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"I Still Can't Forget Her" – By Lyan
My name is Lyan. I come from a small village called South Gel Demow, tucked quietly in the Sivasagar district of Assam, India. Life here is simple. Humble. The kind of place where the world moves slowly, and people dream in silence.
And yet... amidst all this stillness, something inside me has never been quiet.
It's been almost three years now—but her memory still lives in me like a wound that refuses to heal.
It began with something small. A decision. A government course called DDUGKY—three months of training, and in return, a chance at a job, a better future. For someone like me, from a middle-class family, it was hope. Not a grand one, but hope nonetheless. My parents agreed. I packed my dreams, and we left for Gourisagar.
My father dropped me off. The next day, he returned home. I was alone—but not lonely. The hostel buzzed with boys my age, and slowly, a new chapter of my life began.
Then came the first day of class.
That's when I saw her.
She walked in—and the world slowed down. I can't explain what happened in that moment. My heart stuttered. My breath caught. It wasn't just attraction. It wasn't infatuation. It felt... cosmic.
Like the universe itself stopped and whispered, "Look at her. This is the moment your life changes."
She didn't know me. She didn't see what I felt. But from that day, I watched her not out of obsession, but with quiet awe—like watching the moon knowing it will never belong to you, but loving it anyway.
Her smile had the power to melt every worry in me. And on days I didn't see her, I felt incomplete—as if something vital was missing from the air.
I found her number in the course's group chat. For days, I stared at it, my finger hovering over the message button. I didn't want to disturb her. I wasn't brave enough to say what I felt. But eventually, during an introduction activity, I found my chance. I messaged her.
She replied.
Those few conversations meant everything to me. They were just words, maybe meaningless to her—but to me, they were memories etched in gold.
One and a half months passed. Then came the festive break. We all returned home.
Two months. Two long months. But even away from her, she lived in my thoughts. Every morning, every night. Sometimes, I'd open our chat just to read it again. I never asked her to love me. I never told her anything. But in my own quiet way—I loved her.
When I returned to Gourisagar, everything shattered.
I saw her.
On a bike.
With someone else.
Her boyfriend.
And in that moment, my heart didn't just break—it collapsed. Crumbled like sandcastles against the tide. I stood there, frozen, while the world moved around me. Smiling, laughing, unaware that inside me, everything was falling apart.
I never told her how I felt. I never asked her for anything. But still, it hurt. God, it hurt. The kind of pain that makes you question everything about yourself.
I didn't cry in front of anyone.
That night, in the silence of the hostel, I let the tears fall. No screams. No anger. Just heartbreak.
I knew I couldn't interfere. She was happy. That was all that mattered. So I stepped back, with dignity, with love. I promised myself I would forget her. I tried.
But here I am.
Three years later.
Still haunted by a smile that wasn't mine.
Still aching for a conversation that never truly began.
Still carrying a love that never had a name.
Why can't I forget her?
Maybe because some people don't just walk into your life—they carve themselves into your soul.
Maybe because love isn't always about holding hands or sharing dreams. Sometimes, love is silent. Selfless. Sacred.
Maybe I saw the universe in her eyes… and now, nothing else compares.
To anyone reading this: I don't know if this is love or madness. But I know it's real. I know it changed me.
I am Lyan.
And I still can't forget her.
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