Paths Unseen

Her

I still remember the first time I met Marco, his laughter echoing through the library as he tried to juggle a pile of books. He had this spark, this passion that drew me in like a moth to a flame. Our late-night study sessions turned into something more, and soon, we were inseparable. I thought we were building a life together, filled with dreams and promises. 

But as graduation approached, the weight of reality began to crush us. I got an offer from the local newspaper, my dream job, and Marco landed an internship at a prestigious firm. I was proud of him, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting between us. Long hours, missed dates, and unanswered texts became the norm.

I tried to understand, to be supportive. But every time I reached out, it felt like I was speaking to a wall. The laughter we shared became replaced by awkward silences. I was left alone, pouring my heart into articles that echoed my loneliness.

One night, I called my parents, my voice trembling as I confessed my fears. “He’s always busy,” I said. “It’s like he doesn’t even want to be with me anymore.” I didn’t realize Marco was listening. When he walked away, I felt a slice of guilt, but I was too hurt to chase after him.

The next weeks were a blur of frustration and despair. Marco’s absence weighed heavily on me, and I felt like I was losing myself. My articles became darker, reflecting the void he had left. I wanted to confront him, to demand he choose between his ambitions and me, but each time I picked up my phone, I hesitated.

Then came the night I received his message—an invitation to coffee. My heart raced with a mix of hope and dread. Could we bridge the chasm that had formed between us? But when we finally sat down, I could see it in his eyes: the pain, the regret, but also the realization that the love we once shared was slipping away like sand through our fingers.

He poured out his heart, revealing the pressure he felt to prove himself to my parents. My heart shattered at the revelation. All this time, he thought he had to be someone else to be worthy of me. I wanted to scream, to tell him that I loved him for who he was—not for the titles or the accolades.

But how could I? The distance had grown too vast, and I felt like I was talking to a ghost of the man I once loved. I wanted to reach across the table, to close the gap between us, but I was terrified of reopening wounds that had festered in silence.

As I walked away, I felt the weight of finality press down on me. I could hear the echoes of our laughter in my mind, and it cut deep. I had lost him, not just to ambition, but to a version of himself that he believed he had to become. The realization was unbearable.

If only he had known how much I admired him for his dreams, how much I wanted to support him without the burden of expectations. Maybe we could have weathered the storms together. Instead, we stood on opposite shores, lost to the tides of our choices.

I didn’t just lose Marco that day; I lost a piece of myself. The love we had, vibrant and full of promise, had turned into a haunting reminder of what could have been. I felt hollow, a ghost of the person I used to be, and the hurt settled in, deep and unrelenting. 

The world around me moved on, but I remained trapped in a cycle of regret. Every article I wrote felt like a cry into the void, a plea for a love that once was. And as I looked back at the memories we shared, all I could think was that sometimes, love isn’t enough when the people we care for lose sight of who they truly are.