THEM 'Ishman'

HOME...

Hieeeee, guys, welcome or welcome back to my Wattpad page toh aaj hum kuch crazy karne wale hai😱🎀

.
.

I think about the things I loved a lot, now that he's gone.

It's been months since we parted ways.

The world continues to move around me, somehow, without him.

The noise of everything else drowns out the quiet in my heart, but the quiet still lingers.

It comes in waves, soft but strong, like the rhythm of the sea.

It's a familiar ache. Not unbearable, just... there.

I loved peach milk because his lips tasted like it.

He hated milk.

That’s what he always told me. It was too thick, too heavy.

But for some reason, when he was feeling like something sweet, he would grab a bottle of peach milk.

He said it was lighter. I used to laugh at him for it, always teasing him about it.

He would just grin, roll his eyes, and offer me a sip.

It was during the long, exhausting training days, his skin flushed from exertion, hair sticking to his forehead, when he’d hold up the bottle and lean in for a kiss.

I remember that kiss vividly.

The taste of peach milk lingered on my lips, and in the way his mouth shaped around mine, so gentle, so unhurried.

Like it was something he’d always wanted to give me. Something so simple, yet it felt so special.

Now, whenever I buy a bottle of it, I drink it in silence, closing my eyes after each sip.

It’s funny how something as ordinary as peach milk can make me ache with the absence of someone.

I loved early mornings because he always whispered “good morning” before I was awake.

He never needed much sleep.

Even after the longest matches, the most tiring days, he’d still wake up at dawn and find me tangled in the sheets beside him.

He’d kiss my forehead softly, his breath warm against my skin, and whisper, “Good morning, baby.”

His voice was always a little raspy in the morning, but it was always enough to make me feel like everything was okay.

There was a comfort in his voice, a promise of a new day, a promise that no matter what happened, we’d be there.

Together.

Him and me.

I wish I could hear it now. Every morning, I wake up to the emptiness of the bed beside me.

My phone remains untouched.

No “good morning” from him. Just silence.

I loved the color grey because he always wore it when he wanted comfort.

The grey hoodie. I can still see it, loose at the collar, sleeves a little too long for his arms.

It was his favorite, the one he’d throw on after a tiring day, just to relax.

It was like his safe place.

The first time I wore it, I had no idea it would become my favorite piece of clothing.