I miss you more than I admit.

Dear Xappa,

It’s been more than six weeks now.

Six weeks since I heard the news from Rojava. Since that day, you’ve been on my mind in a way that doesn’t need permission. I don’t know what’s normal there anymore, or if nights feel safe, or if silence feels heavier than usual. I didn’t ask. I know I don’t have that right anymore. Still, I worried. Still, I do.

I’m not part of your life now, I know.
But loving someone deeply doesn’t end just because roles change.

Last month was exhausting. I barely slept. I stayed busy maybe too busy. New responsibilities, new work, longer days. My sister got engaged. Life kept moving, and I moved with it. But every night, before sleep, I talked to you in my head. Like I used to. Like muscle memory.

These days, I miss you more than I admit.

Sometimes it comes out of nowhere. Even my Instagram seems to conspire against me intercultural couples everywhere. Different countries, different languages, same kind of warmth. Foreign girls with Indian boys, building lives, laughing, making ordinary moments feel meaningful. I see you in all of it. I see us. Not the fantasy just the simplicity we could’ve had.

I won’t lie.
There are moments I feel angry. Not in a loud way. Just a quiet frustration that sits in the chest. I don’t know what was going through your mind back then. I sometimes feel you didn’t listen to your heart. If you had given yourself a little more time, things might’ve looked different. Maybe happier. Maybe calmer.

And then I stop myself because love isn’t about rewriting someone’s choices.

Sometimes I wonder if you miss me too. If you ever get angry at yourself the way I do. I know I’m not easy to forget. People like me don’t disappear quietly. We linger. It takes time. Maybe a lifetime.

I still call you stupid sometimes in my head.
But only because you were mine enough to earn that softness.

These last two days, my back has been hurting badly. No accident. No reason. Just pain that showed up suddenly. I lie down and it feels uncomfortable, like my body is carrying something it can’t set down. Funny how the body speaks when words don’t.

There are so many things I could say to you.
But some feelings don’t ask to be explained.

Poetry

If she were to ask me what I’m grieving for,
What grief would remain if she asked me herself?

If she were to ask where I spend my evenings,
Where would my evenings be if she asked me that?

The sorrow of love is tied in knots of questions
If you ask, I can answer; if you don’t, who do I tell?

My room feels unbearably lonely
Should I hang your photograph on the wall?

Should I tell everyone that you are mine?

A whole day passes writing to you,
Should I spend the night thinking of you too?

Should I tell everyone that you are mine?

On one side, the ache of your absence.
On the other, the question of why you were never mine.

Believe me, I am happy
But the moments with you, the days, the months, the years stand apart.

I have a thousand complaints,
But those few days when you cared for me stand apart.

I’m not asking you for anything.

I just wanted you to know I’m still here. Living. Working. Carrying things quietly. Thinking of you more often than I should. Hoping you’re safe. Hoping you’re okay.

Some people don’t leave our lives.
They just move to a quieter place inside us.

And sometimes…
Silence is just another way of saying, “I still remember you.”

You Were Never a Choice

You Were Never a Choice - You Were the Decision

There are things I may never be able to tell you out loud.
Not because they aren’t true - but because some truths are too fragile to survive conversation. So I leave them here, quietly, between words, hoping one day you might recognize yourself in them.

You were never a choice to me.
You were the decision I made without fear.

Not because loving you was easy - it wasn’t.
But because leaving you never felt right.

Most people enter our lives as options. Temporary. Conditional. Replaceable. We weigh them, compare them, ask ourselves “Is this enough?” or “Can I find better?” That’s how modern love often works- like a marketplace of emotions.

But then, once in a lifetime, someone arrives differently.

Not as a question.
Not as a risk to be calculated.
But as an answer.

An answer to the chaos you couldn’t explain.
An answer to the confusion you carried quietly.
An answer to the waiting you never knew how to name.

That’s what you were.

And when you find that kind of love, you don’t look for better.
You don’t scroll past it.
You don’t keep your options open.

You choose deeper.

People often talk about “easy love” as if love is supposed to fit neatly into our schedules, expectations, and comfort zones. But real love isn’t always convenient. It disrupts. It challenges. It asks you to grow in places you’d rather ignore.

Loving you wasn’t easy.
But it was honest.

And honesty has weight. It stays.

That’s how I knew you weren’t a choice. Because choices can be undone. Decisions change with circumstances. But this - this stayed firm even when everything else felt uncertain.

Even when silence replaced conversation.
Even when distance tried to rewrite the story.
Even when walking away would’ve been simpler.

This isn’t the kind of love that announces itself loudly. It doesn’t beg. It doesn’t chase. It doesn’t perform for validation.

It waits.
It remains.
It chooses.

Quiet love is often misunderstood. People mistake it for indifference, when in reality, it’s restraint. It’s the decision to hold something sacred instead of exposing it to noise.

I may never tell you all of this directly.
But that doesn’t make it any less real.

Because love doesn’t need witnesses to exist.

Some people spend their lives searching - for better chemistry, better timing, better circumstances. But when someone becomes the answer, the search ends.

Not because they’re perfect.
But because they’re true.

You didn’t fix everything.
You didn’t erase the past.
You didn’t promise certainty.

But you felt right in a way that logic couldn’t argue with.

And once you experience that kind of love - the kind that feels like recognition rather than discovery - you don’t want replacements. You want roots.

You choose to stay curious.
You choose to understand.
You choose depth over novelty.

This blog may read like poetry.
It may feel like a confession.
It may sound like something written late at night.

But at its core, it’s simple.

Some people are options.
Some people are lessons.
And some people - rare ones - are decisions you make with your whole being.

You were never a choice.
You were the decision I made without fear.

And if love is ever asked to define itself...
This is how it would speak.

 

Come broken, if that’s what today has made you.

Come As You Are

You don’t have to be perfect around me. 

Not polished. Not put together. Not pretending you’re stronger than you feel.

Come to me messy.

Come moody.

Come tired, carrying the weight of days that didn’t go your way.

Come broken, if that’s what today has made you.

I won’t ask you to explain yourself.

I won’t rush you to heal.

I won’t love you after you’re okay.

I’ll choose you now.

Because love, to me, was never about perfection.

It was about presence.

About sitting beside someone when their silence says more than their words.

About staying when leaving would be easier.

I don’t need you to shine for me.

I just need you to be real.

If your voice shakes, let it.

If your hands tremble, I’ll hold them steadier.

If you don’t have the energy to be soft, I’ll be gentle enough for both of us.

Some days you’ll feel like peace.

Other days you’ll feel like a storm.

I’m not afraid of either.

Because somehow, even in your chaos,

you are the calm my heart recognizes.

The quiet place my thoughts return to when everything else feels loud.

The only peace I’ve ever known without having to ask for it.

So don’t edit yourself before you come to me.

Don’t hide the cracks.

Don’t wait until you feel worthy.

Just come.

I’ll still choose you

as if there was never another option. 

Happy New Year Jaan ❣️