One-Sided, Still Whole
This is my story.
When I first saw her in class 3rd, I felt she was the most, the moooost prettiest, pyari girl I had ever seen.I know I was in class 3rd. I had not met many people, I had not seen many people, I had not been to many places. There are billions and billions of people in this world, I understand that. But when I say this line, believe me — it was something beyond materialistic things. Yes, she was beautiful, but my feelings were never only about her physical body. That is why those words came out so naturally — "kitni pyari ladki hai" — without even thinking, without any intention, without any calculation. Her hair, her eyebrows, her smile — everything felt magical. I didn't know it then, but that day planted a feeling in my heart that would stay for years. I watched her in class, noticed the small things she did, the way she laughed, the way she focused on things. Every day, seeing her became the most special part of my life.
As we grew up, those early feelings slowly grew too. I began to care deeply about her, feeling happy when she smiled, feeling a little jealous when someone else was close to her. I noticed her in ways no one else did. I loved her eyebrows, her hair, her expressions — the little details that made her who she was. She was always so beautiful, and I felt something I couldn't name. I treasured every moment I saw her, every shared laugh, every little glance.
She became my constant thought without me having to say anything. Loving her felt natural. I accepted that my place might just be to care silently, to watch from a distance without asking for anything in return.
In sixth class, the sections were shuffled. She went to a different class, and I went to another. Just like that, the everyday seeing-her stopped. She left without knowing anything about what she meant to me, and my life continued — but with a strange mix of happiness and gratitude. Happiness because I had at least gotten a chance to see her, to sit in the same class once, to talk to her, to make jokes that made her laugh, to chat with her, to be her friend — to be, even for a small time, a reason for her happiness.
After that, I would still see her in school sometimes. From far away. No chats. No hi, no hello. I don't know why it stayed like that, but it did.
In eighth class, I got to know she was on Instagram. I downloaded Instagram only to see her. That was the only reason. I messaged her, but she felt like a totally different girl. Still, nothing could change. I was already in love — and love doesn't ask how someone behaves now or how they look now. It just stays. None of that mattered to me anymore.
I remember she once posted a picture of herself. Out of some immature rage, I commented something because I didn't like the way the photo was. She stopped me. She made it clear that I was no one to tell her how to live her life. She was right. I don't blame her. She said a few things that didn't feel good to me, and that was where I stopped. I deleted Instagram.
What hurt the most was not her words — it was the feeling that I had disturbed someone very, very special. Someone I loved. The thought that she was sad because of me felt like hell. Nothing could be undone, so I quit Instagram completely.
In eleventh class, she came into my class again. But by then, things were very different. I didn't want to bother her life anymore. Still, slowly, we came into the same friend group — me, her, and my friend. I thought maybe now everything was okay. If not something special, at least I could be her friend.
We formed a group — me, myfrnd and Aaru, . After many years, I saw Aaru in person again. And she was not the girl I remembered. She was someone totally different. Sometimes I feel that if I had met her first in my teenage years, maybe I wouldn't have fallen in love. But I had already fallen long before. And once that happens, nothing can be changed.
Then something more brutal happened — something neither the author nor the reader ever expects.
One day, my frnd went to her house. At that time, he didn't know how deeply I felt for her. And they did something .Later, he called me. His voice was normal, casual. He started telling me everything — what happened, what they did, how close they were. He spoke as if he was sharing an normal experience. She didn't know that he was telling me all of this.
While listening to him, I didn't stop him. I didn't shout. I didn't cry. I acted normal. I even pretended to be happy for him. But inside, something broke in a way I had never felt before. It felt like my body was there, but my soul had gone numb.
After that call, I went home and lay on my sofa. I listened to songs for hours — the same songs, again and again. Days passed, but nothing changed inside me. I wasn't loud in my pain. I didn't tell anyone. I just carried it quietly. Weeks turned into months. Outside, I smiled. Inside, I was shattered.
The toughest part came later — meeting her after knowing everything. Looking at her and pretending that nothing had happened. Talking normally. Sitting in the same space. That pretending took more strength than anything else in my life. Every smile was heavy. Every normal sentence felt like a lie I was forcing myself to live.
That day, I truly understood that loving someone silently doesn't make you weak — it just means you bleed in places no one can see. Btw she was not wrong 😅
I was never someone constant in her life. Never someone she would notice. But in my life, she was irreplaceable. If I had to give the title of "my world" to anyone I have known, I would give it to her. my feelings were not fake. And if someone is loved the way I loved her, they would carry that warmth forever, even if they walked away.
Now I am twenty years old. I will meet more people in my life, I know that. But I can still say this with the same honesty I had as a child in third class: she is the most prettiest, the moooosssst pyari girl I have seen till date. That answer will never change.