THE Awakening

Continuation of the series Shadow of Love

This is the story of those who believed—believed that love could heal, transform, and conquer all. Those who gave endlessly, hoping their warmth would melt even the coldest heart. Who stayed, forgave, and tried—thinking that love alone could rewrite the story. But in the end, were left with empty hands…and a heart full of lessons.

Part 3 The Awakening

Then came Christmas.

They visited his hometown. Outside, snow covered the streets, rooftops dusted white, warm lights glowing behind frosted windows. Inside, the party was already in full swing.

Alyna arrived late.

It had been months since she went to any gathering. Over time, she’d become quiet, withdrawn—her world shrinking to phone calls, online work and silence.

Getting ready felt strange.

She had forgotten how.

What used to take minutes now took hours.

Jay smiled—glowing, chirping, and fluttering from one conversation to another like a boy rediscovering the warmth of his roots. He was alive here, radiant. Effortlessly himself.

And then, he saw her.

He moved toward Alyna slowly, his eyes gentle but focused on her, the kind of soft that once made her feel like the only girl in the room.

He leaned in, looked deep into her, and said,

“You’re very pretty.”

Just four words—

But they bloomed inside her like spring after a long winter.

Her stomach fluttered.

The lights blurred.

The air sparkled.

For a moment, she breathed in magic.

He still loves me, she told herself.

She entered the gathering glowing, blushing holding his compliment like a fragile jewel cupped in her palms.

And then she heard it—

“Flora.”

A single name.

That was all it took.

Her heart plummeted. The warmth drained from her limbs. She turned—and there she was.

His ex.

Bold. Commanding. Confident

Not prettier than her—

But sure, of her place in his world.

Alyna froze.

Time slowed.

Flora walked past her like wind —cheerful but unbothered—like Alyna didn’t even exist. So, he was comparing her with his ex-girlfriend.

And Jay?

He lit up.

Not politely.

Not silently.

But fully Loudly.

Like someone had returned something precious, something long awaited to him. They laughed. Slipped back into old rhythms.

Stories, glances, private jokes she was never part of.

And then—he held her hand. And danced.

Right there, in front of everyone.

He pulled Flora close, his hand on her back like it had never left.

He spun her with practiced ease, leaned in, whispered things that made her laugh like they were seventeen again.

She rested her head on his shoulder, and he let her.

When she sat, he pulled a chair for her—smiling.

Still looking at her as if she were the center of his world.

And Alyna stood among them,

Invisible.

Behind her, the buffet table was warm with roasted meat, gravy boats, and steaming rice. People laughed with mouths full, spoons clinking, and steam rising from biryani dishes—and so did she. She evaporated in air or may be fallen down like a sand castle into nothingness.

She was vanishing while everyone around her devoured joy.

No one noticed.

Not her pale face, trembling hands..

No one noticed the slow, silent collapse of the woman standing among them while everyone witnessed the betrayal of a married man.

Her soul cracked. No—shattered.

Piece by piece.

What was this feeling?

She couldn’t even name it—

A sick cocktail of betrayal, shame, disappointment, grief, feeling of being taken advantage of , being used.

This time, the slap was silent.

But it screamed louder than any scream.

And it burned.

Because this time—it wasn’t fate.

It was her choice.

She had chosen him.

She had defended him.She fought for him.

Chosen him over other good men—men who wanted her, men who would’ve stayed.

And suddenly it all made sense—

His coldness.

His disinterest.

The empty promises.

The distance between their souls.

This marriage was never love.

For him:

A revenge.

A prize.

A passive-aggressive victory.

An ego boost after rejection by his ex..

For her:

A beginning.

A sanctuary.

A place to plant her heart.

She gave him everything.

And he handed her a mirror—reflecting every wound she'd hoped marriage would erase.

She had built a castle of dreams in her mind—delicate, shimmering, fragile—built from his words, his promises, his soft-toned lies. Every “I’ll change,” every “Trust me,” every apology after silence, every kiss after cruelty… became bricks. She believed him. Wanted to believe him. So she poured her heart into creating the life he spoke of.

But he was never inside that castle.

He only stood at the edge—watching.

Sometimes he set it on fire himself.

With his coldness. With his absence. With his cruel words thrown like stones.

And just when it all began to collapse, when she sat alone among the ruins, he would come back—

with soft apologies,

with just enough affection,

with just enough hope to make her believe again.

He fed her a drip of love—never enough to nourish, only enough to keep her starving, hoping to get full.

So she’d rise.

And rebuild.

Again.

And again.

Wiping her tears, stitching her heart back together in the dark, while he went on living untouched—

laughing, partying, shining in the world outside.

And she?

She was trapped in the smoke of a dream that wasn’t real.

A prisoner in a castle he never planned to live in.

The pain this time was deeper.

Because this time—

she had walked into it with open eyes.

She gave more.

Hoped harder.

Believed her softness would melt the frost.

That loyalty would unlock his chest.

That if she poured herself, drop by drop, he’d finally become real.

But what melted wasn’t his coldness.

It was her soul.

The stone wasn’t in his chest.

It was her entity—

formed from years of shrinking, sacrificing, staying and hoping.

It was her self-worth.

Her peace.

Her sanity—

all chipped away by a quiet, deadly hope:

“If I love enough… maybe he’ll return.”

But he didn’t.

That night, when the guests left,

She broke.

She cried—

not politely. Not silently.

But with full-body sobs,

ripping from her bones.

And he looked at her—

a shrug,

a breath,

a sigh.

“You’re making a fuss out of nothing.”

“We met after long time, she was my neighbor ,my class fellow also..”

The words crashed into her chest like bricks.

No apology,

No effort.

Not even the decency to console a crying wife.

He didn’t betray her now.

He had never loved her to begin with.

And yet, she had loved for both.This wasn’t grief.

It was erosion.

________________________________________

She sat alone that night by the window. While he slept comfortably in the bed, snoring loudly as nothing happened.

She watched white snow falling gently against dark background. It wasn’t just his behavior now that broke her.

It was the unbearable contrast.

The love, the affection, the attention he so freely gave to someone else—she had dreamed of that since the day they married.

She didn’t envy the other woman.

She mourned the version of him she thought she married.

Because that gentle tone, that warmth in his eyes, the soft laughter, the effort to care—it wasn’t unfamiliar.

It was everything she had been waiting for.

She used to believe it would come.

That he just needed time. That maybe she wasn’t doing enough.

So she loved harder.

Compromised deeper.

Sacrificed more.

She thought, "One day, he’ll look at me the way he used to.”

But the truth was crueler:

He had always known how to love.

He just chose not to love her.

And that realization didn’t just hurt—it undid her.

Because it meant she wasn’t unseen by accident.

She was ignored… by choice.

She had spent all this time trying to earn something that should’ve been hers without begging.

Not because she was perfect,

but because she was his wife.

And somewhere deep inside, she whispered:

"That love wasn’t a luxury. It was my right."

Her crown of compromises was strangling her. The nobility of suffering had become her curse. She had mistaken endurance for worth.

Suffering for loyalty.

Silence for strength.

Why????she wondered. She has so many why in her life now.

why I always earn affection like currency?

Why do I shrink to be seen?

Why is my love always consumed… but never kept?

There were no answers.

Just one hard truth.

This wasn’t a new chapter, not a new beginning.

This was the continuation of the first.

The new beginning hasn't arrived yet.

Disclaimer:

How she picked up her broken pieces, how she healed, and how she rose from the ashes—

that part of the story lives in the next chapter.

To be shared soon..