Kiki and Arham met in their second year of college. She liked the way he laughed too loudly in the cafeteria, how his confidence filled every room. He liked how easy it was to be around her—no pressure, no expectations.
They started hanging out after classes, studying together, grabbing late-night coffee. Soon, those study sessions turned into sleepovers. For Kiki, it felt like love blooming quietly, layer by layer. She memorized the curve of his smile, the way he absentmindedly played with her hair. To her, he wasn’t just a fling—he was the one.
But for Arham, it was casual. A situationship. She was his comfort, his late-night call, his warmth when the world got too heavy. He told himself he wasn’t ready for love, and he told her nothing at all.
Kiki never asked for labels, though her heart ached for them. Every time she wanted to ask “What are we?”, fear silenced her. She stayed, hoping his feelings would catch up to hers.
Then one day, they didn’t.
Kiki pulled away. She stopped answering his midnight texts. When Arham finally asked what was wrong, she said with teary eyes and a broken smile,
“Arham, I loved you. I still do. But I can’t keep being a secret, or just a body to you. I deserve more.”
She walked away before he could respond.
Months later, Arham saw her again—dressed in gold, radiant under wedding lights, standing beside another man who held her hand with pride. The guy was everything Kiki deserved: confident, devoted, openly in love with her.
That’s when it hit him. All those nights, all those moments—he had loved her too. He was just too afraid to admit it, too selfish to risk losing the freedom he clung to.
Now, it was too late.
As Kiki smiled at her groom, Arham stood at the back of the hall, unseen in the crowd. His chest ached with the weight of words unsaid.
And for the first time, he understood what it meant to lose someone you never truly claimed.
They started hanging out after classes, studying together, grabbing late-night coffee. Soon, those study sessions turned into sleepovers. For Kiki, it felt like love blooming quietly, layer by layer. She memorized the curve of his smile, the way he absentmindedly played with her hair. To her, he wasn’t just a fling—he was the one.
But for Arham, it was casual. A situationship. She was his comfort, his late-night call, his warmth when the world got too heavy. He told himself he wasn’t ready for love, and he told her nothing at all.
Kiki never asked for labels, though her heart ached for them. Every time she wanted to ask “What are we?”, fear silenced her. She stayed, hoping his feelings would catch up to hers.
Then one day, they didn’t.
Kiki pulled away. She stopped answering his midnight texts. When Arham finally asked what was wrong, she said with teary eyes and a broken smile,
“Arham, I loved you. I still do. But I can’t keep being a secret, or just a body to you. I deserve more.”
She walked away before he could respond.
Months later, Arham saw her again—dressed in gold, radiant under wedding lights, standing beside another man who held her hand with pride. The guy was everything Kiki deserved: confident, devoted, openly in love with her.
That’s when it hit him. All those nights, all those moments—he had loved her too. He was just too afraid to admit it, too selfish to risk losing the freedom he clung to.
Now, it was too late.
As Kiki smiled at her groom, Arham stood at the back of the hall, unseen in the crowd. His chest ached with the weight of words unsaid.
And for the first time, he understood what it meant to lose someone you never truly claimed.
