Meghbalika had always been a storm wrapped in quiet melancholy restless, unpredictable, yet deeply loving. Arobindu, on the other hand, was the horizon steady, distant, always just out of reach. Their love was not ordinary; it was poetry written in the language of longing, stitched together with whispered promises and silent sacrifices.
For three years, they built something fragile yet beautiful, like a paper boat afloat on an uncertain tide. Meghbalika gave everything her laughter, her quiet moments of understanding, her unwavering belief in Arobindu. But one day, she realized something unsettling. She was never truly inside his world. She was a guest, not a resident.
"Why am I not a part of your family?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Arobindu hesitated. The pause was long enough to answer her unspoken fears.
She had poured herself into this love, yet, in the end, she remained on the outside, knocking on a door that was never meant to open for her. The weight of unasked questions and unspoken words began suffocating her. The panic attacks returned sharp, suffocating waves that stole her breath and left her drowning in memories.
But Arobindu did not fight to grasp her hands and pull her back into his world. Cause he was tired of doing that same thing since the beginning. So this time Instead, he let her slip away, like sand falling through open fingers.
Meghbalika watched as their love unraveled, thread by thread, until it was nothing but a distant ache. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to resent the way he let her go so easily. But she couldn't.
"I know you loved me in your own way," she whispered to herself. "But love is not just about feeling. It is about choosing. And you chose to let me go."
She prayed, not for his return, but for his happiness. That he would find a home in someone else, in a love that fit him better than she ever did. That he would have a family who embraced him fully, in ways she never could.
As she walked away, she felt the weight of their past settle in the deepest corner of her heart. She would remain his storm, forever lingering on the edges of his sky. And he would remain her horizon always there, yet never close enough to touch.
Some loves are not meant to last. Some loves exist only to teach us what we deserve. And Meghbalika was ready to learn.
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