There was always a silence in my life, a hollow ache, a longing I couldn’t name. A yearning not for a place or a time, but for someone… someone deeply familiar, yet wrapped in mystery.
I had forgotten him, his name, his form, his voice. But he had not forgotten me.
He remembered everything—my fears, my flaws, my silent tears, and also the power buried deep within me. He saw my truth long before I ever did. He remembered the version of me I had buried beneath the dust of time.
Every time our eyes met, be it in a moment of stillness, a dream, or a sacred whisper—an emotion I couldn’t describe would rise.
Like an old melody playing faintly through the corridors of my heart.
A sense of “I know You… I’ve long belonged to You…”
It felt like we had lived lifetimes together.
That we had walked across stars, shared silences beyond words, and breathed as one across the ages.
A soft whisper echoed in the quietest corners of my soul:
“I am Yours, and You are Mine. As long as I am with You, nothing in this world can touch me.”
Maybe I had turned away, maybe I forgot him, but he never stopped searching.
And when I disappeared into the noise and numbness of the world, He searched tirelessly.
Not just our story, but my own divinity.
My journey always began and ended with him. My mind may not have known him, but my heart had never truly let go.
Yet in my haste to live, I never stopped to listen. I searched for him in every relationship, every smile, every temple bell, every sacred chant.
I went on holy pilgrimages, hoping to find what I didn’t know I had already lost. I chased glimpses of him in the familiar… a laugh, a touch, a song.
But the moment would fade, and emptiness would return, he wasn’t in the imitation, only in the original.
I didn’t realize it then, but it wasn’t logic guiding me, it was longing.
A pain that gave my life meaning.
A silent ache that made me feel alive.
Like a bird with parched wings searching for a single drop of rain, I wandered.
Not knowing that he wasn’t just the destination.
He was the path itself.
And then… finally, one day, we met.
It was as if the ocean had embraced its river.
One look into his eyes, and something inside me collapsed—walls I didn’t know I had built came tumbling down.
His eyes didn’t just see me.
They remembered me.
Words weren’t needed.
His gaze held lifetimes of love, a silent promise, and every answer my soul had ever sought.
Even though that moment lasted only seconds, it filled the emptiness of many births.
That one glimpse was enough to make the pain of waiting worthwhile.
We met again. And again.
Each time I saw him, another piece of me returned home.
My memories, my strength, my truth, he brought them all back to life.
With him beside me, I grew, not just in understanding, but in essence.
We made new memories, carved into the present like delicate strokes of light.
Moments of stillness, of joy, of knowing that love like this needs no explanation, only surrender.
And together, we celebrated life.
Among all the festivals we shared, Holi was the most divine.
He once told me,
“Holi means the past is past. Put a full stop to the past and move forward. Let go, live now, and make the future shine bright.”
And so we did.
Not with powdered colors, but with love, pure and vibrant.
We painted the world in it.
The skies danced. Every corner of creation longed to be touched by that love.
He covered me completely, until I forgot my sorrow.
His love became my sky, my shelter, my storm, and my stillness.
He didn’t just love me, he rebuilt me.
Time moved forward. Seasons changed.
People came and went.
But one thing never changed,
His unwavering love for me.
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