Member-only story
The Name That Belonged to Me
Overthinking everything!
The first time I met him, the world hummed a gentle "finally." There was no thunder, no over-the-top slow-motion scene—just a serene, knowing sigh in my chest. After that, every move I made toward him was a silent revolution of love, not desperation. My actions were calculated, as if my heart had already written an itinerary to "forever.
I was the relaxed one. The unbothered. The "whatever, do your thing" kind. Jealousy? She wasn't familiar. My life was so well-adjusted, so comfortable, I could've authored a self-help book entitled Zen and the Art of Not Giving a Flying F——until he showed up.
All of a sudden, something as innocuous as a girl saying his name seemed like a sin against my soul. I didn't merely want him; I wanted his name to ring only from my lips. My internal space, once tranquil, became a silent war zone of possessiveness in poetic garb. I didn't want him to stay away from others. I wasn't that kind of person. I didn't want to cage him—no—I wanted him to desire the cage and adorn it with fairy lights.
But within me? Turmoil. Emotional storms. It wasn’t his behavior; it was my inability to articulate how every time a person laughed too loudly at his joke, I felt as if they were intruding upon my future. I did not desire compliance—I was not his warden—I simply…
