I saw her in a dream. She appeared tangible, radiant, and untouchable—an aura of grandeur and calm surrounding her. When she smiled, it softened hearts, and everyone laughed along. I had long forgotten what it means to love; I lived entirely in the moment, no longer yearning for what could be.
We ran a society for children who had long lost hope. Those were dark times—war ravaging the lands, hearts wounded, bodies burnt—yet we clung to a fragile thread of hope to carry on.
It was in those times that I saw her: a figure of strength and dignity amid chaos. All I had to offer was my knowledge and power, laboring like a beast of burden to till the ruined lands so that the seeds of tomorrow might be sown.
Later, someone recounted a story of love and loss, and soon we gathered around a bonfire. I stood by a tree, leaning against it as I listened, cherishing the smiling faces around me. She was there too, with the softest, most tender smile I had seen in a long time. Yet something slipped from someone's lips—something that perhaps should have been forgotten. It was the scream that had never escaped my own mouth, a thought never turned into words for fear of its consequences. That brief outburst piqued her curiosity, and she began demanding answers. In that moment, I realized that some truths remain elusive no matter how much you ask; the only choices are silence or the risk of great loss. I have always struggled to hold my tongue, never wanting to be the one to reject others. I saw my life through their eyes, believing I had never done enough. When I finally spoke to clarify, it was too late—the deed had been done.
A wash of red spread across her face as a shrill cry escaped her soft, tender, pink lips. In that instant, everything I had believed about her shattered. The strong, tender, and courteous woman broke down, and only after her words did she come to understand that I had not meant them in that way. It is natural to have feelings for someone; what matters is making sense of them and deciding whether they are worthy of your attention.
There is no such thing as love at first sight—it is always transactional and time-consuming. Yet sanity, wisdom, and empathy are genuine qualities that can be either sincere or feigned.
That night, I was not saddened by being declined; rather, I grieved for what she had done to herself—the destruction of the statue of her that had always stood as a symbol of who she was. There was no next day at that place. I left in the morning, paying my respects to the shattered remains of that statue, while the sun failed to rise. The sky remained cloaked in dark clouds; there was no bonfire, no laughter of children, no windmills swirling in the distance. Only the scent of blood, death, diesel, and decay filled the air, thick with soot and smoke, leaving me with a sore throat. There was no new day—only the endless hour of night.