Almost Wasn't Enough
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- Parts 1
I knew before he ever said it. There's a certain kind of silence that speaks louder than any goodbye, and I'd been hearing it in him for days now. The way he'd answer my texts slower than usual, say "I love you" with less weight. I kept telling myself I was imagining it, that love doesn't just disappear. But maybe it does. I don't really know. I want to believe we are meant to be. That somehow, despite all the chaos and timing and wrong turns, we'll find our way back to each other. Because when we were good, we were magic. He made me laugh at the stupidest things, made me feel seen in a way no one else ever had. And I, God, I love him so much it terrifies me. But there was a night, when I asked my bestfriend to ask the question I've been avoiding to ask for days, "Do you still love me?". He hesitated. "I don't really know," he said softly. "But I don't know if I feel the same as how I used to." I just stared into space. I wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to try and still feel that spark that we have between us. To remind him of the way he used to talk to my best friend about me. But all I did was look at the text and say okay, because maybe this was how it was meant to be. I didn't ask him for more. I didn't try to change his mind. Because love that has to be begged for isn't real love. And the truth? We never really ever belonged to each other. Well certainly not fully. But it seemed as if something always got in the way, timing, distance or a feat of falling in love again. But we at least still tried. We still gave pieces of ourselves to something that was always slipping through our fingers and never really kept in the palm. I still love him. I hate that I do. I now know loving someone isn't always going to be enough to make them stay. And sometimes, the person you'd do anything for is the one who teaches you how to finally let go. And that's the part that hurts the most. We were so close. So painfully close. But "almost" just wasn't enough...
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#2
abandonedlove
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I didn't know I was disappearing until it was almost too late. At first, it was subtle. A missed call here. A joke at my expense there. A delay in responding, followed by a grand explanation that made me feel silly for even asking. You start to wonder if you're imagining things-if your skin has grown too thin, or if the world has always been this cold and you just never noticed. But no, this is different. This is targeted. This is personal. He came to me like a storm pretending to be sunlight. Charming, magnetic, wounded-how I mistook those wounds as something that needed my healing. I didn't know then that narcissistic abuse doesn't always arrive screaming. Sometimes, it tiptoes in wearing the face of love. He said all the right things at the right time, until I stopped trusting my own sense of wrong. The highs were dizzying: he told me I was everything. Special. Unlike anyone he had ever met. He made me feel chosen. And so, I stayed-even when the lows scraped at my bones, even when the words grew sharp and the silence louder than his rage. I didn't see the cage being built because I was too busy decorating it, thinking I was safe inside. The thing about narcissistic pain is that it often masquerades as longing. You ache not just for the person-but for the version of yourself you were when they first looked at you like you mattered. You miss the illusion. You miss the fantasy. And worst of all, you blame yourself when it shatters.Complete![π ππ’ππππ§ πππ¬ππ¬π¬π’π¨π§ | [ππ+]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/369746393-256-k37459.jpg)
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π ππππππ ππππππ ππ πππ ππππ π πππππ'π πππππππ. Book 1 in "Dark Fate" series. "They say you can't choose who you fall in love with, and he couldn't agree more. His sister's best friend had captured his heart, and he was consumed by his obsession for her and now, he knows he would never be able to let her go because she belongs with him." β’ β§ β’ There's a kind of love that feels like sunlight - warm, gentle, safe. And then... there's his. It's not cruel. It's not loud. It's something far more dangerous - quiet, calculated, all-consuming. He was my best friend's brother. The man I was never supposed to notice. He watched from the shadows, memorizing me without ever needing a single word. I never really knew his name... but he knew everything about me. My fears. My patterns. My dreams. Even the parts I hadn't yet discovered myself. He's always been there, just a step behind-waiting, watching, wanting. And now, he's no longer waiting. He calls it love. I don't know what to call it, only that it pulls me in like gravity - unavoidable, inescapable. There's safety in his arms, yet danger in his silence. Gentleness in his touch, yet fire in his gaze. And somewhere in the tension between fear and longing, I find myself unraveling. Because the scariest part of being wanted like this... Is realizing you might want them back.Complete
THREE AUTUMNS WITHOUT YOU
I used to think I was living the life people only dream about. Everything looked perfect on the outside - the smiles, the success, the routine that gave me comfort. I had the freedom, the admiration, and the illusion of happiness. I truly believed that this was it - the life I had worked so hard to build, the one everyone else wished they had. But then he came into my world - unexpected and uninvited, like a storm that doesn't ask permission before it breaks everything in its path. He was unlike anyone I had ever met. A man cloaked in mystery, always quiet, always observing, like he carried the weight of a thousand secrets. People knew his name, admired him from a distance, but no one really knew him. And he liked it that way. He wasn't kind in the way the world expects. He wasn't soft or gentle. He didn't chase approval, and he didn't waste time pretending. His world was cold and guarded - his heart only opening for the few he truly cared about: his family, and the rare souls he dared to love. And yet, somehow, I was drawn to him. Not just to his mystery, but to the way he made me feel - like I was no longer the polished, perfect version of myself I had grown so used to pretending to be. Around him, the mask I wore for years slowly cracked. I started seeing pieces of myself I didn't know existed. He turned my world upside down. He didn't just make me feel - he made me question everything. Who I was. What I wanted. Who I was pretending to be. I became someone I no longer recognized - not the girl with the perfect life, but someone raw, confused, aching for something real. He didn't just enter my life. He changed it. He changed me.
Tethered
Bright lights, the beat of the music beneath my feet. Distant chatter, quite whispers. The feeling of joy, loss, heartbreak, and loneliness surround me. Buried in a crowd, drowning under the gazes of people who look through you. I am but of glass, a mirror if you will, willing to be seen through, but not seen. Screaming in a room full of people when no one can hear you, let alone see you. Hidden breaths, rising, falling. Isn't that funny, falling? Laughing would be easier than standing here in the crowded place, filled with people, faces, judging every moment the other makes. I could tell you the peace I get standing alone in a room filled with people who only see you as a mirror for who they don't want to be. I could cry tears of blood, and non would ever so much bat an eye in my direction, but I love it. The feeling of being unseen as to appose being seen for the matieral object I once was. Silent, unmoving, unwilling. I am but an idea, glass, shatterable, broken beyond compare. But strong, resistance flows through me. Willing me to be the best I can be, but can I? Who says I make sense, who says I am even me, am I? That's a question I spent years wondering. Who would I be without these scars that tether my skin, marking each even, like a calender. To mend the feelings people have isn't a easy thing, but to break is easy, always easy. How easy it is to forget, to run. I can feel the ground beneath my feet, feel the soil in-between the crooks of my toes, I could describe to you the smell of the rain. Pinpoint the center of the earth, but as I stand here, again amongst the crowd of people stand in this room. I am lost again, an idea, but for what purpose? If I could run, navigate my way through this crowd, I would seek refuge somewhere dark and cold, where I could take off this cloak and be one with who I am, or want to be.
Gods Favourite Loser
Sometimes I wish I knew what it felt like to be someone else, anyone other than me, really. It's not that I dislike who I am(I do sometimes), or even that I'm lost. It's more like... I'm curious. Curious about the weight of other people's thoughts. The texture of their fears. The shape of their joy. None of us walk the same path, even if the streets overlap. None of us carry the same sky, even when we stand under the same stars. I often wonder, can eyes that have seen different corners of the world ever truly see the same world? Two people, standing side by side, might witness the same event. But they won't feel the same chill in the air. They won't flinch at the same memories. They won't hear the silence in the same way. So maybe we don't live in one world at all. Maybe we live in billions. Each one stitched together by memory, perception, pain, and hope. But maybe we can get close. Maybe, with enough honesty and enough patience, we can build bridges. Quiet little bridges made of words and glances and shared stillness. Maybe we can stretch ourselves across the gap. And maybe, just maybe, if you're willing to meet me there... I can show you what it's like to be me. So come. Walk a little with me. Let me try to emulate this strange maze of thoughts, this ever-shifting fog I call a mind. Let me turn myself inside out for you, just for a moment. The name's Blank. And I welcome you to the world through my eyes, my imaginary audience, watchful, patient, and perhaps just as lost as I am. Together, we might not find all the answers. But maybe, if we're lucky, we'll find the right questions.![A Genius In Love [COMPLETED] [EDITING]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/83955574-256-k169753.jpg)
A Genius In Love [COMPLETED] [EDITING]
It wasn't necessarily the way that he would talk, even though have of the time I had to ask him what he meant. It wasn't even the way that he would try to tease me about my height even though he wasn't all that tall himself. Maybe it was the way that he would chuckle under his breath when he had to explain something to me (more than once I might add) Or maybe it was the way that he would go out of his way to meet up with me in the hallways right before my algebra class just so we could hear how the others day was going (which almost made us late to class on numerous occasions) Or maybe it was even the way that he would compliment me on the rare occasion (He had told me once that I looked beautiful with glasses even though I hated them and preferred my contacts more) It could've even been the fact that when he spotted me in the hallways and would leave his friends just to come and talk to me. Even though I would point out the fact that he left his friends, he would just smile and chuckle which would cause a blush to creep up onto my features. All I knew at the time was that I was falling in love with one of the smartest people I had known. I prayed that by some miracle the feelings would go away, even though I knew they wouldn't. After graduation, it would be a long time before we crash into each other again. If I would've known that I would find him again in the future, I would've prepared myself better. But as I stood there, staring into those blue eyes of his, I knew that I had fallen in love with him all over again. ((Also none of the pictures are mine, all credit goes to the original artists))Complete
when you need me most
When you need me most, that's when I walk away. I've spent years with him-giving, pretending, sacrificing-but I've never really felt the way I thought I would. And still, I've never fully walked away. Each day feels heavier than the last, a quiet ache gnawing at me, reminding me that the person I'm losing isn't him... it's myself. People see us together and think it's enough. They see the smiles, the routines, the quiet mornings, the coffee he always makes, and they assume our love is perfect. They do not know the nights I lie awake, questioning if staying is worth the cost, or if leaving will destroy everything I've built inside myself. They do not know the small, invisible ways I've been disappearing-slowly, quietly, while he keeps holding on, unaware of how fragile I feel. It isn't that I don't care for him. He's kind, patient, and loving in ways that make me ache. But sometimes love isn't enough when it takes more than you can give-and when the person you're with doesn't meet you where you need them most. Between guilt, obligation, and the pull of familiarity, I've lost sight of myself, and I can't tell if I'm holding on to him... or just holding myself back. And now, when life throws new challenges his way, I have to face a question I've avoided for far too long: do I continue to sacrifice myself for a love that demands everything and gives only uncertainty? Or do I finally choose me-even if it means letting go?![π ππ’ππππ§ πππ¬π’π«π | [ππ+]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/376041496-256-k37446.jpg)
π ππ’ππππ§ πππ¬π’π«π | [ππ+]
πππ ππππππ πππππππ'π πππππ. Book 2 in "Dark Fate" series. "Obsession is like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path even friendships and boundaries." β’ β§ β’ Vivaan Grover is my boyfriend. He still is. But sometimes love doesn't feel like love anymore. It used to be simple - him and me against the world. Until the world turned into shadows and silence. Until the messages began, the gifts I never asked for, the voice that never spoke but somehow followed me everywhere. My stalker didn't just watch me... he haunted me. And when that wasn't enough, he made me choose - him or Vivaan. He never laid a finger on me. He didn't need to. Fear does its job when it's patient. I broke the heart I swore I'd never touch. And the moment I did, the stalker disappeared... like he was never there at all. And somehow, Vivaan and I found our way back to each other. But everything had changed. He held me, but his arms no longer felt like home. ΠΠ΅ kissed me, but there was distance in every touch, a silence between our bodies that no words could fill. He was with me... but he wasn't with me. And just when I thought I'd finally breathe again, Kian Albrecht walked into my life. My brother's best friend. His presence is like smoke and fire, impossible to ignore, dangerous to inhale. He doesn't ask. He claims. He doesn't knock. He breaks through. And when his eyes fall on me, I feel it deep in my bones - I'm not safe, not from him... not from what he awakens in me. Now, I'm unraveling. My stalker is watching again. Vivaan is slipping away. And Kian-he's not a savior. He's a storm dressed in obsession, and somehow, I'm standing in the center of it, unable to move, unable to run. This isn't a love story. This is a warning. And I think I'm already too late to save myself.
I didn't know I was disappearing until it was almost too late. At first, it was subtle. A missed call here. A joke at my expense there. A delay in responding, followed by a grand explanation that made me feel silly for even asking. You start to wonder if you're imagining things-if your skin has grown too thin, or if the world has always been this cold and you just never noticed. But no, this is different. This is targeted. This is personal. He came to me like a storm pretending to be sunlight. Charming, magnetic, wounded-how I mistook those wounds as something that needed my healing. I didn't know then that narcissistic abuse doesn't always arrive screaming. Sometimes, it tiptoes in wearing the face of love. He said all the right things at the right time, until I stopped trusting my own sense of wrong. The highs were dizzying: he told me I was everything. Special. Unlike anyone he had ever met. He made me feel chosen. And so, I stayed-even when the lows scraped at my bones, even when the words grew sharp and the silence louder than his rage. I didn't see the cage being built because I was too busy decorating it, thinking I was safe inside. The thing about narcissistic pain is that it often masquerades as longing. You ache not just for the person-but for the version of yourself you were when they first looked at you like you mattered. You miss the illusion. You miss the fantasy. And worst of all, you blame yourself when it shatters.
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