. Somewhere in all the teasing, fighting, and endless late-night texts… I started feeling something. It was strange. Like butterflies—but sharper. I didn’t know what butterflies in the stomach felt like back then. I called it a shock. Every time I saw her name pop up on my screen—shock. Every time she smiled in a way only I could see—shock. Every time she said “I hate you� but her eyes softened—shock. And I craved that feeling. Over and over. We fought a lot. Over small things. Big things. Things that didn’t even matter. But we always came back. “I’m not talking to you again,� she’d text. “I didn’t ask you to,� I’d reply. And five minutes later... “Are you still mad?� We weren’t just friends. Not anymore. I didn’t know what we were— but I knew I didn’t want it to end. Chapter Three: Midnight Conversations We became best friends— officially. She said it one day with a half-smile and a half-tease, "You’re my best friend now, okay? Don’t replace me." And I smiled, pretending it was casual. But inside? It meant everything. Because for her, that word—“best friend�—held weight. And for me, she held weight. She started getting jealous. Not in a toxic way—but in that possessive, quietly emotional way. "Why were you laughing with her today?" she'd ask. "It was just a joke," I'd reply, laughing again. And she'd roll her eyes, "Yeah yeah, forget your best friend then." Her jealousy was strange... It didn’t annoy me. It made me feel wanted. Like I mattered more than I thought I did. She started telling me about her life. The cracks behind her smile, the chaos at home, the pain she hid so well. “I hate it here sometimes,� she whispered once. And I just listened. I always listened. Because hearing her voice felt like rain after drought. I didn’t open up as much— not because I didn’t trust her. But because... I just liked hearing her yap. She made sadness sound like poetry. And then, a year passed. We got separated. New sections. Different classrooms. Different benches. But not different hearts. Because somehow... not sitting beside her didn’t mean I was far from her. We still texted. Still fought. Still laughed. Still lived each other’s lives— just with a few more steps between us. She made new friends. Some of them didn’t sit right with me. They were the kind of people who smiled with knives in their pockets. But at that time—I didn’t know. I didn’t know they hated me. That they whispered behind my back while smiling to my face. I didn’t care much. I had many haters. And honestly... I only cared about one girl. And she still called me her best friend. That was enough. Back then... that was enough. Chapter Four: The Confession in July They say falling in love with your best friend is a disaster waiting to happen. But what if it’s the only kind of love that ever felt real? I had started falling. Slowly. Silently. For her. I used to smile at her texts like a fool. My heart would beat faster when our fingers brushed. And every time she hugged me, I’d close my eyes just a second longer than I should. But I never told her. Because how could I? She was my best friend. And I was a girl falling for another girl. It felt… wrong. Or at least the world said it was. So I hid it. I buried those feelings beneath layers of jokes and distractions. But feelings aren’t seeds— They don’t stay buried. It was July. The weather outside was chaotic, and so was my heart. I texted her. Randomly. Stupidly. “I think I like you.� Silence. Not even the typing dots. Nothing. The next day in school, she looked at me—eyes sharp, voice careful. “Were you serious yesterday?� My heart dropped. I panicked. “Uhh no,� I laughed, “It was a joke. Obviously.� But her face twisted, like I just broke something sacred. “So… you played with my feelings?� “I thought you were serious,� she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I… I was,� I admitted, finally. “I was just scared.� And for the first time—she didn’t look away. She held my gaze. She saw the truth in my trembling voice. She saw all of me. And on July 15, we stopped pretending. We became officially us. That day, I swear, even the sky blushed. Because when I held her hand, for the first time as mine— It felt like paradise tucked between fingers. We used to flirt before, subtly, secretly, like dancers in the dark. But now we flirted freely, unapologetically. She made me feel shy— until I stopped being shy. And when she called me “pervert� with that teasing smirk, I laughed. Because that was her nickname for me—her shameless little chaos. And I loved it. She’d say, “You’re so dirty-minded,� and I’d grin, “Only for you.� I became bold. Touching her cheek, stealing kisses in empty corridors, hugging her longer than school rules allowed. And she loved every part of it. Even when I was a little too much— especially then. We weren’t perfect. But we were us. And that was more than enough. Chapter Five: First Kiss & Last Goodbyes September was grief. October was softness stitched with nervous heartbeats. After her father passed away, something in her changed. And something in us grew. We didn’t need words anymore—just presence. A hand held, a shoulder leaned on, a silence that didn’t feel empty anymore. And then came that day. October 8. She said it so randomly. “Will you kiss me?� Just like that. Out of nowhere. No warning. No build-up. I literally froze. Blushed so hard I thought my face would catch fire. “Are you mad?� I hissed, looking around nervously. “Everyone is here…� She giggled. The kind of laugh that messed with all my heartbeats. “Okay fine, in the interval then.� I nodded like an idiot. I was dying inside. A nervous wreck. But also… kinda excited. Then interval came. And we walked near the stair window—our secret little corner. She looked at me with those sparkly eyes, mischievous yet so full of something deeper. I couldn’t meet her gaze. I looked everywhere except her. She nudged me. “Oof. Stop blushing and give me a kiss already!� I laughed nervously. “I’m thinking!� “What are you thinking about?! It’s just a kiss on the cheek!� “Exactly! That’s the problem!� I whispered, hiding my face. And she kept teasing, “You took too long… I’m gonna charge interest now.� I finally leaned in. Shaky. Hesitant. Not even directly. It wasn’t some dramatic movie moment. It was awkward and shy and sweet. But when I gave her that soft peck on the cheek, she lit up like I gave her the stars. She kept replaying that moment the whole day, teasing me, “You call that a kiss? That was a whisper!� And then, a few days later… October 21. She texted me something I’ll never forget. “I don’t wanna kiss on the cheek anymore…� I stared at that text for minutes. My brain stopped. My heart didn’t. She didn’t say it directly. She was too shy to. But I knew what she meant. The next day, she was acting weird. Blushing just from looking at me. We were in the washroom again—our safe place. She kept fidgeting, wouldn’t meet my eyes. “L-let’s go…� she mumbled. I looked at her, pretending to be calm. “Don’t you wanna kiss me?� She froze. Turned tomato red. Didn’t say a word. Tried to walk away, but I grabbed her wrist. Gently. Softly. I looked her in the eye and whispered, “I won’t let you go before doing it.� And she lost it. Laughing. Blushing. Punching my shoulder. “You’re so shameless!� We started our usual mini fight—because of course we did. And in the middle of it… I kissed her. On the lips. Finally. It was short. And everything. She looked at me after, eyes wide, lips parted slightly, heart racing. And I swear—my world was right in front of me. We were living our golden days. Late night texts filled with “I love you more� “No, I love you most� turned into paragraphs too long to finish in one breath. We didn’t need the world. Just the comfort of each other’s words and the warmth of knowing someone understood—even the parts of us we kept hidden from everyone else. Chapter Six: Golden Days, Secret Storms We were living our golden days. Late night texts filled with “I love you more� “No, I love you most� turned into paragraphs too long to finish in one breath. We didn’t need the world. Just the comfort of each other’s words and the warmth of knowing someone understood—even the parts of us we kept hidden from everyone else. She was still grieving. Her father's absence hung in the air like an unspoken silence between us. Some nights she’d cry softly, and I’d just stay, typing “I’m here� again and again. But love? Love was louder than grief sometimes. And with her, it felt like maybe the broken pieces could still shine. Until November 22. One day before her birthday. Our secret got caught in the open. Her parents found out about us. Two girls in love. Two girls who weren’t supposed to be. Two girls the world refused to understand. It was chaos. Phone calls. Tears. Threats. Endless "Why"s. And the heavy, aching feeling that something beautiful was about to be stolen. They tried to tear us apart. But we weren’t ready to let go. We promised each other— "No matter what happens… we won’t leave." And then came November 23. Her birthday. A day that should’ve been full of candles, giggles, and little wishes. But instead, it began with more tears. All because of my stupid mistake. That morning, a friend of mine held my hand, jokingly, innocently. I didn’t pull away fast enough. And she saw. Ilma saw it. Her face changed. Eyes that once sparkled dulled in a second. And by the time I reached her, she was crying. On her birthday. “I thought I was special,� she whispered. “How could you let someone else touch you like that?� I was stunned. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t even realize…� But for her, it mattered. Because she didn’t just love me. She felt everything deeply, protectively. I felt like the worst person alive. I begged. Apologized. Held her hand tighter than ever and said, “You’re the only one I ever want to hold.� Somehow, I made her smile again. Wiped her tears with trembling fingers. Promised her better days. And that day, we made a new decision— We’d hide it all. Our love. Our talks. Our feelings. Everything. Just for the sake of surviving. We texted in coded words, shared glances in crowded corridors, spoke through playlists and memories. Our families fought, but we found peace in stolen moments. We were two rebels in love, choosing each other again and again in a world that kept choosing against us. Chapter Seven: Cracks in the Silence After everything, we learned how to live between the lines. No longer could we hold hands in the open or laugh too loudly when we were near each other. But love... love still found a way. In the blink of an eye. In the brush of her shoulder against mine in the corridor. In the buzz of a notification that only we could decode. Our relationship turned into secret playlists, saved chat drafts, and messages timed so perfectly that not even the walls could catch us. “Did you eat?� meant “I missed you.� “Don’t talk too much to her.� meant “I’m jealous.� “Take care.� meant “I love you, but I can’t say it right now.� We lived in silence, but the silence was filled with meaning. And then there was the 15th. The date our worlds collided— July 15— when we became something more than best friends. When she stopped being just “Ilma� and became mine. Since then, the 15th of every month became ours. A day we quietly celebrated. Whether it was a heart emoji sent at midnight, a little handwritten note passed through a friend, or a moment stolen in the corridor where she’d just say, And I’d smile back, “Always us.� We fought more often now, not out of hate, but out of fear. Fear of losing. Fear of being caught. Fear of drifting apart. But every fight ended with the same words— “I’m not going anywhere.� Even if she said it with red eyes and a pouty face. Even if I said it while holding back tears. Even if the world was screaming at us to let go. We didn’t. We held on. Because love, even when silenced, still knows how to echo. Chapter Eight: The Girl Who Turned Into a Ghost It was September. The skies didn’t crack, the ground didn’t shake, but my world collapsed like a house of paper soaked in rain. Out of nowhere, she looked at me—without a single tremble in her voice—and said, “We’re just best friends now.� That’s all. No warning. No reason. Just a sentence that ripped through my chest like a blade made of ice. I remember standing there, heart in my hands, asking, begging, “Why?� “What happened?� “Did I do something wrong?� But her lips remained sealed, her eyes darted away. I wasn’t stupid. I could feel it in her hesitation, in the way she wouldn’t meet my gaze. She was hiding something. And my heart… oh, it kept whispering, “She still loves you. She’s just scared. It’s her family. This isn’t her choice.� Because even though her words were sharp— “I don’t feel the same anymore.� “You’re not understanding me.� “Stop making this harder.� Her actions still told another story. She’d still check if I was eating, still get jealous when I talked to others, still find excuses to message me about the most random things. She was leaving me with her mouth, but holding me with her heart. And then… She stopped. Stopped caring. Stopped checking. Stopped being her. She turned into something I never thought she’d be— A stranger. A ghost. A nightmare. And her words? They turned from cold to cruel. “You’re acting pathetic.� “You need to move on.� “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.� Each syllable like a thunderbolt through my ribs. I cried. I screamed into pillows. I scratched at my skin just to feel something that wasn’t her absence. The panic attacks came like waves—unexpected, uncontrollable. Anxiety sunk its claws deep into my soul. Even my parents noticed. They didn’t know why, but they saw me break. Over and over again. And in the middle of that storm, there was only one hand that reached out for me— Riva. Not from the same city, not from the same school. But from the same pain. My cousin. My sister in grief. The only one who knew the truth. She’d call me late at night, just to hear me sob. “Breathe,� she’d say. “She didn’t deserve the way you loved her.� She was the thread keeping me stitched together when everything else was falling apart. Those months? They weren’t just sad. They were terrifying. Every morning was a battle with myself. To get up. To eat. To not fall apart in the middle of class. My hands shook. My heart ached constantly. My smile was gone. And so was she. Not dead. But something worse— Alive, and not mine. Chapter Nine: Half-Love Hurts More She came back. Not the way I wanted, not the way my heart begged for— but she returned. And this time, she wore a different label. “Just a friend,� she said. And I nodded, even when my soul screamed, “No! Not just that—anything but that.� But I agreed. Because talking to her as a friend felt better than never hearing her voice again. Better to walk beside her as a stranger than be left behind as a memory. I kept it inside. The love. The hope. The silent prayers. I thought maybe—just maybe— if I stayed close enough, if I loved hard enough, she’d come back. I tried everything. Flirting wrapped in jokes. Old memories slipped into conversations. Soft touches that lingered just a second too long. But all I got was more pain. Because while I was trying to rebuild our love, she was busy building new bridges. And I? I was on the edge, watching her walk away, every day a little further. She’d laugh louder with others. Talk softer to them. Prioritize them. And I— I was drowning in silence. Burning in jealousy. But I couldn’t say a word. “We’re just friends now,� I reminded myself. I had no right to ask. No right to break. But I was breaking anyway. Then came the final blow. I came to know she was getting close to the very people I once told her about— My enemies. The ones who mocked me, stabbed me in the back with words I never deserved. I asked her, quietly— “Please stay away from them. They don’t care about you like I did.� But instead of leaving them… she left me. Again. No warning. No goodbye. Just silence, like a curse I couldn’t undo. And then I saw it. Her with them. Laughing. Smiling. Hands around waists—so comfortably, so casually— like I never existed. I stood there, watching her wrap herself in the very people who ripped me apart, and I felt the air leave my lungs. Tears didn’t fall right away. They waited. Waited until the night swallowed me whole, and then came like a flood I couldn’t control. “Why her?� “Why them?� “Why not me anymore?� And the worst part? She was right there—so close, but I never felt more invisible in my life. Chapter Ten: The Lie of Moving On This time, it wasn’t just heartbreak. It wasn’t just love lost. It was a betrayal wrapped in silence. A knife not in the heart— but in the back. I thought even if love faded, friendship would survive. But I was wrong. I used to call her my person. The one who’d never leave. And yet, she left—again. Not just as a lover. But as the friend I held onto when the world blurred. She became the one I feared. The one I warned myself about. The nightmare I used to hold in my chest like a secret fear. I kept quiet this time. No more pleading. No more “please come back.� Because what was the point? She thought I moved on. She saw the calm outside, but never the storm inside. She didn’t know that I still flinch at her name. Still check her profile in the middle of the night. Still wonder if she ever misses me. But now? She’s with someone else. And that shattered what little was left of me. I found out accidentally. It felt like the floor disappeared beneath my feet. “She’s dating someone now.� Those words played on loop in my head. I blinked at the screen. Held my breath. And then I smiled—fake, of course. Because what else was I supposed to do? I thought we were just distant friends. But in her world, I was no one now. She made a choice— to not just walk away, but to pretend I never mattered. And I? I kept holding on to shadows. I tried reconnecting. Tried keeping the thread unbroken. But each time, she pulled the scissors tighter. Each message was either ignored or responded to like I was nothing more than a ghost haunting a place I no longer belonged to. It wasn’t just the silence. It was the weight of being forgotten while still remembering everything. I didn’t cry this time. But not because it didn’t hurt. Because I was too tired to cry. This time, I chose silence as my shield. Let her think I moved on. Let her laugh like nothing happened. Let her fall for someone else. But deep down? I was still sitting in the ruins of everything we built together. Chapter Eleven: The Last Page Wasn’t Ours She still doesn’t know that I know. That I saw the truth… unfolding silently between posts and timelines like a story I wasn’t meant to read. She doesn’t know that her secret is no longer a secret. But I kept it— just like I kept all my pain. I smiled at the world, but inside, I was tearing page after page from a book I once wrote with stars in my eyes. "Some wounds don't heal. They become part of who you are." I gave her my everything. My loyalty, my love, my silence… and my storms. I promised her, “You’ll be my first and last.� And maybe I was foolish— but I meant it. So I keep that promise. Even now. Even after she left me with nothing but the sound of her fading footsteps and a heart that forgot how to beat without aching. I don't believe in love anymore. Not the dreamy kind I once romanticized. Not the friendship that promises forever and leaves when it becomes inconvenient. They say time heals everything. But what if time is just a quiet killer? Dragging every memory like a chain behind me? “She didn't break my heart. She broke the part of me that believed it was safe to give it away.� This isn't even 1% of her. I could write an entire library— filled with chapters of her laugh, her late-night rants, the way she blushed when I flirted. I built her a library in my dreams. Because she loved books. And I loved her. And I wanted to give her everything. But she didn’t choose me. Not even when I stood in front of her— hands open, heart beating only her name. I still fight with myself every night. A war between letting go and holding on to memories that refuse to fade. And the worst part? She’ll never read this. She’ll never know that the girl who once blushed at her smile now only cries when no one’s watching. “The saddest goodbye is the one you never got to say out loud.� I wasn’t perfect. But I loved perfectly. And now I write this… not for closure, not for her to see… But to remind myself that I once loved someone so much I burned for her. And maybe, just maybe, this book will remain unfinished— Because the last page? Was never ours to write. And when I thought nothing could hurt more… she said it. “You ain’t a man.� As if love had a gender. As if pain had to wear a mask to be valid. She looked me in the eyes and turned my entire existence into a joke. “It was all fake.� “Just a childhood mistake.� “I wasn’t mature enough.� “Just forget it ever happened.� How do you forget the moments you built your soul around? How do you erase a heartbeat that only learned to beat for her? Then she said something that still echoes in my bones: “It was my bad fate to meet you.� “You’re so imperfect.� “You’re a crybaby.� “The worst person.� “I hate you.� She killed every flower I once grew with her name. I wondered for days— was it ever real? Were those laughs, those late-night talks, those kisses… just lies dressed as memories? And yet… I didn’t hate her back. I couldn’t. Because when you love someone deeply, even their cruelty finds a way to feel like home. "She ripped the wings she once helped me grow— and blamed me for not being able to fly." Now all I have left are her words echoing like a curse, and the version of me she convinced to believe was unlovable. But I’m still here. Somehow. Still writing. Still breathing. Still trying to find the pieces of myself she left behind. “I don’t hate you,� I whispered to the wind. “I just hate the version of me that still waits for you to come back.� t’s still hard to believe. Almost a year since the breakup… and I still believe she had some other reason. I still believe—somewhere deep down— she loved me. Maybe I’ll never know the truth. Maybe the truth would ruin me. But even if I did know it— even if it was ugly, even if it proved everything was a lie— I know I’d still love her. I know that no matter how many times my heart breaks at the mention of her name, I will always piece it back together with the hope of her smile. I know this love— this curse will destroy me. And the worst part? I will let it.