Honestly, I don't even know what "US" mean anymore

It’s strange how silence can scream louder than words.

It all started again on March 12, 2021, when he suddenly texted me on WhatsApp asking if I was still saying no to his request.

After 46 days of nothing—no calls, no messages, not even a ghost of a “how are you?”—he decided to appear like nothing ever happened. Just dropped his question like a stone into my chest, pretending the water hadn’t already drowned me.

I didn’t reply.

Because what was I supposed to say? “Hey, thanks for abandoning me for a month and a half, but sure, let’s pick up where we left off”?
No.

At that point, I thought we were done. Finished. He’d walked away because our visions didn’t align—whatever that meant. I told myself to move on, but the truth? I never stopped checking my phone, hoping for something that never came. Until it did.

But not in the way I wanted.

That first text? I ignored it for a week. Because I didn’t want to look desperate. Because I didn’t want to reopen a wound that was just starting to scar. Because even though I still loved him, I wasn’t going to crawl. HELL. NO.

Then on March 21, he called. I ignored it. Then he texted my other number. Ignored that too.

Two days later, March 23, he tried again on Google Duo. Not once. Three times.
Same night. Same persistence.
I remember staring at my phone, watching it buzz, my heart doing that stupid thing where it hopes even when it shouldn’t.

And then I answered.

That night, I said everything I’d been swallowing for 46 days.
I told him how cruel it felt when he ended it with “I wish you the very best and good luck.”
Like I was some stranger he’d met at an airport, not someone who knew his soul.

I told him how I didn’t pick up before because I was done talking to people who leave without explanation.

He apologized. Said he didn’t know how much it hurt me. Said he wanted to fix things.

I didn’t believe him right away. I wanted to, but I didn’t trust myself anymore.

And yet… since March 23, something shifted. He’s been more patient, more thoughtful, more… aware. Maybe guilt changes people. Maybe love does. Maybe both.

We’re back to talking every day. Back to the old rhythm, though it feels like the song changed.

And now, we’re talking about marriage.

Insha Allah, we’ll get there.
If my heart doesn’t self-destruct first.

Sometimes, when I look at him on video call, I still feel that tiny ache—the ghost of what he made me feel when he left.

I smile anyway. Pretend it’s gone.

Because maybe that’s what love is—choosing to rebuild the same house that once burned you down, praying it doesn’t collapse again.

إِنْ شَاءَ ٱللَّٰهُ