THE GIRL WHO FORGOT HERSELF-A Bittersweet Love Story
What happens when love feels comforting… until it doesn’t?
Story: S A Spencer
Author of Popular Fictions: The Pink Mutiny, The Black Waters, Dream In Shackles
I. The Evening Lights
Vadodara looked almost theatrical that night — strings of
fairy lights hanging across the courtyard, the scent of cardamom drifting from
the buffet, and a soft breeze that made the women’s dupattas flutter like
flags. Aanya wasn’t planning to stay long at her friend’s engagement party, but
she lingered near the drinks counter, enjoying the music and the rare feeling
of not rushing anywhere.
That’s when she noticed him.
Rishabh stood a few feet away, laughing with someone she
vaguely recognised. He wasn’t loud or showy, but there was something about the
way he listened — fully, attentively — that made him stand out. When their eyes
met, he smiled. Not the kind of smile that demanded anything. Just a warm, easy
acknowledgement.
They ended up talking for nearly an hour.
He asked thoughtful questions. He remembered the small
details she mentioned. He didn’t interrupt. When she joked about being
indecisive with food, he said, “That’s alright. I’m good at choosing.”
She laughed, not realising how much that sentence would shape
the months ahead.
As she left the party, she felt a lightness she hadn’t felt
in years. She didn’t notice the way he watched her walk away, as if he’d
already decided something.
II. The Monsoon Roads
Their relationship unfolded quickly, like monsoon clouds
gathering over the city. Within weeks, Rishabh had slipped into her routine
with surprising ease.
He started picking her up from work. Then dropping her off.
Then bringing her coffee in the mornings. Then booking her salon appointments.
Then ordering groceries before she even realised she needed them.
At first, it felt like a blessing.
Vadodara’s traffic was chaotic, and she didn’t mind letting
him drive. Her workload was heavy, and she didn’t mind letting him handle the
errands. Her friends teased her about having a “high‑effort boyfriend,” and she
pretended to roll her eyes while secretly enjoying the attention.
He made her feel cherished. He made her feel safe. He made
her feel… relieved.
One rainy evening, as he held an umbrella over her and guided
her through puddles, she thought, Maybe this is what love is meant to feel
like.
But later that night, when she reached for her scooter keys,
she realised she didn’t know where they were anymore.
She assumed she’d misplaced them. She didn’t think to ask
him.
III. The Silver Bangles
One Sunday morning, she woke with a sudden urge to visit the
old city. She wanted to wander through the narrow lanes, buy silver bangles,
eat street chaat, and feel the familiar chaos of Baroda’s heart.
“I’ll take you,” Rishabh said immediately when she mentioned
it.
“No, it’s alright. I’ll go alone.”
He paused mid‑sip of his tea. “Why would you go alone? The
traffic is insane.”
“I can manage.”
He gave a soft laugh. “You haven’t driven in ages.”
The words stung more than she expected.
“I know how to drive, Rishabh.”
“Of course you do,” he said gently. “I just don’t want you to
stress.”
She didn’t argue. She didn’t go either.
Later, she opened her cupboard again, searching for her
scooter keys. She checked every drawer, every pouch, every handbag.
Nothing.
A strange unease crept up her spine.
She stood still for a moment, staring at the empty space
where the keys should have been, feeling something she couldn’t quite name.
IV. The Missing Document
Work was hectic that week. On Thursday afternoon, her manager
asked her to quickly send a scanned copy of her PAN card. Simple task. Two
minutes at most.
Except she couldn’t find it.
She checked her folders. Her handbag. Her bedside drawer. Her
email. Her cloud storage.
Nothing.
Her pulse quickened. She called her mother, who didn’t have a
copy. She checked again, slower this time, opening each drawer with growing
dread.
Finally, she called Rishabh.
“Oh, I have it,” he said casually. “I put it in my folder so
it wouldn’t get lost.”
She froze. “Why would you do that?”
“You’re always misplacing things. I was helping.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
He sighed. “Aanya, you’re overreacting.”
But she wasn’t. Not this time.
She hung up the phone and stared at the empty drawer, her
breath shallow. For the first time, she felt something close to panic — not
because the document was missing, but because she couldn’t access her own
identity without him.
She sat down on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling
slightly.
Something had shifted. And she couldn’t pretend she didn’t
feel it.
V. The Café Window
They met that evening at a café in Alkapuri. The rain had
stopped, but the air still smelled of wet earth. She chose a table by the
window, watching the traffic crawl past.
Rishabh arrived with his usual smile, but she didn’t return
it.
“I feel like I’m disappearing,” she said quietly.
He blinked. “What does that mean?”
“You do everything for me. And I let you. But now I don’t
know how to do things for myself.”
He reached for her hand. “I was just trying to make your life
easier.”
“I know. But somewhere along the way, I stopped living it.”
He looked genuinely hurt. “So I’m smothering you?”
“I’m saying I forgot myself. And you didn’t notice.”
He pulled his hand back slowly. “I thought you liked being
cared for.”
“I did. But I didn’t realise the cost.”
They sat in silence, the hum of the café filling the space
between them.
Finally, he whispered, “If I stop doing all this… will you
still want me?”
Her throat tightened. “I want you. But I also want myself.”
Outside the window, a scooter passed by, splashing water onto
the pavement. She watched it disappear into the traffic, feeling something
inside her shift again.
VI. The Riverbank
They tried to adjust.
He tried to step back. She tried to step forward.
But every attempt felt awkward, like wearing clothes that
didn’t quite fit.
He struggled not to over‑help. She struggled not to rely on
him.
One evening, they walked along the Vishwamitri River. The
water moved slowly, reflecting the city lights in broken lines.
“We’re trying to become people we’re not,” she said softly.
He nodded, eyes fixed on the river. “I don’t know how to love
you without trying too hard.”
“And I don’t know how to love you without losing myself.”
He turned to her, his expression raw. “So what do we do?”
She didn’t answer immediately. She watched a leaf drift along
the water’s surface, carried by a current it couldn’t fight.
When she finally spoke, her voice was steady. “We let go. Not
because we don’t care. But because we do.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded.
They stood there for a long time, side by side, knowing this
was the last moment they’d share as a couple.
When they finally walked away, they walked in opposite
directions.
VII. Afterwards
Months later, Aanya stood at a petrol pump, filling her
scooter for the first time in nearly a year. The smell of petrol mixed with the
warm evening air, and she felt a strange mix of pride and sadness.
She’d relearned small things — paying bills, planning her
day, choosing her own lipstick. She’d rediscovered the quiet pleasure of being
capable.
Sometimes, when she passed a café they used to visit, she
felt a soft ache. Not regret. Just memory.
As for Rishabh, he was learning too. Learning that love
didn’t have to be performance. Learning that effort didn’t have to be control.
Learning that he could be enough without being everything.
They didn’t get back together. But they didn’t become
strangers either.
Some people come into your life to love you. Others come to
teach you how to love yourself.
Rishabh had been both.
And as she rode her scooter through the evening traffic of
Vadodara, the wind brushing against her face, Aanya realised she hadn’t
forgotten herself after all.
She’d simply needed to remember.
🔔
If this story touched you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Please like, comment, and share your own experiences — your voice may help someone else feel less alone. Don’t forget to subscribe to the blog so you never miss a new story.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This story explores a subtle kind of emotional erosion — the kind that doesn’t come from cruelty, but from care that grows too heavy. Many relationships don’t break because of conflict; they break because one person forgets themselves while trying to be loved. If this story resonates with you, I hope it reminds you that reclaiming yourself is not selfish — it’s necessary.
S A Spencer- I will bring more stories for your entertainment. Please follow me on Facebook and Twitter so that you know when a new story comes.
Do you like this story? Let your friends also read this.
Download this thriller -FREE for a limited time
Comments
Post a Comment