Different people
carry different meanings of love.
Different truths.
Different survival maps.
And slowly, I began to see —
no one is right,
no one is wrong.
Everyone functions
from their experiences,
and from the ones never spoken aloud.
The unseen wounds,
the unnamed fears —
they function too.
I had always believed in love.
Quietly.
Secretly.
A love that is true,
intense,
absolute.
Meera was my silent knowing.
But back then, I had no language.
Perhaps language wasn’t required.
I only knew —
this kind of love exists,
and I belong to it.
Long before you,
I remember saying once to Jaya didi —
“I don’t know why I am like this.”
Why conversations about love and marriage
close my throat.
Why I fall silent where others speak easily.
And yet —
somewhere beneath that silence,
I believed in true love
and lifelong companionship.
So deeply
that I denied myself the courage
to admit I believed in it at all.
When I was younger,
life was already a puzzle —
named love,
named me,
named by what people thought of me
and by what I thought love was supposed to be.
Back then,
I didn’t know it was a puzzle.
I only felt its weight —
because the world gave me names:
contracted thinking,
narrow,
judgemental.
And I believed them.
Without understanding its shape,
I thought maybe I was shy.
Maybe something was missing in me.
I didn’t know why I was different,
why love felt too vast to speak about,
why silence came
where explanations were expected.
The pieces were there —
scattered, unnamed,
waiting.
Only later, when I met you,
I understood true love,
and the puzzle began to reveal itself.
What once felt confusing
started making sense.
What once felt wrong
began to feel inevitable.
The picture of my younger self
slowly became clear.
This puzzle was never meant
to be solved.
It was meant to be lived.
The more I tried to escape it,
the tighter it held me.
Logic failed here.
Resistance only deepened it.
And the strangest truth —
there is more joy
in staying within this puzzle
than in ever stepping out of it.
So I stopped trying to leave.
I only wanted to reach its core —
the place where all the pieces meet,
the place from where
everything had already begun,
leading me
to you.
You did not arrive as a person.
You arrived as a disturbance.
As a question placed inside me
without asking my permission.
The world around me remained the same —
but something within
could no longer return
to who it was before.
At first, there was denial —
how can love exist
without meeting?
How can something unnamed
feel this real?
Then came acceptance.
And then —
your complete refusal.
And still —
even inside that rejection,
something in me whispered
that you were lying,
perhaps even to yourself.
I didn’t know why I knew this.
I only knew
my knowing refused to move.
That was the beginning
of unconditional love.
A question arose —
was my love ever dependent
on another’s consent?
Or was it always whole,
standing quietly on its own?
That is when clarity arrived —
I was simply walking a different path.
For me, it was natural
to forget myself in love —
to dissolve so completely
that only the other remained.
Natural to love one soul
for an entire lifetime
and never call it wrong.
Natural to give myself
the right to love
without demanding a return.
And if there was a desire at all,
it was only this —
that the love already complete
may taste completeness again,
in a new form,
by God’s grace.
Then I understood
why I was misunderstood.
Their path and mine
were never meant to overlap.
From where they stood,
I made no sense.
From where I stood,
neither did they.
No one was wrong.
No one was right.
There was only one truth —
love.
Pure love.
And I experienced it
through you.
In your face.
In your name.
In your refusal.
In your country,
your city,
the weather that holds you,
the directions that lead to you,
and everything
that carries your presence,
that carries your imprint.
This experience taught me —
love is not something we do.
It is something we are.
Not an action.
A state.
And now,
when I look at my earlier self,
I finally understand —
even then,
I was loving.
Unknowingly.
Unconsciously.
An unknown soul.
Back then,
love was moving
without knowing its destination —
yet quietly, inevitably,
leading me toward you
as a remembrance of the soul.
And now —
it is simply being.
Love is simply happening.
Without effort.
Without intention.
Without resistance.
Flowing.
Continuous.
Unbroken.
Towards you.
With everything that I am.
Ankush.
