It was a warm June day when our paths first crossed on Tinder, a serendipitous match amidst a sea of strangers. What began as a casual arrangement between two people with no expectations or strings attached quickly turned into something far more profound. At the time, I was a shadow of myself, grappling with life’s struggles and the wounds left by lost love. He walked into my life like a gentle breeze, bringing comfort to my stormy days.

He was unlike anyone I had met before. Caring and attentive, he treated me like I mattered, taking me on dates and showering me with kindness. Slowly, the walls I had built around my heart began to crumble, and before I knew it, I had fallen deeply for him.

One day, trembling with both fear and hope, I confessed my feelings. His response was bittersweet—he told me that while he cared, we could never be together due to family constraints. I understood, even though it broke me. To protect my fragile heart, I made a decision: I would leave the city, putting distance between us in hopes of moving on.

For a while, it worked. I was finding my footing again, focusing on rebuilding my life. We occasionally exchanged calls, which felt like bittersweet echoes of what we once had. Then, one day, everything changed.

I had posted a photo with another boy, and almost immediately, he reached out. He said he missed me, that he wanted to be with me. My heart, which had been cautiously healing, leaped with joy. Fueled by his words, I traveled 1,800 kilometers just to see him. Our reunion was magical—until he uncovered messages between me and the boy in the photo.

I made a grave mistake: I lied when he confronted me about it. I didn’t know then that he already knew the truth. His trust in me was shattered, and I was overwhelmed with guilt. Even after I confessed and apologized, it wasn’t enough to mend the cracks. He cut off all contact, leaving me to grapple with my remorse and the void he left behind.

Weeks turned into months, and just when I thought he was gone for good, he called. Hearing his voice felt like a lifeline, and I poured my heart out to him, explaining the depth of my regret. He agreed to meet me, and for a few blissful days, we were together again. It was then that I realized I could never stop loving him.

But life isn’t a fairytale. Upon my return, he decided we should distance ourselves once more, reasoning that it was better for us both. I agreed, even though it tore me apart. My only wish was his happiness, even at the cost of my own.

Then came the day when his voice, once a source of comfort, turned sharp with accusations and anger. He blamed me for everything that had gone wrong between us. His words stung, but what hurt more was the realization that I had become a stranger to him. Desperate not to lose him, I begged, pleaded, and tried to hold on, but he walked away.

I spent sleepless nights hoping, praying he would come back. Eventually, he did—but not in the way I had hoped. Now, I am just a fleeting thought in his busy life, someone he turns to when he feels like it, not when I need him. I’ve become an option, not a priority.

Even though this love has brought me pain, my heart refuses to let go. Despite the arguments, the disrespect, and the endless waiting, I still see him as my home, my comfort, my happiness. If you’re reading this, know this: You are not just an option to me. You are my everything.