Where forever used to be

PROLOGUE 

From the very beginning, the boy believed that the thing called love had to be earned.

Well he wasn’t born thinking that way, of course. But life has a cruel patience in the way it teaches you lessons you never asked to learn.

For as long as he could remember, it was just him and his mother. She wasn’t a bad woman she never was. But there was something hollow in her gaze when it fell on him, something tired in the way she said his name, something distant in the way she spoke of her dreams as if they had died the day he was born.

He worshipped her anyway.

Every small kindness she gave, a faint smile, a hand brushing his hair out of his face when she thought he was asleep, the way she caresses his hair, the way she pats him while he fall asleep in her arms, the tiny tiny chocolates she used to buy while she goes to for the groceries just to see a smile on his little face, the gentle kisses she places on his face while he is in bed, the way she used to sing for him and make him feel loved even if she had a long hectic day, 

he gathered them all like rare coins, s

toring them in the fragile vault of his heart. Like the memories he always wants to hold on.

And so, he spent his childhood chasing her approval. Running faster. Smiling harder. Quietly becoming whatever he thought might make her proud.

But pride never came.

On his birthday, when he was no longer a child but not quite a man, everything broke.

They fought. Not over anything large, not really. Fights never start with earthquakes; they begin with cracks. Small, sharp words became bigger, uglier naked truths until finally, she threw them at him like knives.

“You never meant a thing to me.”

“You’ll never be enough.”

That was the moment something inside him fell silent forever. A void opened where love used to live.

He didn’t cry that night. Not because it didn’t hurt but because the hurt was too big for tears. He became numb.

Months blurred. Seasons passed. He floated through them half-alive, showing up to days as if they were obligations rather than opportunities. Friends came and went. People asked how he was, but no one really wanted the answer they all were just curious about the so called mysterious life the boy showed them.

Then, quietly, she arrived.

Not in person, not yet.

It began with a message.

She was a friend of a friend. Someone he had known by name but never truly spoken to. But one day, a conversation began about something silly, something small about whether he remembers her cuz it has been pretty long they have even texted and then about Movies, musics, books, and how exhausting people could be.

And it didn’t stop.

Night after night, they talked. Hours bleeding into morning, words goin softer and softer, 

The Walls lowering brick by trembling brick. 

They hadn’t even met yet, but somehow she knew him better than anyone ever had.

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As for the rest, well I'm working on it, so wait a bit.

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