Not all love stories begin with “I love you.”
Some begin… with truth.
I never planned to tell her anything.
Not about my life.
Not about the pain I carry.
Not about the day I broke on that bus.
But with Yalini — it just happened.
We were sitting outside the college library.
The evening was quiet, like us.
She looked at me and said,
“I’ve never seen you talk so much with anyone else.”
I smiled.
Then she added,
“What changed you?”
And just like that… I spoke.
I told her everything.
About the pain.
About the boy who once froze in fear on a crowded bus.
About how that moment shattered something… and also lit a spark inside me.
Yalini didn’t interrupt.
She didn’t say, “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t cry.
She just listened.
Like she already knew.
Like my story was hers too.
And when I finished, she simply said:
“You’ve survived what most people can’t even imagine.
You didn’t lose yourself, Viyan…
You found yourself.”
That day, I didn’t confess love.
But I confessed my truth.
And she didn’t run from it.
She stayed.
And sometimes, staying…
is the deepest kind of love.
🖋️ — Viyan
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