The Change
After a long, exhausting journey of 250 miles, I finally reached my friend’s room. I should have felt relief, maybe even joy—but instead, a strange emptiness clung to me. The walls looked dull, the air heavy. Nothing seemed worth doing. My heart was still dragging behind, chained to the shadow of a love I could never hold.
Veronica. Even whispering her name inside my head was enough to stir a storm. She wasn’t just a girl to me—she was a whole universe wrapped in human form. Sweet, charming, and impossibly beautiful, as if God had taken extra time to sculpt her smile, her eyes, her curls. That smile of hers—it could heal wounds I never showed. And those curls, always falling over her face, always brushed back with that effortless grace—they had a way of freezing time around her.
She had rejected me—gently, kindly, in a way that almost felt like mercy. But kind rejection still hurts. I knew she was never mine, not even for a second, yet my heart refused to let go. The feelings I carried weren’t just passing sparks; they had carved themselves deep into me, like ink pressed permanently into the pages of my life.
And there I was, sitting in my friend’s room, pretending to be alive, while a part of me kept living in a world where Veronica still smiled just for me.
Veronica was a junior in my college, newly admitted to the Electronics stream, while I was in my final year of Mechanical. I still remember the first time I saw her—it happened almost by accident. I was standing at the bus stop, waiting to see off my friend Alex, who was headed back to his hometown for the weekend. Just after saying goodbye to him, my eyes caught sight of her.
She was walking towards the tram station, probably heading home after classes. And in that very moment, her presence captured me completely. She was an artwork, sculpted with divine precision—something only God Himself could create with such care. Dressed in dark blue denims and a sky-blue top, her loose hair swayed gently as she walked in her flat sandals, clutching her sling bag with both hands. There was nothing extraordinary in her actions—she was simply walking—but to me, she looked like an angel who was meant to soar in the skies.
The excitement, the sudden rush of happiness, the irresistible urge to talk to her—it all felt magical. Every step she took was mesmerizing; even the curls of her hair seemed to dance freely with her stride. The world around me faded into nothingness. There was only her. And that’s when I knew—I had fallen. It wasn’t a calculated feeling, no deep thought involved. It was love at first sight, raw and pure.
For a year, I tried in every way I could to make her mine. But reality is harsh—it all ended with the painful truth that she could never be mine. And yet, even after eight long years, her thoughts still linger in my mind. She continues to live in every corner of my memory. People say loyalty keeps you holding on, but I know the truth—it’s love, love alone, that refuses to let go.
“Jack, when did you come? Sorry, I ran late last night and couldn’t wake up early to pick you up from the station,” said Peter, still half-asleep, throwing off his blanket.
“No worries, I just got here. So, what’s your plan for today?” I asked, scrolling through my phone.
“You are my plan, buddy. Come on, let’s go somewhere and make the best of the day,” Peter said as he lit a cigarette and motioned for me to get ready.
Peter was that kind of guy who lived alone in a small rented room—someone who’d lost faith in love after an eight-year relationship ended in heartbreak. Since then, he had been drifting through casual affairs with women of all kinds—single, married, divorced—meeting them through dating apps, chasing momentary pleasure without any real attachment. His intentions were simple: keep it safe, keep it physical, keep it fleeting.
“Yes! She’s in… such a tight lady, finally came my way!” Peter exclaimed suddenly, his eyes lighting up at the ping of a message. He took a drag from his cigarette and grinned, fully absorbed in his chat.
I didn’t bother asking what it was about. I wasn’t interested in flings or temporary thrills. Relationships—love, attachment, heartbreak—felt like burdens I didn’t want to carry anymore. Maybe it was because Veronica still lived somewhere in my head. Every time I looked at another girl, my conscience whispered, Stop… it feels like you’re cheating on someone who’s not even yours.
Soon, we got ready and left the room on his bike. We roamed around the city aimlessly under the scorching sun until we stopped by a small bar to chill. The place was cozy, dimly lit, and quiet—just the way Peter liked it. Soft music floated through the air, and there were only a few people around.
A well-dressed waiter, probably in his twenties, approached our table. “What would you like to order, sir?”
“Bring us a pitcher of beer, chicken tikka, and some peanuts,” Peter said casually.
“Alright, let’s start the day,” he said as the beer arrived. We clinked our mugs and took a long, refreshing sip.
I broke the silence. “So, Pete… how’s life lately?”
He sighed. “Man, it sucks. My boss is killing me with deadlines, and these girls online are acting all high and mighty. None of them are falling for the charm anymore.” He kept typing something on his phone while talking.
“Pete, are you even listening? You’ve barely touched your drink. What’s keeping you so busy?” I asked, noticing how his attention never left the screen.
He smirked. “Just hunting for some pleasure, bro. This girl’s playing hard to get, but I know how to handle them.” He took another drag from his cigarette and returned to his phone.
“What’s this app you’re using? Some kind of casual dating site? Don’t you ever get bored of fake profiles and all that crap?” I asked, downing the rest of my mug.
“Nah, bro. This one’s legit. It’s free, and I’ve already met four women through it—slept with all of them, actually.” He gave me a teasing wink. “It’s called Wink. Come on, give me your phone, I’ll make you a profile. Let’s see your luck.”
“Pete, I’m not into that stuff,” I said, trying to stop him. “Give me some time. I need to get myself out of this phase first.”
“Man, just try it. You’ll get distracted from your so-called trauma. Who knows? You might even find someone to hang out with—or someone to fuck.” He laughed, raising his mug again. “It’s all about luck, Lessi.”
He leaned back with that same smug grin, lost in smoke and conversation, while I stared into my half-empty mug—thinking about Veronica, about love, about everything I couldn’t move on from.
To be continued...
