The Weight of Equal Love.

From the moment I first saw her, I was captivated by her warmth and kindness. She had an incredible way of making everyone around her feel important and valued, and that drew me in. We lived in the picturesque state of Sikkim, where the serene landscapes and majestic mountains served as the backdrop to our budding romance.

She was like the very essence of Sikkim itself—beautiful, nurturing, and welcoming to all. Whether it was chatting with the elderly ladies at the local market in Gangtok, helping tourists navigate the bustling streets, or playing with children in the lush meadows of Yumthang Valley, she treated everyone with the same genuine care and attention. Initially, I admired this about her; it was part of her charm. But as time went on, I began to feel like just another face in her world, not someone special.

One sunny afternoon, I decided to do something about it. I planned a surprise picnic by the enchanting Tsomgo Lake, hoping to create a moment that would set our relationship apart. I spent hours preparing her favorite momos, carefully folding the dough and filling them with minced meat and spices, just the way she liked. I picked wildflowers from the hillside, choosing the most vibrant rhododendrons and orchids, and wrote a heartfelt poem that captured my feelings. I wanted her to see how much she meant to me, how much I wanted to feel unique in her world.

As we sat by the tranquil lake, the gentle breeze rustling the prayer flags, I took a deep breath and poured out my heart. "I love how kind you are to everyone. It’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you. But sometimes, I wish I could feel like I’m more than just another person you care about."

Her eyes softened as she reached out to hold my hand. "You are special to me. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel otherwise."

Her words were sincere, but they didn’t ease my doubts. "I know you care about me, but when you treat everyone the same, it’s hard for me to feel like we have something unique."

Despite her reassurances, my unease grew. I watched her continue to spread her kindness, making everyone around her feel cherished. It was beautiful to see, but it also deepened my sense of insignificance. I admired her for it, but I couldn't shake the feeling that I was just another face in the crowd.

One evening, as we walked through the rhododendron-filled trails of Singalila Ridge, I couldn't hold it in any longer. "I need you to understand something. I love you deeply, but I can’t keep feeling like I’m just one of many people you care about. I need to feel special, to feel like we have something different from what you have with everyone else."

She looked at me, her eyes filled with sadness. "I don’t know how to be any other way. This is who I am."

That was the moment I knew I had to let go. I realized that asking her to change would be asking her to become someone she wasn’t, someone she couldn’t be. As much as it hurt, I had to accept that her way of loving everyone equally was part of what made her so wonderful, and also what made it impossible for me to feel truly special.

The days that followed were filled with a painful mixture of longing and resolve. I would often find myself wandering through the streets of Gangtok, past the familiar stalls of the M.G. Marg market where we used to spend our weekends, browsing through trinkets and tasting the local delicacies. The vibrant energy of the place only heightened my sense of loss. Everywhere I went, memories of her would surface—her laughter, her smile, her way of making even the simplest moments feel magical.

In the evenings, I would sit on my balcony, watching the sun set behind the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas. The beauty of the scenery was a stark contrast to the turmoil within me. I missed her presence, her touch, her voice. But I knew that staying would only deepen the wound. I needed to find a place where I could be more than just one of many.

So, I made the hardest decision of my life. I packed my bags and left Sikkim, the enchanting hills and valleys that had been the backdrop to our love story. As the bus took me away from the familiar landscapes, my heart ached with the weight of my decision. But I knew it was the right thing to do, both for her and for myself.

I traveled far and wide, searching for my own place of belonging. I found myself in bustling cities and quiet villages, always looking for that special connection I had yearned for. I met many wonderful people, each unique in their own way, but none who could fill the void left by her.

Years passed, and I eventually settled in a small town far from Sikkim. Life moved on, and so did I. But the memories of her, of our time together, never faded. I often thought about her, wondering if she had found someone who could love her for who she was, without feeling the need to be the center of her world.

One day, as I was walking through the local park, I saw a couple sitting by a pond, their hands intertwined, lost in their own world. It reminded me of that sunny afternoon by Tsomgo Lake, of the love we shared and the difficult choice I had made. I smiled to myself, hoping that wherever she was, she was happy and loved.

Perhaps one day, I would find my own place of belonging, where I could feel unique and truly cherished. But until then, I would carry the memories of our time together, a bittersweet reminder of a love that was both beautiful and heartbreaking.