Rohan, I don’t even know if you’ll ever read this. Maybe you have moved so far away from our past that my words will never reach you. Maybe that’s for the best. But I need to say this, even if it’s just for my own peace. I need to say that I am sorry. Truly, deeply sorry.
I don’t think I fully understood what I had when I had you. You were the kind of person who made life feel lighter, even in its heaviest moments. You were patient when I was impatient, kind when I was cruel, and forgiving even when I didn’t deserve forgiveness. I see that now, but I saw it too late.
I think back to the beginning, to the way we met—how you held the door open for me that day at the library, even though I was too distracted to notice. It wasn’t until later, when you teased me about it, that I realized you had been watching me. Not in a way that made me uncomfortable, but in a way that made me feel seen. You always saw me, didn’t you? Even when I tried so hard to hide.
You were the one who noticed when my hands shook from anxiety, the one who calmed me down before I even had to ask. You were the one who knew exactly how I liked my coffee, who listened when I rambled about my dreams, even the ridiculous ones. You were the one who told me I was enough when I never believed it myself.
And I? I was reckless with your heart. I was selfish. I let my fears and insecurities dictate the way I treated you. I lashed out at you for things you had no control over. I made you feel like you were always one mistake away from losing me when, in reality, I was the one who should have been afraid of losing you.
Do you remember that night at the train station? It had rained all evening, and we were both soaked from head to toe, standing under that dim, flickering streetlight. You held my face in your hands and told me you loved me. Not in the casual way people say it, not out of habit or routine, but in the kind of way that made the world stop for a moment. You looked at me like I was the most important thing in your life.
And I panicked.
I remember laughing it off, making some stupid joke about how dramatic you were. But the truth is, I was terrified. Terrified of what it meant to be truly loved. Terrified of what it meant to love you back with the same intensity. So I pushed you away. Again and again, until one day, you finally let go.
I should have stopped you. I should have grabbed your hand and told you to stay. I should have swallowed my pride and told you I loved you too, because I did. I still do. But instead, I stood there, watching you walk away, convincing myself it was for the best.
It wasn’t.
I see now what I couldn’t see then. That love isn’t about perfection. It isn’t about waiting until you feel ready or until you have no fears left. Love is about choosing someone, every single day, despite the fear. And Rohan, I should have chosen you.
I don’t know where you are now. Maybe you have found someone else, someone who doesn’t run from love, someone who holds your hand instead of pushing it away. If you have, I hope she knows how lucky she is. I hope she gives you all the things I couldn’t.
But if, by some chance, you ever think of me—please know that I carry you with me everywhere. That I regret every moment I let slip away. That I would give anything to go back and do it all differently.
I was wrong, Rohan. About so many things. But mostly, I was wrong to let you go. And for that, I am so, so sorry.