Unanswered

The rain mirrored the storm inside me. Each drop a shard of dread, shattering the fragile hope I clung to. The bus rumbled, a mechanical beast carrying me away from everything. Away from him.

He stood under the dying station lamp, a silhouette against the weeping sky. My hand hovered over the open door, a silent plea, a desperate question waiting to be born. But the words wouldn't come. Fear, a cold serpent, coiled around my throat.

"Don't go," I wanted to scream. But the silence roared louder.

He didn't reach for me. Didn't call me back. Just watched, a statue etched in resignation. Each second carved another wrinkle on my heart, deepening the chasm of despair.

Maybe he saw the future, a future painted bleak by my dreams, a future that wouldn't fit his neatly outlined plans. Maybe I was a detour, a beautiful detour on his well-paved path.

Tears, hot and angry, blurred my vision. I was a storm too, a tempest of emotions yearning to break free. But for him, I held them captive, a dam threatening to burst.

The bus lurched forward, ripping me away. A final flicker of his form in the rearview mirror, then swallowed by the relentless rain. My hand, once hovering over escape, crumpled into a fist. Defiance threatened to ignite, a rebellion against his unspoken decree.

But what good is defiance without a chance? I could chase him, chase the future I envisioned, hand in hand with him. But what if he didn't want that future? What if I was just a wisp of smoke, destined to dissipate in his grand scheme of things?

The pain, a physical ache in my chest, tightened its grip. The world outside blurred into a canvas of grey, mirroring the desolate landscape within. He was my sun, my warmth, the color in my world. Now, I was adrift in a monochrome sea of solitude.

Hours bled into days, the ache in my chest morphing into a dull throb. I called, a million messages choked with unspoken love and silent pleas. But only the monotonous drone of a disconnected voicemail answered.

He didn't chase after me. He didn't fight for me. Maybe I was a burden, a dream he couldn't afford. Maybe the future he envisioned didn't have space for a girl with messy dreams and a heart that loved too fiercely.

As the days turned into weeks, a chilling realization settled in. I would carry this love, this ache, a constant reminder of what could have been. A phantom limb, forever yearning for a touch that would never come.

This future, this present, was not what I'd dreamt. Not with him. But maybe, just maybe, someday, the pain wouldn't feel so heavy. Maybe, someday, I could build a future for myself, a future where his absence wouldn't steal my breath away.

But for now, the bus rumbled on, carrying me, not just away from him, but away from the girl who believed her love could conquer all. In the wreckage of hope, a single, heartbreaking truth echoed: sometimes, love isn't enough.