Six months have passed since it all truly ended.
But somehow, I still haven’t really come to terms with it.
Not because I’m still hoping we’ll get back together, though maybe, deep down, I am.
But more because... I don’t know what to do with all the memories that grew too real, too alive.
I met her in early 2012, introduced by a friend from my tutoring class, Ghanim, who happened to go to the same high school as her. Her house wasn’t far from mine.
Our first meeting was unremarkable, but from the start, there was something different. Maybe it’s true what they say that some people carry a strange kind of calm from the moment they enter your life.
Not the kind of calm that makes you sleepy, but the kind that draws you in, even if you don’t know why.
By the end of 2012, we were together.
It all just... flowed. No big questions. No fears.
We were young, clueless about relationships, but everything felt easy.
I was usually hesitant when it came to starting something new, but with her, I felt light.
Maybe because she never asked for too much. She was just there.
And I wanted to be there, too.
The relationship went well.
There weren’t any big hurdles.
Maybe because we didn’t expect much from each other yet.
Saturday nights became our ritual. Almost never missed.
Sometimes we just drove around town, sometimes we stopped by a food stall to eat instant noodles and sip hot sweet tea.
Those small moments… somehow felt the most alive.
The most understood.
We often rode to Bangkinang just the two of us.
Just to escape the city noise for a while and ofcourse to visit my parents.
The night wind on those long roads became the backdrop for our conversations about the future, about dreams, about silly things that now mean the world.
We once spent New Year’s Eve together, sitting in front of her house, watching the sky flicker between clear and cloudy.
No fireworks. Just laughter.
And a quiet hand-hold that said everything.
As time passed, we grew closer. Our families knew each other.
We even started talking about “someday.”
But somewhere along the way, I lost direction.
I met someone else in college. someone who caught my attention.
Maybe it was boredom. Maybe I didn’t know how to cherish what I had.
So I left her.
Just like that. No proper explanation.
I thought I had found something new.
But I was wrong. So wrong.
It didn’t feel the same.
I went back.
And she, with a heart still open took me in again.
That moment felt like a second chance.
And I promised myself I wouldn’t mess it up.
We started over. More seriously this time.
But seriousness has its own weight.
Slowly, we started to clash.
Small things turned big.
Maybe we were too honest. Or maybe not honest enough.
I was stubborn. She always gave in too much.
Not because we didn’t love each other.
But maybe we were too tired of trying to fit.
Eventually, we decided to stop.
At two and a half years.
The funny thing is, when we broke up, the people around us were shocked.
“Why? Weren’t you two perfect for each other?”
Even her family didn’t understand.
But relationships aren’t just about compatibility.
They’re about whether you still want to keep fighting on the same side.
Now it’s been six months.
She looks happy now, with someone new beside her.
And from a distance, I’m happy for her too.
But there’s still this space inside me, quiet, unfilled.
I’m still here, trying to figure out what’s next.
Unemployed. Directionless.
But maybe that’s okay.
Maybe this is the universe’s way of giving me a pause.
To think again. To learn for real.
I still replay our memories sometimes.
Not because I want to go back.
But to remember who I was
And who I became after.
Because in every failed relationship, there’s a version of ourselves that once grew.
A memory that once warmed our days.
And all of it deserves to be remembered, not regretted.
I don’t know when I’ll fully heal.
Maybe never.
But not every wound has to be covered.
Sometimes, remembering is the only way to accept.
That there was once someone who came, filled your days, and then left.
Not because of fault.
But because their time in your story was up.
And if I still carry some of those memories with me today,
It’s not because I haven’t moved on.
It’s because I know
The most genuine things don’t truly disappear.
They just move.
From the real world,
To the quiet place we carry with us
For the rest of the way.