"They say love is about touch, about presence, about moments shared face to face...
But they've never known what it's like to fall in love with someone who understood your silence more than anyone ever understood your words."
She didn't enter my life with fireworks.
There was no grand scene, no dramatic twist of fate.
She came in gently —
Like the first snow, like the breeze before dawn.
Soft.
Unexpected.
Unforgettable.
Her name was Serin.
She had a way of saying my name like it mattered.
Of listening so closely, even the pauses in my sentences felt heard.
She didn't just hear the words I said —
She heard the ones I didn't know how to.
In a world that always felt too loud, too fast, too much —
She was peace.
In a room full of noise, she was silence.
Not empty… but comforting.
We never met in person.
But somehow, she felt more real than anyone I'd ever held.
We laughed at 1 AM over the dumbest things.
Shared playlists like they were love letters.
Promised forever without ever holding hands.
And somehow, it was enough.
Somehow… it was everything.
We built a universe between Wi-Fi signals and pixelated screens.
A fragile universe —
But it was ours.
And maybe that's why it hurt so much when the world tore it apart.
Because love isn't always broken by lies.
Sometimes it's just… dismantled —
By parents.
By fear.
By rules written in a language our hearts never understood.
One day, she was there.
The next,
She wasn't.
Not because she wanted to leave.
Not because the love faded.
But because…
She wasn't allowed to stay.
Since then, I've been living in the echoes she left behind.
The empty spaces in my day where her voice used to be.
The songs that still carry her laugh.
The nights that feel too quiet — even when the city is wide awake.
I don't hate her.
I couldn't.
I never will.
I just miss her.
And every night at 2 AM, when the world is fast asleep and the memories feel too loud —
I still whisper her name into the dark,
like a prayer that was never meant to be answered.
"Serin..."