📖 Don't You Ever
By Aishah Raheel
🕯️ Prologue — They Call You Dramatic
They call you dramatic.
Until the same pain knocks on their door.
Then suddenly you're not "too much" anymore — you're prophetic. Suddenly they're the ones crying at 3 AM, reaching for answers, wondering how you survived what they're just now drowning in.
But here's the thing about doors:
When pain knocked on yours, they didn't answer.
So when it knocks on theirs? You're allowed to let them sit with it. Alone. The way you did.
🌪️ PART ONE — THE REACHING (What You Gave)
i. Don't You Ever Beg
Don't you ever beg for a seat at tables you already helped build.
Don't you ever shrink yourself so they can finally see you.
Don't you ever apologize for wanting the same energy you give.
Because here's what they won't tell you—
The right people don't need convincing.
They don't need you to prove your worth. They don't leave you on read while you pour your heart out. They don't make you feel like a guest in a friendship you helped create.
But if you're reading this and it stings? If you recognize yourself in the reaching, the waiting, the hoping—
Then stop.
Let the silence speak. Let them feel your absence the way you've felt theirs. Let the friendship breathe without you forcing air into it.
And if they never come back?
Then you have your answer. And room for people who won't need chasing.
May you never look desperate trying to be friends with your own friends.
And may you finally believe you deserve more than what you've been begging for.
ii. The Table You Built
You showed up with wood and nails and a heart full of hope.
You built the table. Set the plates. Poured the drinks. Made sure everyone felt warm.
And then? You looked for your own seat.
But there wasn't one. Because you were so busy building — they forgot you needed to eat too.
That's the thing about givers. They build tables for everyone else and starve standing up.
iii. Left on Read
You typed it out.
The vulnerable thing. The honest thing. The "here's my heart, please hold it gently" thing.
And then you watched those three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Nothing.
Just silence. Just the sound of your own hope dying quietly.
They saw you reaching. They chose not to reach back.
iv. Guest in Your Own Friendship
You know the feeling.
When you have to schedule time with them like an appointment. When you see them post with others but your messages stay unanswered. When you realize you're the only one still watering a plant that stopped growing months ago.
You're not a friend anymore.
You're a visitor. In a life you helped build.
🌑 PART TWO — THE SILENCE (What You Stopped)
v. They Call You Dramatic
They call you dramatic — until the same pain knocks on their door.
Then suddenly you're not "too much."
Suddenly you're the only one who understands.
But understanding doesn't mean running back. It means watching from a distance, hoping they learn what you learned — without you having to teach them through your own wounds again.
vi. Let the Silence Speak
You stopped reaching.
Not out of pride. Out of survival.
Let them wonder where you went. Let them feel the quiet. Let them sit in the space you used to fill with your warmth and wonder why it suddenly feels so cold.
Sometimes absence is the only language they understand.
vii. The Peace of Not Chasing
At first it feels wrong.
Like you forgot to do something. Like you left the stove on. Like you should check your phone, send that text, fix that thing.
But then days pass. And the silence doesn't hurt anymore. It heals.
You realize you weren't holding them close — you were holding yourself back.
And letting go? That was the first time you chose you.
viii. Forcing Air Into Dead Things
You can't force someone to stay.
You can't love hard enough to make them love you back. You can't show up enough times to make them show up once.
If it needs forcing, it's already gone.
Stop blowing air into something that stopped breathing months ago.
🌅 PART THREE — THE ANSWER (What You Learned)
ix. If They Never Come Back
Then you have your answer.
It hurts. Of course it hurts. But hurt is just proof that it was real — not proof that you should stay.
If they never come back, you haven't lost them. You lost the idea of them. The version you made up in your head where they actually cared.
Let that version die. Grieve it. Bury it.
And then? Make room.
x. Room for People Who Won't Need Chasing
There are people who will see your worth without a PowerPoint presentation.
People who will text first. Who will show up. Who will hold the door open for you the way you've held it for everyone else.
You can't meet them while you're still staring at the ones who walked out.
Look away. Look forward. They're coming.
xi. May You Finally Believe
May you finally believe you deserve more than what you've been begging for.
May you stop equating love with exhaustion.
May you know, deep in your bones, that reciprocity isn't a luxury — it's the bare minimum.
And may the next table you build have a seat with your name on it from the very first nail.
xii. The Door
They called you dramatic.
Then pain knocked on their door.
And you?
You didn't answer. Not because you're cruel. Because you finally learned that some doors stay closed for a reason.
Yours opened. You walked through. And on the other side?
You found yourself.
And that was always the point.
THE END.