Prologue
Reels,regret and the realisation
The night before — 6th December —
"I found myself sending him reels again."The boy I loved with everything I had.The boy who made me feel like love was real—
and then slowly poisoned me with his absence.
He laughed at one.Left the others on seen.
Typed. Deleted. Replied late.
Vanished.
Came back when it suited him.
He kept me like an old playlist—One he didn’t want to delete, but had no intention of listening to either.
I wasn’t his lover.I was his just-in-case.
His when-I’m-bored.His backup smile when his day was empty.
And I...I was still waiting.... for a version of him that only existed in my head.
I told myself he was broken.That he needed time.That someday he’d look at me and finally choose me like I’d been choosing him in silence.
But the truth?He wasn’t broken.He was comfortable—keeping me close enough to feed his ego,...but never close enough to love.
And still—I sent him reels. Silly ones. Poetic ones. Ones with couples who made it through.
Like maybe if he saw them,he’d remember who I used to be to him"but he never did. And deep down, I knew he never would.”
So I cried that night.A silent, swollen kind of cry.“The kind where your pillow knows your heartbreak better than any person ever could.”
And then—I fell asleep hoping for a miracle.Some dumb girl part of me still whispered,“Maybe he’ll come back. Maybe tomorrow.”
But tomorrow came.And I didn’t hear from him.I heard from myself.
I got up.With swollen eyes, cracked spirit, and a heavy chest...Not for him.
Not for anyone.
But because staying down would mean he still had power over me....And even if I was bleeding...I wanted to walk through the fire anyway.
I gave him poems, he gave me space,
I stayed too long in second place.
Now I don’t wait, I don’t break—
I bloom in the mess he chose to make.
