I come from an abusive home. That kind of home where love isn't soft, and kindness feels foreign. So when I met him—a man kind, helpful, gentle—I didn't know what to do with the way he cared. Lets call him A.
He had always been the strong one. The one everyone hated just for existing—because he's a Christian in a country that isn't. A boy who was always being excluded, bullied, discriminated against. But with me, he softened.
He carried my bag up five flights of stairs because of my heart condition. He tied my laces when I couldn't bend. He cried when I cried. He watched over me in my dissociative states, repeating everything I forgot, over and over until I came back to myself. I thought maybe this was what good friends did. I didn't realise—he had been in love with me long before I ever understood I could love him back.
He never told me directly. I had a fear of love. I ran from it. And he always said we were just friends. But his actions spoke louder.
He never visited me in the ER, even though we worked in the same hospital. He'd always make up excuses. But once, while I was being injected and crying silently in pain, I saw him through the double glass doors—watching, then walking away. He couldn't bear to see me suffer.
He always looked at me like I'd hung the stars in the sky. His eyes would tear up when he looked at me, even indoors—he'd wear sunglasses to hide it and say it was seborrhea. I believed him, until I saw the tears fall.
In person, we were safe. We loved each other in the spaces between words. But over text, we fought. He's not good with texting. And I'm too sensitive to tone. So eventually, we clashed.
One day I told him my father might force me into a marriage. And something in him shifted. His words became sharp, cold. "Then get married," he said. "With someone you like, maybe." When I said I didn't want marriage at all, he told me I "wish had been pretty" and that my hands were fat.
This was the same man who once told me the most beautiful woman in the world would be the one he married—and that my hands were the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.
So I blocked him. He'd always come back and apologise after we fought, but this time felt different. I told him goodbye forever.
And then I fell apart.
My body broke down. I had multiple fainting spells. My heart gave in. My reports came back bad. I genuinely thought I was going to die. And he didn't contact me. For a week—silence.
When he returned, he was a different man. Cold. Distant. But for two days, he cried. He showed me the grief he had buried deep. And when I apologised for fighting his best friend, he looked at me and said: "I understand. You don't need to explain anything to me." No one had ever made me feel more loved.
Then he disappeared again. Or rather—he pushed me away. Said he thought his actions had made me sick. That he was responsible for the pain I was in. So he closed off. Shut his car door on me. Refused to look me in the eye. But I saw him cry. Publicly. More than once. He even left class to cry.
He had never cried in public before. Never cried at all. But he cried for me.
Still, he couldn't talk to me. He avoided hallways if I was there. He couldn't even look at me. That's when I realised—he was trying to punish himself by punishing me.
What he didn't know is that he misunderstood everything.
He thought I had feelings for his guy friend. So when I tried to tell him that wasn't true in the parking lot—he humiliated me. Shut his car door in my face.
What he didn't know is that I had emailed his guy friend days earlier, telling guy friend I might be dying. And that I was in love with A. That I just needed someone to support A when I was gone. That I asked A's friends to check up on him. Not because I cared about them—but because I loved A and didn't want him to be alone, even when I was sick.
I didn't know that my heart won't survive him. That I still love A so much.
And all of this came at a time when another friend told me she didn't want to be my friend anymore. They made a new group chat. I was left out. Everyone I loved—A included—stepped away. I was left with nothing. I had just been in an accident too. Abused, injured, and alone in someone else's house with fractured ribs and jaws.
And still, I tried to explain my love. Still, I tried to be kind. Still, I hoped they would stay.
I don't know why they're doing this.
I don't know how to tell right from wrong anymore.
He had always been the strong one. The one everyone hated just for existing—because he's a Christian in a country that isn't. A boy who was always being excluded, bullied, discriminated against. But with me, he softened.
He carried my bag up five flights of stairs because of my heart condition. He tied my laces when I couldn't bend. He cried when I cried. He watched over me in my dissociative states, repeating everything I forgot, over and over until I came back to myself. I thought maybe this was what good friends did. I didn't realise—he had been in love with me long before I ever understood I could love him back.
He never told me directly. I had a fear of love. I ran from it. And he always said we were just friends. But his actions spoke louder.
He never visited me in the ER, even though we worked in the same hospital. He'd always make up excuses. But once, while I was being injected and crying silently in pain, I saw him through the double glass doors—watching, then walking away. He couldn't bear to see me suffer.
He always looked at me like I'd hung the stars in the sky. His eyes would tear up when he looked at me, even indoors—he'd wear sunglasses to hide it and say it was seborrhea. I believed him, until I saw the tears fall.
In person, we were safe. We loved each other in the spaces between words. But over text, we fought. He's not good with texting. And I'm too sensitive to tone. So eventually, we clashed.
One day I told him my father might force me into a marriage. And something in him shifted. His words became sharp, cold. "Then get married," he said. "With someone you like, maybe." When I said I didn't want marriage at all, he told me I "wish had been pretty" and that my hands were fat.
This was the same man who once told me the most beautiful woman in the world would be the one he married—and that my hands were the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.
So I blocked him. He'd always come back and apologise after we fought, but this time felt different. I told him goodbye forever.
And then I fell apart.
My body broke down. I had multiple fainting spells. My heart gave in. My reports came back bad. I genuinely thought I was going to die. And he didn't contact me. For a week—silence.
When he returned, he was a different man. Cold. Distant. But for two days, he cried. He showed me the grief he had buried deep. And when I apologised for fighting his best friend, he looked at me and said: "I understand. You don't need to explain anything to me." No one had ever made me feel more loved.
Then he disappeared again. Or rather—he pushed me away. Said he thought his actions had made me sick. That he was responsible for the pain I was in. So he closed off. Shut his car door on me. Refused to look me in the eye. But I saw him cry. Publicly. More than once. He even left class to cry.
He had never cried in public before. Never cried at all. But he cried for me.
Still, he couldn't talk to me. He avoided hallways if I was there. He couldn't even look at me. That's when I realised—he was trying to punish himself by punishing me.
What he didn't know is that he misunderstood everything.
He thought I had feelings for his guy friend. So when I tried to tell him that wasn't true in the parking lot—he humiliated me. Shut his car door in my face.
What he didn't know is that I had emailed his guy friend days earlier, telling guy friend I might be dying. And that I was in love with A. That I just needed someone to support A when I was gone. That I asked A's friends to check up on him. Not because I cared about them—but because I loved A and didn't want him to be alone, even when I was sick.
I didn't know that my heart won't survive him. That I still love A so much.
And all of this came at a time when another friend told me she didn't want to be my friend anymore. They made a new group chat. I was left out. Everyone I loved—A included—stepped away. I was left with nothing. I had just been in an accident too. Abused, injured, and alone in someone else's house with fractured ribs and jaws.
And still, I tried to explain my love. Still, I tried to be kind. Still, I hoped they would stay.
I don't know why they're doing this.
I don't know how to tell right from wrong anymore.
