Shri was the youngest of three siblings—cherished, protected, and deeply loved. She had never truly understood what it meant to be broken, to feel hopeless. Her life had always been filled with warmth, surrounded by people who lifted her up. But good things don’t always last.

In the eleventh grade, amidst the hills of Uttarakhand, she fell in love. A love that felt unconditional, eternal—at least, that’s what she believed. What started as friendship with Sid soon transformed into something deeper, something intoxicating.

It happened fast, too fast. They blurred the lines between youth and adulthood, giving themselves to each other before they truly understood what love demanded. But who could blame them? They trusted each other. They valued each other.
Or so she thought.

Because when you give too much importance to the wrong person, they start to value you less and less.

By the time they reached the end of twelfth grade, Sid wasn’t the same person anymore. The tenderness in his words faded, replaced by cruelty. The hands that once held her now weighed her down. He blamed her for things beyond her control, projected his insecurities onto her, and slowly, piece by piece, chipped away at her dreams.

She endured it. Every accusation, every insult, every moment he made her feel small.

Why?

Because she loved him. Maybe more than he deserved.

The mental and emotional strain became unbearable, suffocating her until she had no choice but to find relief in self-inflicted pain. Her days blurred into nights, each one heavier than the last. She convinced herself that this was what love felt like—wasn’t love supposed to have ups and downs?

But this wasn’t love. This was a cycle. And she was trapped in it.

By the time she graduated, Shri had lost herself. Her dreams? Abandoned. Her confidence? Shattered. Her existence? Reduced to a burden—on her parents, on the world, on Sid. All because she had given her heart to a boy who never knew how to hold it.
Was it her fault? It felt like it.

The mere thought of leaving him filled her with guilt, as if walking away meant she was the villain. She even upheld Sid’s image in front of their friends, ensuring no one knew the depths of her suffering.

She suffered alone.

She felt like a failure. A disgrace. A mistake.
And then, just as she teetered on the edge of yet another breakdown at midnight, her phone rang.

Sid.

She wiped her tears and answered.
"Open your camera," he barked, his voice impatient.

She hesitated. Her father was still awake, working in the next room. If she turned on the lights, he would notice. She explained this, softly, carefully.

Sid didn’t care.

Like always.

His frustration erupted into shouting before he hung up, leaving her staring at her phone in stunned silence.

And just like that, the tears returned.
For the seventh night in a row.

She curled into herself, her breath shaky.
She had never felt so alone.

The Next Day

Her phone rang again—this time, it was Arya, her best friend of eight years.

"I’m leaving for Delhi soon," Arya announced.

"German classes. I’ll be in Germany for college in six months, so I wanted to meet you before I go."

Shri’s heart clenched. She was happy for Arya, truly. But a selfish part of her wished she could hold onto her for a little longer.
When they finally met, their conversation drifted to life, to love, to the past and future. And then, Arya said something that made Shri pause.

"You know, breaking up with that idiot was the best thing I ever did," Arya admitted with a small laugh. "It’s like all the energy he drained from me came rushing back."

Shri swallowed hard.

A bad feeling crept into her chest.
For the first time, she wondered—really wondered—if her own relationship was as perfect as she had convinced herself it was.

"I love you and Sid together, though," Arya continued. "Everything seems so perfect, yaar. But don’t rush yourself into anything, okay?"

Shri nodded, but her mind was elsewhere.

"Forever is a long time you know" Arya mused. "No point in spending it with someone unworthy of it."

Shri fell silent.

And for the first time, she felt something close to clarity.

Her dreams—the ones she had buried—weren’t gone yet.

Not if she fought for them.

Not if she fought for herself.

And she would.

Today.

That evening, Shri sent Sid a message.
Come over. We need to talk.

When Sid arrived at her home in Dehradun, he came with expectations.
Expectations that, tonight, things would go his way.

The only time he was kind to her was when he was in the mood to take what he wanted. When she needed emotional support? He was nowhere to be found.

She ignored the discomfort crawling up her spine as he leaned against the doorframe, smug as ever.

"So, what’s the plan?" he asked, voice laced with amusement.

Shri took a steady breath.

"I need to talk to you," she said.

His smirk faltered. "What now, dude?" he scoffed, already irritated.

"I don’t think you’re the Sid I fell in love with," she said, voice quiet but firm.

"You weren’t like this when we started. You cared. You loved me. But now, it feels different. It feels like you’re just using me fo—"

The words never left her mouth.

A sharp, stinging pain exploded across her cheek.

He had slapped her.

For a moment, everything stood still.

And then, something inside her snapped.
The anger. The exhaustion. The years of suffering.

She shoved him—hard—forcing him out the door and slammed it shut in his face.

And then.

She broke.

Right there, on the floor.

She was done.

Done with him.

Done with the person she had become for him.

But at what cost?

_________________________________________

Author’s Note:

Guys, if you ever feel like Shri, please know that love is not supposed to hurt. You deserve someone who cherishes you, not someone who makes you feel like you’re hard to love. Don’t stay with someone just because you’re scared of what life looks like without them. Life after them? That’s where you find yourself again.

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