chaiNboli

I was watching an Instagram reel. A man sat in a train with his little daughter while the child's mother did everything she could to make the baby laugh. The little girl giggled without restraint, and the father looked at the woman with a softness that needed no words. It was one of those ordinary moments that somehow held an extraordinary kind of love. I found myself smiling at complete strangers. The hopeless romantic in me, however, felt something else too. Jealousy. Not the bitter kind. The quiet kind. The kind that whispers, "I hope someone looks at me like that someday." Then came a notification. A message. From someone I used to know. Someone I once considered the center of my world. My ex-boyfriend. He wrote something along the lines of, "You'll always be a loser. What gives me peace is that I'm not with you anymore. By the way, I'm getting married." Not those exact words—they were in our mother tongue. Forgive my translation. But...