Unki ek Jhallak

Sometimes healing feels like something I’m working on every day. And sometimes it feels like a sandcastle—steady for a moment, then gone with a single unexpected wave.

Today the wave was a picture.

Just one.

A simple, harmless picture of three people smiling—N, his brother, and his fiancée.

All of them dressed up, looking warm, looking comfortable, looking like they belong in the same frame.

And I wasn’t in it. I never was.

For a second, I even laughed. I said “oh God” out loud—maybe out of shock, maybe out of denial, maybe because the brain tries to protect you in the first few seconds.

But then it landed.

His face.

His clothes.

The scarf around his neck — exactly the way I loved on him.

A reminder of the one I gifted him on our first anniversary, the one he threw away during our first major fight.

And suddenly my eyes filled up.

It wasn’t even the picture itself.

It was the life in it.

A life that once felt like it could have been mine.

This morning in Jaipur, I wore a saree.

And I knew I looked good — really good.

And the first person I wished was next to me… was him.

I flashed back to that layover in Lucknow:

Someone told me I looked pretty, and he had that quiet, proud smile — the soft kind of pride that made me feel like I meant something to someone.

And now?

Now I feel like I’m talking to walls inside myself.

I miss the weird jokes.

The teasing.

His smell.

The way he held my hand.

The lopsided grin when something amused him.

The hugs that felt like home.

The way my face automatically softened when he walked into a room — even on the ugliest days.

I miss that version of him.

I miss the version of me who loved him then.

Someone N never liked — came to see me with his brother because he felt I was low.

We went for a drive, some coffee, some stupid small talk.

And when he was leaving, out of nowhere, he kissed me.

Soft.

Quick.

Unexpected.

I didn’t feel anything dramatic.

Just surprise.

And after that moment, there has been silence.

He hasn’t messaged.

I haven’t either.

I don’t know how to address it.

I don’t even know if I should.

And yet the moment keeps circling in my head — not because I liked it, but because it made me question myself:

Do I love N?

Or am I just starved for affection?

Do I miss him?

Or do I miss being cared for?

Or do I just feel unbearably alone?

I don’t know.

Not anymore.

I texted N last night.

He hasn’t seen it.

But someone viewed my profile at 9:30 AM.

And yes — something inside me flickered.

A hope that I don’t want.

A hope I’m embarrassed of.

A hope that hurts me every time it rises.

Because I know if he comes back it would be with Arzoo, and i cannot bear it, and I know that he would never leave her.

All I want is one quiet moment…

Kash koi bas ek dafa mujhe unse milwa de.

Main unse nahi kahungi ki mere dil ka haal pooche.

Main sirf itna chahti hoon ki woh mere saamne kuch waqt baith jaaye.

Main unse nahi kahungi ki meri aankhon mein dekhe.

Main bas unhe jee bhar ke dekhna chahti hoon.

Just once.

Just to breathe in the same room again.

Not to fix anything.

Not to ask for anything.

Just to look at him… one last time.

Where he sits in front of me.

Where I don’t have to justify anything.

Where I can just look at him and breathe.

Maybe I miss connection.

Maybe I miss who I used to be before all of this.

Maybe I’m grieving the life I imagined.

Not the one we actually lived.

Maybe I want comfort more than I want a person.

Maybe I want to be held more than I want to be understood.

Maybe I want a home — not necessarily him.

These maybe are my rope protecting me from falling into this abyss of despair and hurt. Making myself see the pragmatic side to stop myself from drowning further.

But I know this much:

I’m tired.

I’m hurting.

I’m confused.

And healing is a messy, exhausting, unfair process.

And today…

One picture broke me again.