"Some stories are born to end in silence."
There is a peculiar cruelty in the way love begins—so softly, so unknowingly, almost like a whisper carried by the wind. You don't realize when the whisper becomes a voice, when the voice becomes a song, and when the song becomes the very rhythm of your heartbeat. You never plan it, you never schedule it. It simply happens—like rain suddenly falling on a clear afternoon, like a star choosing to break across an ordinary night sky.
And yet, for all its beauty, love has a way of choosing silence as its final language. I never imagined mine would.
When I look back now, the memories do not arrive as photographs but as sensations. The trembling of my fingers the first time I typed her name. The weightless, dizzying warmth in my chest when her first message appeared on my screen. The way midnight ceased to feel lonely, because somewhere, behind another glowing rectangle of light, she was awake too.
There is something eternally haunting about beginnings. They trick you into believing in forever. Every smile feels like a promise. Every word feels immortal. You don't think about endings when you are standing at the dawn of something that feels infinite. I didn't. I thought love, once found, was untouchable—pure, and endless.
But love is fragile, delicate in ways the heart does not prepare for. It can shatter without warning. It can slip into silence without leaving the courtesy of a goodbye. And sometimes, the silence hurts more than words ever could.
If someone asked me what silence sounds like, I would say—it sounds like waiting for a message that never comes. It sounds like re-reading old conversations, searching for the exact point where love began to fade. It sounds like her laughter echoing in memory, but never again in reality. Silence is not the absence of sound. Silence is the ghost of everything that once was.
I tell this story not to romanticize the pain, but to remember it truthfully. Because some stories deserve to be told, even if they ended unfinished. Even if the ending was not a storm of words, but a suffocating quiet.
This is not just the story of love. This is the story of her. Of the girl who walked into my life through pixels and texts, who painted my nights with colors I had never known, who gave me laughter, warmth, and a reason to believe in forever—before leaving me with nothing but silence.
It begins with a glimpse. An accidental moment that changed everything.
And it ends with silence. A silence that still lingers, even now