Unspoken Whispers"

They say the heart has reasons that reason does not understand. I never truly understood what that meant—until I fell in love with my cousin.

His name is Azaan.

From childhood, we grew up together—running through our grandmother’s courtyard, eating mangoes in the hot summer sun, hiding during hide-and-seek until we were both found at once, always together. He was the first person I ever trusted, the first person I looked for when I was scared, or sad, or just lonely.

And slowly, so slowly I didn’t even realize it, that innocent bond of family, of closeness, began to change. I started seeing him in a different light—not just as someone I cared about, but as someone I loved.

Really loved.

At first, I thought it was just confusion. That maybe my emotions were getting tangled. After all, society doesn’t really accept these kinds of feelings. Loving your cousin—especially in the way I loved Azaan—was not something I could tell anyone, not even myself at times.

But no matter how much I tried to bury those feelings, they grew stronger.

It was the way he spoke when he was passionate about something. The way his eyes lit up when he laughed. The way he defended me, even when I didn’t deserve it. The way he made me feel like I mattered—even when the whole world ignored me.

He didn’t know how much space he took up in my heart. Every word he spoke became a memory. Every glance felt like a stolen treasure. Every silence between us—agonizing.

But he never saw me.

Not really.

Not the way I saw him.

Whenever he looked at me, he just saw his cousin. His sister-like friend. Someone who knew all his secrets but not his heart. He never looked at me with the eyes of someone in love. Not once.

I waited. For years.

Waited for a sign. A smile that meant something more. A question that lingered longer than it should have. Anything.

But nothing came.

Worse still, he started pulling away. Slowly at first. Canceling plans, responding late to messages, not noticing when I wore his favorite color or styled my hair differently. I thought maybe I had done something wrong.

Then came the night everything changed.

It was a wedding in the family. Everyone was dressed in colors—gold and red and silver. Music echoed in the halls, laughter rising above it all. Azaan looked breathtaking in his sherwani, calm and kind, like he always was.

I had prepared all day. I wore the dress I knew he liked once, years ago. I smiled brighter than I felt. And when I finally got a moment alone with him outside, under the fairy lights in the garden, I almost told him.

Almost.

But before I could say anything, he told me a secret that broke me into a thousand silent pieces.

“I’m thinking of proposing to someone,” he said, his voice quiet but excited. “She’s from university. I’ve liked her for a while.”

He looked at me with eyes that were searching—for approval, for support, for joy.

All I could do was nod.

I smiled. I don’t know how I did it, but I smiled. “That’s... great, Azaan. I’m happy for you.”

Happy.

I wanted to scream. Cry. Run. But I stayed still, like a statue of my own broken self.

He didn’t notice the way my hands trembled. He didn’t see the pain I swallowed like glass.

He just thanked me.

And I stood there, watching him walk back into the hall with the confidence of a man who had no idea he just shattered a heart.

My heart.

Later that night, I stood alone under the stars and asked myself a question that still haunts me:

Why didn’t he choose me?

I would have given him everything. My soul, my dreams, my future. I would have stood beside him in every storm, sacrificed anything just to see him smile. I knew him better than anyone. I knew what made him angry, what made him laugh, what he feared when the world got too loud.

So why wasn’t that enough?

Why didn’t he propose to me?

Maybe it was because he never saw me that way. Or maybe... maybe he did, but chose to look away.

People say that love is about fate. About timing. Maybe in another life, things would’ve been different. Maybe in that life, I would’ve been the one standing beside him, not in the shadows.

But in this life, he was just my cousin.

And I was just the girl who loved him in silence.

He married that girl from university six months later. I didn’t go to the wedding. I told everyone I was sick, but the truth is—I didn’t have the strength to watch him say "I do" to someone else.

After that, we hardly spoke. The distance that once felt like an ocean now became a galaxy.

Still, I never told him how I felt. Not because I was afraid he’d reject me—but because I knew he already had, without even knowing it.

He made his choice. He followed his heart.

And I... I remained the secret lover with no name, the ghost of a feeling never shared.

Sometimes, late at night, I imagine what would’ve happened if I told him. If I had stopped him that night under the fairy lights and said, “Azaan, I love you. I always have.”

Would it have changed anything?

Or would it have just broken me sooner?

I don’t know.

All I know is, even now, after everything, I still love him. That love has become part of me. A quiet ache, a sweet sadness, a memory that never fully fades.

They say some people are not meant to be ours. They're just meant to teach us how deep love can go. Azaan was my lesson.

And I, the silent chapter in a story he’ll never read.

But that’s okay.

Because sometimes, love is not about being loved back. Sometimes, it's about loving purely, deeply, even if it's in secret.

Even if it hurts.

Even if they never know.