......♡......

...Dedication...

...The Waltz of Love and Hate...

...To the love that was never enough...

...And the person it made me become....

......♡......

...Playlist...

..."All Too Well (10 Minute Version)" by Taylor Swift...

..."liability" by Lorde...

..."drivers license" by Olivia Rodrigo...

..."I Can't Fall in Love Without You" by Zara Larsson...

..."The Story" by Brandi Carlile...

..."someone you loved" by Lewis Capaldi...

..."Happier Than Ever" by Billie Eilish...

..."Someone Like You" by Adele...

..." Red " by Tylor Swift...

..."I Know The End" by Phoebe Bridgers...

..."champagne problems" by Taylor Swift...

..."I Will Survive" by Gloria Gaynor...

..."Good as Hell" by Lizzo...

..."Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac...

..."You're On Your Own, Kid" by Taylor Swift...

......♡......

This isn't a story about a happy ending. It's about the kind of love that gives everything, even when the other person is too lost to see it. My love was selfless, a life raft for a boy drowning in the endless ocean . I clung to the hope that my light could be enough to pull him to shore, to a life where he could finally see me. But he never did. He never understood the single, real thing he ever had, and he was too wrapped up in the ghost of his past to realize he was letting it go.

I thought leaving would be enough. I packed my life into a single suitcase and moved to a new city, convinced a fresh start would erase the past. I was wrong. Some memories don't just fade—they learn to haunt you in new places. They follow you across states, into new apartments, and linger in the spaces between people. This is the story of how I tried to outrun a love that was never truly mine, and how, in the end, the past never let me go. It just taught me to live with it, to carry the weight of a ghost with every step forward, and to finally understand that some loves are not meant to save you, but to teach you how to save yourself.

This story is for every heartbreak that taught me how to breathe again. To the cold, hard truths that felt like a punch, and the bittersweet lessons they left behind. Thank you to the past for haunting me, the present for holding me, and the future for waiting.

This book is a bridge between the two. Thank you for the memories that refused to leave, and the ones that finally did. And to the people who stood by my side, even when they didn't understand the storm I was in. And to you, the reader, for bearing witness to a love story that was never truly mine.

......♡......

For My Love ones, If You are reading this, Be ready to feel every ounce of emotions from your soul and bones, Be ready to love, hate, to be dIsappointed, Angry and Happy. This work will bring out every emotion inside you. Love you all.

And For the people who already paint me as a villain in their mind and somehow stumble upon this work, Don't. Read , if you have a fragile ego Because I am going to pique you all more.

......♡......

 let's stay together till the end .

The rain had been a drizzle for the last hour, but now it was a cold, miserable downpour, and it felt like it had been falling only on me. We stood on the street corner beneath the sticky yellow glow of a streetlight. The rest of the world was blurred by the haze of the rain, but you were sharp, in perfect focus. And I hated you for it.

" Why is she still a part of this ? " The words left my mouth quiet, but they felt like scream.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, your hands shoved deep in your pockets. You wouldn’t look at me. You were staring at the wet asphalt, a blank canvas where a moment ago I thought I saw a reflection of the truth.

"It's not like that," you said, and I almost laughed. It was the same tired phrase, the same empty promise.

"Then what is it like?" I asked, my voice cracking a little. "Because all I see is you still drowning in her. And I've been treading water for months, trying to save you."

Your head finally came up, but you weren't looking at me. You were looking past me, at the blurred lights of the city. "I just... need to figure things out."

And then When You finally looked at me, your eyes searching mine, but there was no real answer in them. Just a panicked emptiness. "It's not... a part of this. It's just her."

A single car splashed by, its tires humming on the wet asphalt, a momentary sound in the suffocating silence.

You took a step closer, and my heart gave a useless little flutter of hope. You reached out, not to hold me, but to brush a stray piece of hair from my cheek. "You know how much I care about you," you said, your voice low and gentle. "You're the only one I can be myself with."

The words, meant to soothe, felt like another betrayal. They were just another line, another anchor, to keep me right where you needed me: close enough to be a life raft, but far enough away that I wouldn't see you were still tied to her. My tears weren't falling, but the rain was. It was a physical ache in my chest, a deep, hollow silence that was so much worse than any screaming match.

In a flash of cold fury, so pure it almost felt like a new kind of clarity, I saw everything. The times you pulled away when my hand found yours, the way you would stop a story about us when a mutual friend of hers entered the room, the hushed phone calls late at night. You weren't figuring things out. You were waiting. Waiting for her to come back, waiting for the memory to fade, waiting for a past that was never going to let you go.

I looked down as now the cold breeze started to send shivers down my spine and I said, 'I can't do this anymore. '

You flinched as if I had hit you. "What do you mean, you can't do this? You don't... you don't love me?" The words were so empty, so devoid of real feeling. Just an attempt to hold onto me. "You just have to wait. Wait for me to heal. Don't you see I'm trying?"

A tear, hot and defiant, finally broke free and rolled down my cheek, mingling with the cold rain. I held your gaze, dead-on, and gave you the truth you were running from.

"Maybe," I whispered, "not enough to save you from drowning in your past."

You shook your head , and your voice dropped to a level so soft it was more brutal than a shout . " I never loved you romantically . Love is supposed to be chosen , it just happens and I can't love you . Not Ever . I tried, I did everything . I just can't .. People fall in love with the ones who make them feel loved."

Your words were a physical blow. The air left my lungs in a sharp, painful gasp. The world instantly became a blurry, hazy mess. The streetlights bled into long, distorted streaks of yellow and red. I couldn't breathe. My heart had been broken before, but this … this was different. This was a demolition. It was a final, cold confirmation that I was never a person to you, just a placeholder.

I turned and walked away. My boots made a rhythmic, sloshing sound on the wet pavement, but I couldn't feel my feet. I couldn't feel the cold. I couldn't feel anything at all except your presence and I can't bear looking behind me, not after your clear confession.. So, I just keep walking like a ghost in the rain, fading into the yellow haze of the streetlights.

......♡......

......♡......

The February cold here is relentless , l went to that little café on Elm Street .The café was a small, dusty place tucked away on a side street, smelling equally of old books and burnt sugar , a warm, comforting kind of deception against the February chill. It felt like a secret, a safe place I'd stumbled upon in my lonely wanderings. The constant cold was only marginally beaten back by the warmth of the coffee cup in my hands, its chipped ceramic rough against my chapped skin.

I was reaching for a sketchbook on a high, wobbly shelf when I lost my balance. My fingers, numb from the relentless air, slipped, and I watched in slow motion as a precarious stack of thick, white mugs tipped over. The sound of them shattering on the worn, wooden floor was disproportionately loud, a ceramic crash that seemed to silence the entire afternoon. My heart leaped into my throat; I braced myself, tasting the metallic tang of panic.

Instead, I heard a voice, calm and amused, cut through the quiet. "Well, that was a creative way to get attention."

I looked up and saw a boy , maybe my age. He was leaning against the bookshelf, his emerald eyes crinkling at the corners. He wore a grey hoodie under a dark jacket, the kind deliberately , worn in comfort that usually costs more than its looks . Everything about him suggested ease , calm .. like still as water , the quiet assurance of someone who had never worried about his place in the world . He held a medical textbook, its spine cracked a little bit in several places, and a bright yellow highlighter sticking out like a flag.

"I’m Li-Song," he said, offering a hand to help me up. His hands were long and slender, with faint lines of what looked like blue ink stains on the edges of his thumbnail , but his grip was firm and steady .

"Elena," I mumbled, my cheeks burning. The embarrassment was a physical heat against the cold air of the room. I started to apologize profusely , gesturing uselessly at the mess, but he just smiled.

"It's okay. You're new here, aren't you?" he asked, not as a question, but as a quiet, definitive observation.

I nodded .

"I figured," he continued, his gaze steady. "The look on your face .. it's the same one I had. It's a look of terrified wonder."

His words made me feel instantly seen. It was the absolute truth spoken simply. His persona around him was different from anyone I had ever met , so calm, so grounded in his own space.

We crouched down together, picking up the larger shards , his demeanor calm and grounded. And the moment of silence hung suspended, thick with the smell of wet coffee and dust.

As we talked for a little while, I got to know that Li was thoughtful and deliberate in his speech. He asked me probing questions about the university, the town, and the weird little quirks of moving, why I chose this town, why I decided to study art, and I found myself answering him with surprising honesty. He didn't just listen; he absorbed the information. The conversation with him was less about easy comfort, and more about quiet, intellectual connection - a grounding force. I felt a quiet sense of relief, like holding my breath had finally ended . It was just a conversation, but it was the first real one I'd had here.

Just as I started to feel the relief of a genuine conversation, he checked his phone.

"I have to meet my friend for a study session," he said, giving a quick, polite nod.

He was gone before I could properly thank him, disappearing through the heavy wooden door with that same quiet assurance. I watched him leave, feeling a slight disappointment mixed with a surge of momentum of losing that sense of being an insider in this town .

......♡......