There were million little reasons to not love him,
And million little things that I despised now.
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Her:
Unwanted emotions,
I didn't want any of it, any of them.
From the outside, she seems adorned with all that glitters-wealth, celebrity, and...
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I wanted to call Siddarth and ask what the fuck is this guy doing?
The weight of the situation settles in as I exit the article about the collaboration. Conflicting thoughts swirl in my mind, unsure of whether this K-pop idol's involvement is meant to sever or mend the connections between the siblings. I contemplate reaching out to Siddharth, her brother, to gain some clarity on the matter.
What were they thinking, exposing her to someone from her past, someone who may have played a significant role in her struggles?
The frustration intensifies as I grapple with the desire to call Shiya and check on her well-being. However, the fear of overwhelming her in her vulnerable state holds me back. She may not be handling the news well, and I know that bombarding her with calls might not be the best approach.
The rational part of me understands the importance of waiting for her to reach out or addressing the situation during our next therapy session. But patience is a luxury I'm not sure I possess right now. The uncertainty of the circumstances makes me restless, and the worry for her consumes my thoughts.
"Fuck, I am gonna go crazy," I mutter to myself, my frustration palpable. The minutes tick away, and I make a futile attempt to set a mental deadline – 15 minutes until I can stop thinking about her. But deep down, I acknowledge the impossibility of that task. Concentration eludes me, my mind continuously pulled back to the tumultuous events of the day before.
I keep my phone down and scribble few words in my diary as I wait for my next patient to come. glancing down at my watch I murmur to myself, "15 minutes more, then no more thinking of her."
That's impossible, I won't be able to concentrate today.
Unable to quell the restlessness, I lean forward and reach for the landline, dialing my assistant's number. The surprise in her voice is evident as I ask her to cancel the rest of my sessions for the day. A moment of stammering, then a hesitant agreement. I hang up, feeling a mix of relief and guilt for disrupting the day's schedule.
As I pack up my belongings, my mind remains fixated on the article and the unintended consequences of the collaboration. The revelation that I played a role in Shiya's desperate act haunts me.
That evening, after returning from the church, my emotions overwhelmed me, and tears flowed freely. The realization that the woman I love with every fiber of my being had attempted suicide because of me cut deep.
I never intended for my actions to lead her to such a desperate state. My hand reached out not to encourage such a grave mistake but to offer support, a genuine desire to help her through her struggles. Admittedly, there was a selfish element too – a longing to keep her close, to be a comforting presence in her life.
Understanding that she may never reciprocate my feelings, especially now that I know she harbors love for someone else, adds another layer of pain.
She loves him so fiercely that she is willing to endure physical and mental anguish to shield him from getting hurt by her again.
