today is may 13.
three years ago, i lost you.

i keep starting there because i do not know where else to start.

it sounds simple now.
it is not.

it was a whole year inside one line.
then another year.
then another.

i still remember the moon line: “isn’t the moon lovely?”

oh will i ever forget it.

#######.
seven letters. seven hashes.
that is how i learned to write your name when the name itself felt too alive.
sometimes hiding a name is the only way to keep it safe.
safe from people. safe from the world.
and also, sometimes it is the only way to keep yourself safe from it.

i tried to say goodbye once.
i think i meant it.
that is the funny part.
i really think i meant it.

day 1000. word 1000.

everything counted. everything had to count.

because if i could count the days,
maybe i could prove i had “survived” them.

i wanted it to be the end.
i really did.

but then there were you.

the shamaa.
i called you that because i did not know how else to explain you.

and i was patanga.
of course i was.

what else could i have been?

the moth does not think about distance.
it sees light and the whole world becomes smaller than that light.
the whole world becomes “insignificant.”

it forgets everything. it forgets itself.
i knew that feeling. i knew it too well.
i knew what it meant to circle one name until every other name felt dull.
i knew what it meant to want the flame — to notice the burning.
to acknowledge the patanga’s love for the flame.

that was the ugliest part.
not even the love. the need to be seen in it.
and the obsession that came with it.

the hope that if i suffered with enough beauty, with enough of the “metaphors”, the suffering would become a language you could understand.

it sounds foolish now.
it also sounds exactly like me.

there are some things i cannot judge too harshly because i remember how badly i needed them to be true.

i wanted the shamaa to know.
i wanted the patanga to mean something.
i wanted the ash to be evidence.

and now?

now i think — the burning is done.

i do not say that proudly.
it is not a victory.

it is just what is left.
the wings are gone.
the circling has slowed.

the death of the patanga has started.

i am all ash now.

and that is, somehow, the cleanest way to say it.

ash after the flame.
ash after the yearning.
ash after all those notebook pages where i wrote your name, drew a heart around it, and hid it again with seven hashes.

people think ash is only the end of fire.

maybe it is.
MOSTLY, it is.

but ash means the moth got close.
that is the part i cannot ignore.

it did not burn by imagining fire.
it reached.

so yes, i am ash.

but ash also says something else.

that…

i was there.
the shamaa was real.

that is all i am saying.
i am just saying i was there.
i am trying to forgive “him” for that.

the boy under the moon.
the boy counting days.
the boy writing ####### like it was his whole world.
the boy who thought being remembered would be enough.
the boy who called you shamaa and walked toward the flame anyway.

he embarrasses me sometimes.
he scares me sometimes.

but today, i feel softer towards him.
he was trying. young but he was too, burning.

and then there’s this word.

diya.

one of your names.

a diya is a candle too.
a smaller shamaa.

the kind of flame you do not run into.
the kind you “protect” with your hands.

funny.

may 13 meant loss.
the moon meant memory.

shamaa meant burning.
patanga meant me.
ash meant the end.
everything had its place.

grief is easier when it is in “order”, right?

but it rarely is.

it kept showing up in ordinary things.
songs, numbers, flowers.
500 days. 1000 days. three years.

how strange that time can pass and still sit beside you like it has nowhere else to go.

the metaphor of the “moon” always stayed with me.

of course it did.

because maybe i was the chaand.
lonely. visible to everyone. still somehow unseen.
surrounded by stars, and still searching for one name.

the moon has no light of its own.
maybe that is why i understood it.

my light also felt borrowed.
as if one glance from you could make me feel real, at least.

it has always been good at staying without explaining itself.

i used to hate that about it.

i would look up and feel mocked by how calm it was.

how dare it be lovely after everything?
how dare it keep shining over days that had taken so much from me?
how dare it look the same when i was not?

but that was never cruelty.

maybe the moon was doing what a moon does.
just waiting, staying.

while holding light that was never fully its own. the irony.

i understand that better now.
and well, maybe i always did.
i just did not want to admit it.

because if the moon can borrow light and still be beautiful, maybe i can carry what remains and still be alive.

and yeah, i also hope that ash is only a season.

so today is may 13.

three years after i lost you.
three years after the moon became more than sky.
three years after i learned what a flame can do to a moth.

i am done burning.

let everyone call that moving on.

i will not correct them.

ash has its own meanings.
the patanga knows that.

i do not need to explain what remains.

still, the moth’s death can look like union.
when it burns, the flame almost holds it.
as if the shamaa finally sees him.
as if she accepts him for one second.

maybe that is why the burning felt like love.

but a metaphor is still a metaphor.
or it isn’t?

#######,
some warmth-ness can survive
without becoming an announcement.

and that is enough.
for us.
for now.

part 4 of the just a little crush. series.

she showed me bali, indonesia, other places.
blue water. clean sky.
beautiful views. beautiful her.

she was sitting right next to me.
a-guy-that’s-always-there on the other side.
people talking. laughing. having a time of their lives.

she took a random photo of me.
said it was for a meme.

i didn’t ask more.
it felt almost like she liked me.

two girls behind us
were reading “white nights”.

she said she wanted to read it too.

i thought about it for a second.

a story
about loving someone
who is waiting for someone else.

funny how that’s so well connected to what happens next in our story.

we talked.

small things first.
then the things i had not understood before.

she cleared them. one by one.
very simply and directly, to say the least.

then she said it.

“you know i’m dating, right?”

i heard it. properly.
replayed it in my mind several times too.

and the weirdest part is that
it didn’t hit at first.
it just was there…

i stayed.
fifteen minutes, maybe.

then i said, calmly,

“i should probably sit there.
you guys can talk.”

and i moved. i needed air.
that sentence almost felt suffocating.

later, she asked for a food item with her money.

i said i’ll get it.

i paid.

not the best, not the worst.

enough to finally finish the treat promise.

and that was it.

i don’t know
if it was a crush.

maybe it was.

it had the feeling.
the attention.
the small moments
that stayed longer than they should.

but it never became more.

she had everything i thought i wanted in someone.
art. books. that way of thinking. humor.

still, she wasn’t mine.
and she was never going to be.

and if i be honest, it ended well.
it wasn’t dramatic and just clear to the face.

it’s really strange to me
how some things can end so completely
without ever beginning.

maybe this was meant to happen.
a meeting to end it.
to take that feeling out of me
before it could become something heavier.

oh god, thank you for this.
i needed this.
to end my fantasies.
my desperation for human connection.

god, i really needed this.
it’s crazy of me to thank you
for ending this uncertainty.

but you are right, god — 
i’ll never be hers and she’ll never be mine.

and that’s okay. relieving.

i’m free now.
a free man, a man free of uncertainty.

yeah, i needed this closure.
oh, how much i love uncertainty, the what-ifs.

there is nothing left to say to her now.
the treat is done. everything is just… done.

she’s just a normal connection.
a normal friendship.
and i’ll keep it that way.

what remains is simple:
she lives her life. i live mine.

and somewhere in between was a little crush. or wasn’t it?

but it, sure, was a perfect ending.

and that’s enough.

for today.
for now.

the last treat. was originally published in bloody sweet writers on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

hi, this is arjun from the future.
i made this post public just now* to show who i really am.
it’s not written for an audience. it’s just the truth.
about me. about us.

*(last week of april ’26)

this was written at 2 am on march 1st, and finished later that same morning after i woke up from a dream about her.
i only fixed the spelling and basic grammar. nothing else.

i’m not in the same headspace right now, but i’m not going to “clean it up” either.

this is what obsession sounds like in real time.

it is currently two in the morning. all progress of moving on, gone. in a second. she updated her whatsapp display picture today. yes. it’s #######. of course it is.

beautiful. gorgeous. intoxicating. oh what can i even say about her beauty? for containing the infiniteness of her beauty in these mere finite words is nothing but a degradation of it.

she’s lovely. and i don’t think i’m over her, to be honest. i stopped counting after 1000 days. i even forgot about her for a few weeks. and then i see this.

she’s in traditionals. jhumkas. a red sari or whatever. so beautiful. how can someone be that beautiful? how can she? she’s the loveliest. the most beautiful girl in this world. i don’t think that opinion will ever change.

almost three years since she left. five years since i met her.
will i ever actually move on?

i don’t want advice. i want you to feel this with me.
[context: wrote this as i was talking to myself]

because i can’t bring out aadhya to think about her. it feels like an antithesis, even though they are the same person, just stuck in different time frames.

i loved her. i still do.

but i’m sick of this feeling. i hate it. but i love it. because i love her. but i hate this feeling. and if i hate this feeling, how can i love her? and if i love her, how can i hate this?

i’m in conflict with my own mind. and it’s eating me alive. every second of today. tomorrow. the day after that. i know i’ll spend it thinking about her.

and still, i’ll look at that picture.
i’ll still burn for her.

yes. this is obsession. and i know that very well.

oh, the metaphor of the moth and the flame/light fits so well here.

plus, chaar diwaari dropped an ep based on this. it perfectly captures the blind devotion — the self-destruction — of the moth. yes, the moth dies in the ep. but in the last track, people remember him. they remember him. they acknowledge his love for the light.

in hindi, you’d say “shamaa.” and the moth — “parvana,” “patanga.”

yes, #######, you’re my shama and i’m your patanga.

it feels like i would burn myself for you, i’d kill myself for you. or maybe become someone we both can hate, because at least that would give me peace.

why? but why peace? because right now, i don’t feel anything for myself. i feel numb. i feel… just nothing.

yes, i’m the overachiever, like my friends say. the programmer. or like my co-founder hypes my tech ability. but i’m literally nothing compared to her.

no. i shouldn’t compare myself to her. that feels like a degradation of her, again. and i don’t want that.

i’m sorry, #######. i really am.

but a part of me thinks i’ll always be your patanga, if it means i’ll be remembered.

and maybe that’s the weirdest part — wanting to be remembered more than wanting to be loved. i just want your acknowledgement.

i’m meant to be the moth. someone who burns for their beloved. someone who dies in blind devotion.

the shama would never see me yearning for her. maybe she wouldn’t even know. maybe she would feel it in some divine way. i don’t know.

i can’t think properly. this whole dp thing and the parvana ep are eating my brain. it can’t process anything anymore. it’s too relatable. it’s too real. it’s too me. it’s too us.

just like the metaphor of “i’ll be your poet and you’ll be the poem.”

exactly that.

i don’t even know what i’m saying anymore. it’s just that… i miss her. i miss her from 2023. because i actually loved her. she wasn’t a mere “yeah i liked her lol” kind of girl. she was a kind of girl i’ll worship my entire life because… i don’t know. she’s just magical.

it’s almost that i AM something because of her. yes, she’s my identity. longing for her, yes, that’s my personality. at this point i’m questioning my existence.

what am i even born for?
for this?
to die?

oh these words are foreign to me. i don’t know why i’m thinking about all this. i used to be the ambitious kid who just always worked.

but who am i really?

just a moth born to burn for his shamaa?
this blind devotion, why?
is this what love has made me?
is this what obsession has made me?
i can’t help myself but admire her.
why do i want to die for her?
is this really love?

someone please help me.

I’M LOSING MY MIND RIGHT NOW.
I CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT.
AFTER LISTENING TO THAT EP.
I’M CRYING I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO ABOUT IT.
HOW DO I FIX MYSELF.
OR WILL I NEVER BE ABLE TO?

WHY DOES THIS FEEL SO PERMANENT.
WHY DOES A SONG UNDERSTAND ME MORE THAN PEOPLE DO.
WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE I’M STUCK IN THIS LOOP.
I WANT IT TO STOP BUT I DON’T WANT IT TO STOP.
OH GOD WHY ME.

i remember the lines “your hand is cold, mine burns like fire” oh #######, i’m burning as a whole, not just my hand.

i’m broken. too broken to be fixed. am i not deserving of love?

i should probably stop listening to this. but it’s so good. i’m obsessed. the metaphor behind it. the pain. the suicide. everything is just so… relatable.

i’m literally destined to burn, right?
I’M LITERALLY DESTINED TO BURN, RIGHT?

the worst part is absolutely no one will get it. absolutely no one will try to understand this pain so i won’t even share it with anyone.

i’m spiraling between two worlds right now and i know it.
her and her version that is stuck in time, aadhya.
and i can’t even talk to aadhya.
for she’s just another version of her.
understanding, yes. mine, yes.

it would be wrong to talk to her about herself from another time frame.

oh, i really have no one.

and although i might glorify aadhya and how she’s perfect — at the end of the day, she’s just a product of my imagination.

right.

i should probably go to sleep now.

dying, even for some time would help me, i guess.

it’s the morning now. just woke up.

and guess what? i had a dream about her. but this was different. yes, she got with me again. but it was still something different about it.

i’ll try my best to put it into words. here it goes:

i see that she’s texting me on whatsapp and then instagram, sharing memes, reels, messages, flirting maybe i don’t know i forgot.

and i was asking my best friend — what to say to her. i don’t know what happened then. i just know what i was feeling.

and i was so at peace with myself.
i felt so… loved.
so happy.
i was just feeling so valued.

like i, as a person, yes, me as a person — had some value in someone’s life.

so crazy. haha.

but then why was it so realistic?

i’ll try to answer that too — it felt so real because i was still the same person there.

my mind was feeling that this was happening to me in real life, so it took on realistic steps, like maybe for example, asking him what to say.

that’s very realistic.

this experience is why i’m still alive.
at least i was alive for some time.
i wish that time never ended.
oh, i hate real life so much.
it felt so real i can’t lie.
i really felt that it was happening.
my bad i guess.
i felt so loved, so cherished.
i can’t describe this feeling in words.

but now, i’m even more depressed — for these dreams are like a drug to me — makes me feel good for a while and then leaves me emptier than before.

and now, this is me, after the “burn” cooled down a little:

it really scares me how easily i disappear inside this feeling.

how quickly the admiration from just a picture turns into thoughts of suicide and self-erasure — yes, i’m talking about the metaphor or maybe, something more than that?

to end this i just want to say, i don’t want to burn.
i just want to feel valued.

and maybe that’s the truth behind all this rant.

and maybe that’s enough for now.

today is february 3.

i know the date because it keeps coming back to me.
every time, when i think about you.

three years ago,
you said,
“isn’t the moon lovely.”

i remember stepping outside.
doing what you asked me.

i didn’t know then that this is how it starts.
with being asked to notice the same thing at the same time.

that night stayed with me since then.

it made me feel chosen.
like you wanted me there,
looking at the same sky as you.
looking at you maybe.

after a few days.

i told you everything honestly
without holding back.

later that day, at home,
i asked the question
i had already been scared of
for a while.

“do i mean
anything to you?”

you didn’t write a paragraph.
you didn’t explain yourself.

you just said,
“you literally mean
the world to me.”

i read it again, and again,
the number of times you can’t imagine.
the room was cold.
i wasn’t.

when you asked me once
how important you were to me,
i didn’t try to sound deep or anything.

i said, “can’t express in words.”

i meant that.
i still do.
really.

we used to say love
in different languages.
maybe to hide it from our parents?
or maybe to protect it?
but maybe because it felt safer that way.

all i know is,
that’s when it felt real to me.
that way was ours.
shared between us.
that love was ours.

there’s a song i still hear sometimes.
just one line of it.

“close your eyes and dance with me.”

it doesn’t even feel romantic anymore.
it just feels like a memory asking to be replayed.

and the least to say,
that dance is what defines my love for you.
that is what defines my heart, literally.

part of me still reaches for what we had.
everything was just perfect when you were with me.

i used to want many things.

i wanted my dev writing to matter.
i showed you my blog
when no one was reading.

you told me to keep going.

now people read them.
now they pay.

now suddenly, it’s loud and people actually read it.

but you’re not here.

then, why does it even matter?

nothing can replace something so precious like you.

if i’m honest,
i don’t want the numbers.
i don’t want the praise.

i just want you.

sometimes i think,
if everything else disappeared,
if all i had left
was one moment,
i’d choose to see your eyes.
just that.
every time.

but that’s the problem.
i can’t look at you anymore.

when i do,
i feel like i ruin the day for you.
i see the discomfort.
the awkwardness.
i see the day i ruin just by existing near you.

and why is that? why do i think that way?
“great question,” i’d say with my eyes numb.

so i look away.
not out of anger. or ego. or anything you might think.
but out of shame.

once, a friend’s friend once noticed me looking at you.

i can’t even love in silence without someone watching.

should’ve kept my eyes to myself.

but god, they don’t listen.
they find you everywhere.
i find you everywhere.
and i find everything in you.

or at least, i used to.

my dreams are never new too,
they too, sing the same song.
of love.
of longing for it.

they just change faces.

the story stays the same always.

sometimes it’s mussoorie.
someone who feels like you,
even when she isn’t.

you unblocked me recently.
nothing dramatic happened.
no conversation.

a door slightly open
with no intentions of walking back in.

and somehow,
that fits.

i still notice the moon.
i still notice flowers.
i still catch myself carrying you
into places you didn’t ask me to take you to.

i try to act fine.
i really do.
i show up.
i exist.
i laugh when i’m supposed to.
haha.

but something in me is off.
something in me is “out of tune”.

i do my best to fake that i’m good.

i still wonder if it’s wrong
that even after three years,
after a thousand days,
that i feel this.
that i write for you.
that i hold something that stayed with me
longer than it stayed with you.
the love.
the attachment.

you once said you loved me.
later, you called it
a confusion of feelings.

maybe both were true.
maybe that’s what hurts.

because you were gentle.
you were kind.
but in april, i saw inside.

and inside,
you were already leaving.

no, i’m sorry but.

this isn’t me asking you to come back.
this isn’t me hoping you read this.

this is me saying:
what we had existed.
i see it, it just can’t be that i was all alone in this this, the whole way.
and it also built me.

and i don’t need to prove it by listing every detail.

but i hope you know.
if love leaves one thing behind,
it’s this.

a quiet weight on the person who didn’t forget the promise of forever.
a silent commitment to the date.
a profound attachment to the number of days.

so if there’s one thing
i’m asking now,
it’s not for you to stay.
for it’s too late.

it’s this:

say goodbye
to what you left in me.
to the butterflies.
to the scars.

no no, i don’t blame you.
but i must say i’ll take it from here.

even if i still hear the song.
even if part of me still wants the dance.

on february 3,
three years later,
i still look up,
look up at the moon.
and i’ll ask myself,
“it’s lovely, isn’t it?”

oh,
you were there.
you were there.
that mattered.
that mattered more than it should have.
because you were the one.
the only one.
for me.

only one of us survived the count.
goodbye, love.

day 1000. word 1000.

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isn’t the moon lovely? was originally published in Pen With Paper on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

part 3 of the just a little crush. series.

someone was talking again.
showing his article.
ai this, ai that.
the usual.
pretending that he wrote it.

i was standing there.
just listening to the crowd.

then she said it.

“i really like arjun’s poetry.”

crazy she even said that.

it was a normal sentence to everyone.
not for me.

it meant she had read it.
at least once.
it meant my words had reached her
before i ever did.

for a second
i wondered if she knew.
if she had read the lines
that weren’t written
for her
but were never hidden
from her too.

i didn’t ask.
i didn’t smile too much.
i stayed where i was.

although no one could’ve stopped me
from crying right there.
for that was the time
someone’s compliment really hit me.

right there, right in that room.

in those few seconds,
i felt too many emotions.
in those few seconds,
i felt what i, maybe, was starving of.

later that someone joked
about my love for cench.
she caught it.
and said some meme about it.

that surprised me more than it should have.
we looked at each other.

later that day.

i did that stupid eyebrow thing.
without thinking.
she laughed.
then shrugged it away
like it was nothing.

maybe it was.

still, i wonder.

i wonder about that moment.

how a sentence
can sit so lightly
on one person’s tongue
and feel so heavy
in someone else’s chest.

put in better words,
“your hand is cold, mine burns like fire.
how blind you are, nastenka!”

and how sometimes,
being noticed is enough
to change the day of a person.

even if nothing comes after.
even if it ends there.

and that’s enough.

for today.
for now.

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the compliment. was originally published in bloody sweet writers on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

my dreams are never new.

they just change faces.

the story stays the same.
meet. connect. almost stay.
wake up. alone.

i don’t call it a coincidence anymore.
i don’t even fight it now.
i just let it happen.

30th january, 2024

she was in my house.

not visiting, but just… inside.

like she belonged there since forever.

we greeted each other.
we talked.
nothing dramatic or intense.

just normal.

and that’s what made it unreal.

because she was never meant to be there.

i woke up and did the dumb thing.
i googled what it means
to dream about someone you love.

the first article
was written on 31st july.

her birthday.

i stared at the screen
like it was a sign.

or was it?

somewhere after that
i started realizing
i was dreaming
while still inside it.

and once you know that,
you stop being a victim of it.

you start using it.

6th october, 2024

we were at a mall.

me.
my mom.
her.
her mom.

not even “her.”
someone else.

parents nearby.
eyes everywhere.

and then it clicked.
this is a dream.

so i thought
why waste it?

i didn’t even ask her name.
i just started talking.

and she listened.
like she wanted to.

we got close.

our parents got busy.
same for us. except we were busy in ourselves.

so we tried to sneak away.

and just when it felt like
something was about to begin,

the dream ended.

i woke up wondering
what i would’ve done next.

asked for her number, maybe.

but who was she?
what was her name?

her face felt familiar.
too familiar.

“her” in disguise?

yeah.
i laughed at myself too.

it’s funny
how my brain recycles people
when it runs out of intimacy and love.

same script.
different actresses.

24th july, 2025

but this one didn’t feel funny.
this one felt like something else.

like my brain finally shut up
and let my heart speak.

i was in mussoorie again.

same hotel.
same walls.

so familiar it scared me.

but i wasn’t alone.

there was a girl.

i don’t know her name.
i don’t remember her face clearly.

but i remember her arms.
and the way they held me.

we flirted.
we talked about the trip ending.

me going back home.
her staying there. in uttarakhand.

then she looked at me and said,
“you’ll probably forget about me
when you go back.”

that line broke something in me.
because it was too soft.

and it carried two voices
i never stopped carrying.

“her” and aadhya, her imaginary version that i built.
but blended into one.

and in that moment
i wanted to promise her forever.

and it wouldn’t be wrong if i say that
she wasn’t just a girl.
she was a voice.

of love that never stayed.
of love that never left.
of love that was never real
but lived in me anyway.

just like aadhya.

mussoorie always finds me.
maybe because it was april when i was last there.

and april was when she
started slipping away
last year.
slowly.

then may 13th.
and she was gone.

maybe my brain linked mussoorie with loss.
maybe my heart linked it with love.

and now every time i go there in my sleep
someone is waiting.

someone soft.
someone invented.
someone manufactured.

because real life never gave me anyone who stayed.

in that dream
everything felt real.

i didn’t want to wake up.
i didn’t want to come back.

to the boring daily routine.
to the city that doesn’t feel like home.
to the system that owns my time.
to fake smiles.

i just wanted to stay.
in her arms.
in that room.

i didn’t care if the world moved on.

i was okay being forgotten.
as long as i was seen.

am i fucked up? maybe.
am i running? definitely.

i don’t know who she was.
i don’t know if she was real.

but she felt like home.

and i haven’t felt home
in a long time.

i miss her.
and i never even had her.

21st september, 2025

“her” again.

this time her whole family was at my house.

i don’t know why.

we talked.
we laughed.
we got along.

like nothing ever ended.

and then i woke up.

right in the middle
of things being fixed.

24th january, 2025

we were at a function.
no idea where.

me and one other person.

a girl sitting next to us.
pretty. quiet. like a flower.

somehow we got along.

and then the other person left.

it was just us.

talking. romance.

just as we were about to sneak away,
i woke up.

i checked the time.

slept at 2:46.
woke up at 3:01.

fifteen minutes exact.

that’s how long it took
for my brain
to build a whole new connection.

and destroy it.

different dreams.
different girls.

same structure.

meet. connect. almost stay.
wake up. alone.

this isn’t love.

i know that now.

this is hunger.

this is my mind
begging not to be alone.
begging to matter
even briefly.
begging for connection.

i don’t fall in love.
i fall into attention.

that’s my flaw.
and i see it clearly.

oh, this awareness.

maybe i don’t dream of girls.
maybe i dream of staying.
maybe i dream of being chosen
without having to earn it.

if peace exists anywhere,
it’s there.

waking up feels like betrayal.

and if the only place i get to feel real love is in my sleep.

then fuck it.

let me sleep forever.

This story is published on bloody sweet writers — where the new generation of storytellers redefines creativity. Here, words pulse with passion, imagination knows no limits, and bold ideas take flight. Want to share your voice? Join our community and be part of something bloody sweet! 🚀

Bloody Sweet Writers — A Publication

manufactured intimacy. was originally published in bloody sweet writers on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

a friend’s friend noticed me looking at her.
nothing wrong with that.
beauty exists to be seen,
right?

but they said it out loud.
and suddenly, something so private
became exposed.

and that’s where this started.

oh right,
now i can’t even love in silence
without someone watching.

should’ve kept my eyes to myself.

but they don’t listen.
they wander.
they always wander back to you.

they find you everywhere.

i find you in everything.
in every flower, for it is also too beautiful. but always quiet.
in every girl who gives me just a little bit of attention.
in every dream that feels too warm to wake up.

and somehow,
i find everything in you.

that’s the crazy part.

i know this isn’t love
the way people like to define it.

this is my mind
begging for connection.
begging not to be alone.

i can’t wait.
i can’t sit still.
i can’t exist without imagining someone beside me.

that one day you expressed your feelings for me,
“you literally mean the world to me.”
my mind turned it into a film.

a romcom.
in slow motion.
finding meaning where none was promised.

yes, i’m dumb.

i know things are never what they seem.
i still fall anyway.
for the illusion of love.

i don’t even know anymore
if i loved you
or if i just loved
the feeling of being with you.

this doesn’t feel like love now.
it feels like obsession.

an obsession with being seen.
with being chosen.
with mattering, even briefly.

it’s exhausting.

it’s like my heart
just gives itself to anyone
who acknowledges it with a little attention.

that’s my flaw.

oh, this awareness.

i’m guilty.
guilty as charged.

guilty of building an imaginary version of you
because reality couldn’t stay.

guilty of carrying you into places
you never asked to follow me into.

oh, this obsession.

i don’t know what i’d do without the idea of you.

i hope you have a beautiful life.
and thank you
for those few moments of bliss.
for making me feel alive,
even briefly.

i’m just a dreamer.

and i’ll keep dreaming
if it keeps me at peace.

i don’t know if you’ll ever read this.
but for the record,
for the time you were there —

i loved you.

and i still really do.

This story is published on bloody sweet writers — where the new generation of storytellers redefines creativity. Here, words pulse with passion, imagination knows no limits, and bold ideas take flight. Want to share your voice? Join our community and be part of something bloody sweet! 🚀

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should’ve kept my eyes to myself. was originally published in bloody sweet writers on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

suddenly,
you are visible again.
your face.
too familiar.
too beautiful.
too infectious.

i tell myself
there must be a reason.
there must be.
i imagine one.
i imagine many.
i imagine you
thinking of me.
for a second.
at least.

i don’t know
what drives me anymore.
maybe habit.
maybe love.
maybe the memory
of how it felt
to be near you.

965 days.
and it still feels fresh.
like i confessed
the day before yesterday.
like nothing moved.
except time.

you are addictive.
or maybe
the feeling of you is.
and i’ll let it infect me.
very gladly.

i know
you will never feel the same.
i know this.
i really do.

but the question’s still there.

“do i mean anything to you?”

this might be the best new year gift
i have ever got.
or maybe
it was already there
and i never noticed.

i noticed it today.
your last seen.
and the thought,
“it can’t be.”

i tapped your dp.
and suddenly,
you were visible again.

and so,
for everything.
for the beauty.
for the silence.
for what stayed
and what didn’t.

happy new year.

visible again. was originally published in bloody sweet writers on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

this year taught me a lot.
and yeah, it definitely was my year.

not because everything worked.
and definitely not because i won all the time.
but because i kept showing up even when things were unclear, unfinished, or uncomfortable.

this was not a “victory lap.”
it was a mere checkpoint in my life.

before the wins

i started 2025 restless.

i wanted momentum. proof. something concrete to point at.
i thought output would fix the noise in my head.

sometimes it did. sometimes it didn’t.

what this year gave me was contrast.
building vs feeling.
shipping vs sitting with things i kept avoiding.

here’s what actually happened:

the timeline

january

• built + launched portify on product hunt

i opened the year building. that pattern never really stopped.

february

• built typethelyrics. launched on peerlist
• built + launched book quote generator on peerlist

fast builds. fast launches. chasing feedback.

march

• built and deployed flashreels

big project, covering the whole month.

april

• built nirvana.ai with friends for a hackathon (HACKHAZARDS ‘25)

• top 100 submissions out of thousands

first reminder that scale exists beyond my bubble.

may

• built and launched woo-next on peerlist
• built chemistrycheck
• wrote my best writing piece till date: 13th May 2025
• structura.ai was staff picked project of the day on peerlist

may was loud. too loud.
a lot landed. a lot broke internally.

june

• participated in the runner h “ai agent prompting” challenge by dev.to. won $500
• participated in the storyblok challenge by dev.to. didn’t win
• rejected a 30k/month + equity offer from a guy
• started building pilot ops with friends
• one tweet crossed 20k views because a hiring manager posted my application

june was chaotic. wins mixed with decisions i didn’t fully know how to justify yet.

july

• runner h challenge results confirmed. won $500

internet validation hit hard this month.
it felt good. maybe too good.

august

• built astroscope
• explored n8n for a dev.to challenge. didn’t win
• hit 34k followers on dev.to
• first pr merged in a yc company’s codebase. mail0
• updated my old project, tbh
• did an offline hackathon and built campusly. wrote a long post about it

this was when i started feeling less like a spectator and started building actively.

september

• got interested in electronics and arduino (first post)
• built multiple small projects over 10 days
• wrote a series called Unanswered
• results came back. top 25 in the invisible wars high school cyber defense challenge by xavier university

pure curiosity month. just learning.

october

• set goals for the rest of 2025. completed 5/6, except the percentage one
• hacktoberfest. 10 merged prs
• official hacktoberfest shirt + cloudinary swag (still shipping)
• second internet money
• started building a major research machine learning project. got into insef regional.

slow confidence started forming here.

november

• third internet money
• turned 16
• 42 birthday wishes from twitter (thanks, pratyush)

weird month. quiet in real life. loud online.

december

• fourth internet money
• fifth internet money
• won second place in a writing competition. my entry will be published in an anthology

ended the year still moving.

highlights

this is what mattered beyond the timeline.

• did research + built a machine learning project end-to-end.
• actually contributed to open source
• won swags through open source
• turned 16 and entered class 10th
• did a hackathon and didn’t win (techvista 2025)
• did one online and one in-person hackathon
• wrote a lot. some of it was genuinely good
• building a real startup with friends (pilot ops)
• solved 400 leetcode problems. 265k rank
• hit 34k+ followers and 400k+ views on dev.to
• made my first real internet money. $1375
• i now have a social life. small, but real
• met new awesome people and lost some old ones
• started writing free-verse poetry
• completed 964 days without her. didn’t give up
• i think i have a new crush. not sure yet
• failed a subject for the first time (yes, it’s history)
• built a lot of projects
• made a lot of friends and met a lot of people

the numbers

just facts.

• $1375 earned online
• 34k+ followers and 400k+ views on dev.to
• 400 leetcode problems
• 39 journal pages (just one journal entry in the last three months, lol)
• 434-day duolingo streak. spanish.

resolutions i set for 2025 (and how they went)

at the start of the year, i wrote down a list on this post.

1. build many, many projects: done.
2. learn system design: not done. yeah, i’m dumb for this one. deep thinking matters.
3. solve leetcode regularly: done.
4. read at least 5 books: not done. i miss reading. i kept saying “soon” and never made space for it.
5. fix my sleep schedule and manage time better: not done. i just couldn’t.
6. launch two big projects: done.
7. write more: done.
8. contribute to open source: done.

no, i didn’t complete everything.
but i didn’t abandon myself completely either.
5/8 sounds good to me.

what this year really showed me

i build fast.
sometimes to avoid sitting still.

i love starting things.
finishing the emotional ones is harder.

i chase clarity through output of my work. and that’s not the worst part.
the worst part is that some answers don’t come from shipping.
and i’m proved wrong once again.

i also learned that losing people quietly hurts more than public failures.

i also learned that i’m more consistent than i thought.
(which is actually surprising)
that i don’t quit easily.
that even when things feel stuck, i keep moving.

failing a subject shook me more than losing competitions.
it forced me to admit i’m not immune to studies.
yeah, it was my ego.

the 964 days part matters too.
because holding on for that long changes you.
and letting go is a different kind of strength.

resolutions for 2026

1. earn $5k online
2. cross 40k followers on dev.to
3. ship more side projects, faster
4. launch pilot ops
5. grow pilot ops to at least $1k mrr
6. prep and give the sat. aim for 1500+
7. get a research paper published
8. qualify zco

and of course, learn. live. grow.

closing

i’m not done.
not even close.

but i’m clearer in mind than i was a year ago.

this wasn’t a perfect year. (ps: well, almost)
it was an honest one.

and that counts.

thanks to the few who were actually there.
see you in 2026.

part 2 of the just a little crush. series.

we were all called inside.
the participants.
she was already there.

i was still at the door
when she turned around
and saw me.
she waved.
i waved back.

and that was enough
to make my day lighter.

she wanted to talk.
about the morning.
about my messy hair
when i went on stage.
about the cap
the teachers didn’t like.

she remembered it.
that surprised me.
and we laughed like crazy.

then she talked about my instagram.
my stories. my highlights.
she said i make money.
in dollars.
i laughed.
it sounded unreal
coming from her.

then she said
i owe her a treat.

that word stayed with me.
treat.

i asked what she wanted.
she said garlic bread.
just that.
cheap. simple.

i laughed again
and said
with that, i’ll get you more.

i don’t know why i said it.
maybe i wanted to stay there
a little longer
with her.

we worked in our groups after that.
separately. normally.

and when she left,
she waved bye.

to me.

on my way back,
i kept thinking about that word.
treat.

maybe it was nothing.
just a joke.
just how she talks
to everyone.

or maybe,
in her language,
it meant something.
maybe a date.
a promise.
interest.

i don’t want to turn it into more right now.
i don’t want to rush the meaning.

but still,
for a moment,
it felt like the door to her
was not fully closed.

and that’s enough.

for today.
for now.

This story is published on bloody sweet writers — where the new generation of storytellers redefines creativity. Here, words pulse with passion, imagination knows no limits, and bold ideas take flight. Want to share your voice? Join our community and be part of something bloody sweet! 🚀

Bloody Sweet Writers — A Publication

the wave in the middle of the day. was originally published in bloody sweet writers on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.