When he blocked me, my mind did what it always does — it tried to protect me with stories.
*Maybe he has a girlfriend now.*
*Maybe he doesn't want anything to do with me anymore.*
*Maybe I was just a chapter he closed.*
So I let myself believe it was never meant to be.
I focused on my own life. Forced routines. Familiar distractions. I told myself that some connections are only meant to exist once — briefly, beautifully, and then never again.
And for a while, that felt believable.
Until I had to leave home.
Jenna — the girl who never went anywhere alone — suddenly found herself traveling to another city with her uncle and aunt. I didn't know then how cruel timing could be.
My uncle lived close to my cousin sister — the same bride whose wedding had introduced me to Ash. She was pregnant, close to delivery, and I arrived just days before she gave birth to her second child.
A baby girl.
The house filled with happiness again. Laughter. Prayers. Soft voices. Everything felt warm and safe.
The next day, I planned to visit her.
Then I heard it.
"They're decorating the room for the newborn."
Someone asked, "Who is it?"
And then a name sliced through me.
"Ash. And his cousin."
For a moment, my body forgot how to move.
Why now?
Why here?
He blocked me. That means he doesn't want to see me. That means he's angry.
I didn't want to face that.
But fate, relentless as ever, didn't care about my fear.
That evening, the doorbell rang.
Two people entered.
The baby's father.
And Ash.
He was holding a box of sweets.
I felt frozen — painfully aware of my own breathing. Still, I kept my face calm. When the sweets were passed around, I took one.
Our eyes met.
Again.
There was no recognition in his.
That hurt more than anger would have.
I turned away quickly, my chest tight. Guilt wrapped itself around me — heavy, suffocating. For two days, I avoided visiting my cousin sister, even though I desperately wanted to hold the baby.
Avoiding him felt easier than facing whatever expression he might give me.
But my love for the baby won.
On the third day, I gathered my courage and went. I met my cousin sister. Held the baby. Smiled. Spoke softly.
And carefully — deliberately — avoided him.
Then, one night, my phone vibrated.
An Instagram message.
"Where are you?"
The username was unfamiliar.
I stared at the screen, confused, my heart uneasy.
After a moment, I typed back,
"Is this… Ash?"
"No," came the reply.
We talked for a bit — harmless things. Casual questions. Then finally, he admitted it.
"Yes. It's me."
My heart stuttered.
The conversation continued slowly, carefully — like two people walking on thin ice. I waited for anger. For accusation.
None came.
Maybe he wasn't angry.
Maybe… it was okay to talk.
And for the first time in a long while, I let myself breathe.