I think I know deep down that I deserve better, but better hasn’t really come along. My heart doesn’t settle on better—it settles on chaos.

Waking up in your bed, feeling paralyzed, your heart trying to jump out of your chest. You can’t make any sense of what’s going on. You can only turn to your toxic coping traits; they’ve kept you going for so long, they won’t abandon you now. It’s either that or completely break down. You’ve been spiraling, without any steadiness to hold onto. Everything feels shaky, every truth comes with a lie, nothing is what it seems. You’ve been played, again. Thought you knew better, thought you were smarter, but at the end of the day, you’re just a girl who wants to be loved. Love, your kryptonite. Charming men, your drug.

The nothingness is what feels like the most torture. The uncertainty, the void. It feels so deep, impenetrable.

How can you not freak out, right? These things happen. People promise you the world, and then they disappear. You just never thought it would happen to you. But it has. And now, you have to accept it. Yes, it’s hard. Yes, it’s embarrassing. But how brave of you to love so fiercely. How brave of you to think he would catch you when he asked you to jump. How brave of you to hope in such a hopeless world.

Walking home from the office is something I love, even though the streets of Malé aren’t built for walking. It’s not the cracked pavements or the narrow lanes that draw me in—it’s the people I come across.

There was this old woman I saw today, probably in her late 70s. Her short white hair stood out like a crown of wisdom, and her gentle demeanor caught me off guard. She stood quietly at the edge of the pavement, making space for everyone else to pass. Such a gentle soul. I smiled at her, and to my surprise, she smiled back. It was such a simple exchange, yet it warmed my heart in a way that words can’t describe. And just around the corner, I saw a father picking up his child from daycare—a toddler no older than one. In that brief moment, the circle of life seemed to close before my eyes. One woman nearing the end of her journey, and a father holding the future in his arms.

This is why I love these walks, even when they’re born out of necessity because I couldn’t find a cab. It started to drizzle as I walked, adding a softness to the chaos of the day. The rain always has a way of making everything feel a little more forgiving. Despite the mess in my mind, these walks remind me of how small my worries are in the grand scheme of things. You pass by countless lives, each filled with their own struggles, joys, and quiet moments of grace. And somehow, in that passing, you realize that your problems may not be as overwhelming as they seem. The world goes on, and so will you.

It’s been a rough week, and I can feel myself slipping. Slowly, piece by piece, I’ve started losing interest in parts of my life that once mattered, and with that comes this unsettling feeling—like I’m losing control of everything. There’s this constant weight, like I’m standing at a crossroads I never chose, faced with decisions I don’t want to make, and somehow, I keep hurting the one person I love the most. Unintentionally, but still, I’m causing pain, and it’s eating away at me.

Right now, I’m sitting here making yet another promise to myself: that next week will be different. That next week, I’ll finally get my life together, clean up the mess, and fix what’s broken. But deep down, there’s this strange, nagging feeling. It’s familiar because I’ve been here before, telling myself the same thing over and over. And the truth is, for so long, I thought I already had my shit together. Even when I was battling my depression, even when my mind was a storm of confusion and noise, I could still drag myself out of bed. I could still function, go to work, and keep up appearances.

But now, it feels different. Now, I can’t seem to push through. It’s like my energy is completely drained, and I’m left staring at this version of myself I don’t recognize. Maybe I know where the problem lies, maybe I don’t. Either way, something inside me has shifted, and I know I have to face it. The hardest part is figuring out where to start, because for the first time, I feel like I’m truly lost. It’s a problem I can’t keep running from anymore—something’s got to give, and I’m the only one who can fix it.

I want to push harder, but I’m scared. Scared that if I do, they’ll leave. Even though I’ve healed, there’s still this lingering thought that I’m unlovable. I’ve believed it for so long that it’s like muscle memory—the feeling of not being wanted or loved enough.

Children who grow up broken become broken adults. So love your kids well, not because it’s something that needs to be said, but because it should be instinctual—human nature. Every child who isn’t loved properly grows into someone who craves it, who settles for any scraps of affection they find. They’ll love you raw, without armor, because they’re desperate. So they settle. I’ll take what I can get. If intimacy means giving myself up, then fine. I’ll do it just to feel close to someone, to feel loved, even if it’s fleeting. Damn this life. Damn the demons I carry. Damn every self-sabotaging, destructive version of me.

I feel heavy with sadness today.

I’m in tears. I want to call you, to say I need you. But if you wanted to be here, you would be. So I don’t.

While she was packing up her things and walking away from him, she had no idea that just a few miles away, another girl sat in front of a camera, obliviously straightening her hair, speaking to a screen, wrapped in her own world. The weight of leaving someone behind, the silence that now filled the emptying home—these two moments existed in separate universes, untouched by one another. Yet soon, they would intersect in a way no one expected.

That’s the strange yet beautiful thing about life. One story had to end so another could begin, all in perfect timing. Life is all about timing. Two people can meet and fall in love, but for that love to flourish, they need both timing and luck on their side. And that’s what we had.

I was the girl at home, talking to my camera. A little blue, but relishing my freedom. Love was something I had once craved, but now it sat on the back burner, an afterthought. He, on the other hand, was a stranger to me—a fleeting memory of one of the oddest, most uncomfortable encounters of my life when I was 22. Back then, if you’d told me he’d reenter my life, I would’ve laughed. Nine years had passed since that strange encounter, and yet here we were, our paths about to cross again in the most serendipitous way.

Honestly, if I could’ve chosen, I wouldn’t have picked to be in the same room as him, let alone share any part of my life. I didn’t know him, and frankly, I didn’t care to. Our history was messy and complicated. It wasn’t the kind of past that led to second chances.

But life, in its peculiar way, brought us back together, this time with the possibility of something new. A clean slate, if we wanted it. Whether we would become friends or simply two people who no longer held onto bitterness was something we had to decide for ourselves. He, surprisingly, chose to be the bigger person. He reached out first. Not in the kindest way—no, his initial approach was a full-on public takedown. But just weeks later, he offered something unexpected: a simple apology. There was curiosity in his words, a softness I hadn’t known before.

Of course, he still had his pride, and he made sure I knew he wanted me to own up to my part in our shared history. He wasn’t wrong. I hadn’t been perfect either, and I could see that now. So I apologized—for the unfairness.

And that was how it started. What began as a hesitant, almost misguided attempt at friendship soon became something much deeper. We started talking—really talking. What began as casual conversations evolved into long, late-night phone calls. Hours would pass, and we would lose ourselves in each other’s voices, sharing pieces of ourselves that had long been hidden. The world outside, which had once seemed so gray, began to fill with color again.

She was desperately trying to hold herself together, but her heart felt like it was shattering. She didn’t know how to feel or what to think anymore. Time passed, yet nothing soothed her mind or soul. She was slipping into helplessness, edging closer to desperation. Her heart raced uncontrollably, making it impossible to stay still.

After work, she’d taken a nap, hoping it would bring some peace or at least pass the time. Her alarm woke her, reminding her of a spa appointment she’d booked earlier, unaware of how awful the day would turn out to be. It was too late to cancel, so she forced herself up and got ready. Her heart was far from calm, but there was no other option.

She hadn’t heard from him in over 12 hours. It wasn’t like him, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was doing this on purpose. Was this his way of saying something without saying anything at all? She hadn’t cried yet, but she knew the tears would come when reality hit her.

Everything around her reminded her of him. This was her first real attachment since the breakup a year ago, the one she’d sworn would be her last. Yet here she was again, falling hard and fast for him. He’d charmed her effortlessly, said all the right things, and now his absence was tearing her apart.

The only thing holding her together was the medication. Maybe that’s why the tears hadn’t come yet.

Now, 16 hours had passed without a word from him, and she was barely holding on. She couldn’t believe it was happening. One moment he was making promises, and the next, he had disappeared. She couldn’t understand how someone she trusted with her heart could vanish like this. It was cruel, and it left her questioning everything—how she had let him in, let him become part of her life, only for him to discard her so easily.

She saw two paths ahead: one where she spiraled into self-loathing and blamed herself for everything he had done, or one where she realized it wasn’t about her at all. She had just been caught in someone else’s game. That was her misfortune, and perhaps her lesson.

She vowed never to call him again. But deep down, she knew if he reached out, she’d answer. So she prayed that he wouldn’t.

Nearly 24 hours later, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Reality hit her like a wave. The meds wore off, and she broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. She couldn’t stop herself from dialing his number over and over. No answer. She left voicemail after voicemail, her voice choked with tears. She sent message after message. No reply.

Has she lost him?

“How are you, love?”

It felt like a miracle that she asked, completely out of the blue. Maybe our closest friends are attuned to our inner turmoil, sensing when something isn’t right.

I wanted to be honest with her, to tell her the truth—that I was hurting, disappointed, maybe even defeated.

But I couldn’t. Not without casting the man I loved in a bad light. So, instead, I chose to protect him, burying my own feelings deep inside.

I almost lied and told her I was fine. It’s strange what we do for love—silently enduring just to keep their image intact in front of others.

I’ve been here before. I’ve learned this lesson. Yet, here I was, ready to repeat it because I had fallen once again. How foolish—after everything, how foolish.

But instead of hiding, I let myself be vulnerable. I told her the truth—that I’m still trying to figure it all out. Some days feel like a dream; others, it feels like I’m on the verge of collapsing under the weight of it. Love never seems to be kind to the heart.

She tells me that doesn’t sound good. I tell her it isn’t. And I’m too afraid to admit it to myself.

And so I pray, hoping that I can find a way to protect my heart before it’s too late.

August has suddenly become my favorite month.

For the longest time, August was just a fleeting moment—‘August slipped away into a moment in time, ’cause it was never mine.’ But this year, I want to rewrite those lyrics. I don’t want August to slip away; I want it to last. I want us to stay by each other’s side, laughing, loving, and kissing forever.

I can’t tell our full story just yet, but I can’t wait until I can. He makes me feel things I never knew I was capable of feeling. I may be medicated, but I’m also in love. And nothing can take this feeling away.

🧿