It’s strange how a single sound can carry the weight of hope. That soft notification chime — a ping — used to be just background noise, but lately, it feels like it controls me. It starts the moment the day begins. I’m not even fully awake, but my hand reaches for the phone like muscle memory. The screen lights up — but it’s not her. It’s a work message, or a delivery update, or worse, one of those meaningless forwards from a group chat I never wanted to be in. Still, for a second, my heart believes it’s her. That she finally thought of me. That she’s sent something — a simple “hey”, maybe even a meme that reminded her of me. Anything. But that moment fades quickly. And the silence after it hits harder than it should. We weren’t “something” in the way people define relationships. There was no label, no announcement. Just moments. Glances that lingered a little too long. Conversations that lasted a little too late. And silence — a silence that came without warning, the kind that grows a...
An open diary where thoughts flow like ink—unedited, unscripted, unforgettable.