The Art Of Hoping You

 

As the author says, “Somewhere between reality and a ruined phone call, I built a world where you stayed, not in life, but in the soft, silent folds of my imagination, something that will never be replicating it.”

 

Scene 1: The Ride Home 🛵🌫️

The wind was colder that night.
Even the Enfield felt heavier, like it knew.
Streetlights passed by like memories I didn’t want to remember.
Glasses on. Eyes wide open.
But the vision... blurry.

That late-night call, it wasn’t a fight,
But it wasn’t love either.
It was something in between,
Like trying to hold sand tight, only to lose more of it.

I was losing her!!

And even as the silence crept in,
my mind had already begun rewriting it,
I apologised.
You stayed.
You said you didn’t mean it.
Imagination offered me a version
where I wasn’t left alone on that road.

 

Scene 2: The Stillness After Chaos 🌌📞

Silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
But the one that rings in your ears when everything inside has exploded.

The fan above moved in circles,
Like my thoughts.
Round and round.
No start. No end. 🔁

I wasn’t crying.
I was holding myself together.
Until I wasn’t.

A drop.
Then another.
Not sadness. Not weakness.
Just... fear.

The fear of losing you,
not just in this world,
but in the one I had built inside my mind.

Because in there,
you always came back.
You said my name in the dark.
You whispered “don’t go” even when it was me who stayed.

 

Scene 3: The Reflection [+=+]

I stood up.
Looked into the mirror.

For the first time,
The boy looking back… looked unfamiliar.
Eyes tired.
Shoulders dropped.
Smile? Gone.

But still, there was a trace of something.
A whisper behind the glass.
A voice that said:

“Hope her. Even if she never returns.”

And so I did.
Not in the world outside,
But in the quiet films I directed inside my head,
where we danced barefoot in the rain, something that you loved.
where your hand always found mine. ☔🎞️

 

Scene 4: The Day After 🏫☀️

The sun came like it always does.
Too bright. Too normal.

But I wasn’t.
I walked through the corridors of college,
Backpack on one shoulder,
Heart on the other. 🎒❤️

She passed by.
Like routine. Like nothing happened.

And I smiled.
Like routine. Like nothing happened.

But inside,
I was holding a painting no one would ever see,
sketched not from memories,
but from imagination. Or both..

A thousand versions of us
paused mid-laughter in invisible frames,
hung inside a gallery only I could walk through. 🖼️🧠

 

Scene 5: The Art of The Artist🎭📖

Since then,
I haven’t loved you out loud.
I haven’t waited at your door.
I haven’t written poems in your name.

I’ve just... hoped you.
In ways no one will ever notice.

In unfinished messages.
In paused songs.
In quiet glances.
In imagined scenes that never needed to be real. 💭

And maybe, that’s what love becomes
when it can’t speak or scream.

A quiet practice.
A silent art.
A personal fiction...
more beautiful than truth, reality, something we love that love.

 

💫 And this is what I became,

Not your lover.
Not your past.
Not your regret.

Just a boy...
Who mastered the most invisible skill of them all,
The Art of Hoping You. 🕊️
...and imagining the version of you that never left.

 

*** Raj Patel Signing off!!
A boy who never stopped imagining her return. 🕊️