Not him ,not now

I met him on a Wednesday.

It wasn’t anything special — a rainy day, a crowded café, and two people reaching for the same book at the little bookshelf by the counter. I laughed awkwardly. He smiled like it was the start of something. Maybe it was.

His name was Zayan.
Soft voice. Deep eyes. The kind of presence that doesn’t demand attention — it earns it.

We started talking that day… and we didn’t stop for weeks.


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Right Person, Wrong Time

It felt too good to be real.

He listened in a way most people don’t anymore — like my words had weight.
He asked questions that made me think.
He never interrupted.
He remembered little things — my favorite song, my coffee order, the way I hated loud places but loved thunderstorms.

I should’ve fallen for him.
And maybe I did. Quietly.

But here’s the truth no one tells you about love:

> Sometimes, the timing ruins everything.




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I Was Still Healing

A few months before Zayan, I had been through a heartbreak that cracked me open.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic — it was the kind of break that leaves you questioning your worth in the silence.
I had built walls after that. Quiet, invisible ones.
Walls made of independence and sarcasm and “I’m fine.”

When Zayan walked into my life, I was still trying to remember who I was without the pain.

He deserved someone whole.
I was still gathering my pieces.


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He Waited… For a While

Zayan never pressured me.
He was patient. Gentle. Always there, but never demanding.

He’d say,

> “You don’t have to rush anything. I’ll walk at your pace.”



But even patience has limits.
Even the kindest hearts get tired of waiting in the hallway of someone else’s healing.

One night, we sat on the rooftop of my apartment building — a quiet place where the stars felt close enough to touch. He looked at me and asked softly:

> “Do you see a future with me? Honestly?”



I looked away.
Not because I didn’t feel something — but because I did.

And feeling it made it worse.


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The Answer I Couldn’t Say

In my head, I was screaming:

> Yes. I want to. But I don’t trust myself to love anyone right now. I don’t want to bleed on you from wounds someone else left. I’m scared that I’ll ruin you just by letting you get too close.



But out loud, I only said:

> “Not now.”



His eyes didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. But I saw it — the quiet shift.

He nodded. Gave a soft smile. Said,

> “I understand.”



And I knew I had just let something good slip away.


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Not Him. Not Now.

After that night, we drifted.

Not suddenly — like pages of a book gently closing.
He stopped texting first. I stopped overthinking the silence.

We didn’t fight. We didn’t say goodbye.
We just… faded.

And in some strange way, that hurt more.

Because we were almost something.
And “almost” leaves a different kind of scar.


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Now, Months Later…

I still think of him when I hear that song he liked.
When I order that same coffee.
When I look at the stars.

I wonder if he ever knew how much I cared — even if I couldn’t say it.

I wonder if he found someone who didn’t hesitate.
Someone who didn’t say, “Not him. Not now.”


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What I Learned

Love isn’t always about whether you feel something.
Sometimes it’s about whether you’re ready to act on it.

I wasn’t ready.
And in trying to protect him from my brokenness, I broke both of us a little.

I thought saying “not now” was a kind way to protect him.

But silence hurts too.
Gentle endings still bruise.


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Final Thought

If I could go back to that night, under that rooftop sky, I think I’d say:

> “I don’t know how to love you yet. But I want to learn — if you’ll be patient a little longer.”



But I didn’t.
And he didn’t wait.

Some stories aren’t about happy endings.
They’re about moments — beautiful, temporary, real.

He was the right person.
Just not now.

And maybe, not ever.