Some souls are too complicated to love—or to unlove.
These days, Riddhi feels like she’s not his girl anymore.
The messages she sends linger unread or unanswered for hours—sometimes more than half a day. When he finally responds, it’s brief, transactional, like crossing something off a to-do list. The phone calls, once the highlight of her day, have become shorter and colder. And the small sweetness—those everyday, ordinary endearments like “love you, baby”—have vanished. The silence after a call ends now feels louder than anything he says.
Riddhi finds herself constantly wondering: Is this intentional? Is he pulling away because he’s done… or because he wants me to be stronger?
Maybe this is his version of love—quiet, guarded, cautious. Or maybe, her own love is so deeply rooted, so patient, that she refuses to believe anything bad about him. She still wants to see the boy she once knew behind the man who now seems so far away.
Three years ago, things were different. They weren’t officially anything back then—just friends with an undeniable bond. But life got complicated. Family pressure forced Riddhi to cut ties with him. That decision, though necessary, was soul-crushing. Each day she woke up with a weight in her chest. Every breath felt forced. But despite the distance, despite the silence, she still believed he was hers in some quiet way. That hope was the only thing keeping her going.
And then there was that memory she always clings to.
A late afternoon, a quick catch-up over tea and momos between busy workdays. She had opened up, voice trembling, about her fear of losing her parents one day and being left alone in the world. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t overthink. He simply said:
“I am here. Don’t worry.”
Simple words. But from him, they felt like a promise. And that’s when he found his place in her heart—not loudly, but permanently.
Riddhi has faced her share of people trying to break this love.
Rumors came and went. Whispers filled the ears of others, hoping they’d reach her too. But she never faltered. Her trust was her anchor. Her belief in him stood taller than any storm others tried to stir.
But maybe the damage came from somewhere closer.
Maybe when her best friend shared things Riddhi had said in confidence—raw thoughts, insecurities, emotional doubts—it felt like betrayal to him. He had always kept his inner world protected, shared only with a few. Riddhi wasn’t just in that world—she was that world. So maybe, for him, it wasn’t just a breach of trust. It was heartbreak.
He doesn’t carry an army of friends. His circle is tiny, chosen, sacred. And maybe the fact that the one person he trusted the most—Riddhi—shared even a piece of him with someone else… broke something.
He used to call her the moment he left home. Even if it was a five-minute drive. Even if he was rushing between meetings. Those calls were spontaneous, filled with the ordinary moments that make love feel alive.
Now? There’s just one call a day. Brief. Dry. Sometimes it feels like he’s calling just to check a box. The connection that once danced between their voices now feels strained—like both are searching for something familiar in a conversation that doesn’t flow anymore.
And then came that Thursday.
She asked him to say “I love you.”
He refused. Calmly. Coldly.
He told her that love should never be pressured. That those words aren’t something to say just to make someone feel better.
It stung. Deeply.
But Riddhi didn’t argue. She respected his honesty—because in a world full of people who fake affection, he at least spoke his truth. Maybe he’s not ready. Maybe he’s healing. Maybe he still loves her but doesn’t know how to bridge the gap anymore.
Strangely, amidst all the emotional withdrawal, came a gesture that confused Riddhi even more.
He suggested she buys a property—in her name. He offered to invest in it.
It wasn’t romantic in the traditional sense. There were no roses, no long messages, no promises wrapped in poetic words. But in that one gesture, she saw something deeper. A commitment. A sense of protection. A quiet way of saying, “Even if I don’t say it every day, I still want your future to be secure.”
That’s the paradox of loving someone like him. He’s not loud with his feelings. He doesn’t chase dramatic expressions. But sometimes, in the silence, he still shows up—in ways only she understands.
Some people are just built differently. They don’t say “I love you” on cue. They won’t always be expressive. But it doesn’t mean they don’t love. Sometimes, their way of showing love is by letting go for a while. Or by stepping back to breathe. Sometimes, they need space—not because they want to leave, but because they want to feel like themselves again.
Riddhi keeps replaying his words in her mind:
“No one knows me better than you.”
And maybe that’s why she still holds on. Because if she truly knows him, then she also knows he needs space to grow. A space where he doesn’t feel judged. A space where he feels understood. Protected. Loved.
It’s now 3 a.m.
Riddhi sits alone, writing, wide awake with thoughts that won’t rest. Her room is quiet, but her mind is noisy. Because exactly a year ago, everything was different. He had messaged her nonstop that night. Poured his heart out. Told her how badly he needed her. How deeply he loved her. How no one else could take her place.
And now?
She sits wondering how a love so consuming could change so much in just twelve months.
Was it her?
Was it him?
Or was it just life?
Riddhi doesn’t know if this love will survive. She doesn’t know if he will come back the same way he once held her hand so tightly. But what she does know is that this love—his love—was different.
He was different.
And that made it special.
She still doesn’t know how to fall out of love with a soul like his. And if this ends… she’s not sure she’ll ever fall again.
Because this wasn’t just love.
This was home.
And homes, even broken ones, are hard to leave behind.
By Upasana Changkakoti
Upasana Changkakoti – A small scale business woman by day, a counselor & addiction advocate by passion. TSS is my love child and the reason for my confidence and growth.
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