I Give Him My sight..... But He Stole My Heart

The Story

Part 1: The Light He Brought Into My Life
The first time I saw Ayaan, the world slowed down. 

It was one of those chaotic college mornings—books slipping from my arms, coffee threatening to spill—when he appeared. With a quick step, he caught my falling notebook and handed it back with a smile that made my pulse stutter. 

"You should be careful,"he said, his voice warm like sunlight. "Wouldn’t want you losing these."

I mumbled a thanks, but my throat had tightened. His eyes held something rare—a kindness that didn’t feel performative. 

Over the next few months, Ayaan became my constant. We studied together in the library, shared lunches under the oak tree, and talked until campus security kicked us out. He remembered how I took my tea (extra sugar, no milk) and how I jumped at sudden noises (a habit from childhood). 

One rainy evening, as we huddled under his umbrella, he turned to me. "Zara,"he said, "your laugh—it’s my favorite sound."

My heart swelled. I thought, This is it. This is love.

Part 2: The Cracks Beneath the Surface
Then came the whispers. 

"Did you see Ayaan with Riya at the café?"
"They looked… close."

I brushed it off. Riya was his childhood friend. But when I spotted them outside the lecture hall—her fingers curled around his wrist, his head bent toward hers—a cold knot formed in my stomach. 

That night, I texted him: "We need to talk."

He arrived with sunflowers (my favorite) and a furrowed brow. "What’s wrong?"

"You and Riya,"I blurted. "Are you—?"

"God, no!" He laughed, tugging me close. "She’s like a sister. You’re the only one I want." 

I believed him. 

Part 3: The Night Everything Shattered
Three weeks later, my phone buzzed with a photo from an unknown number. 

Ayaan and Riya. Lips locked. Caption: "Thanks for keeping him warm till I got back."

The room tilted. I called Ayaan, my hands shaking. 

"Explain," I demanded. 

Silence. Then—"Zara, it’s complicated. Her family and mine… we’ve been promised since—"

"Don’t." My voice broke. "Just tell me one thing. Did you ever love me?"

Another pause. "I… care about you. But some things—"

I hung up. 

Part 4: The Darkness That Followed
The migraines started the next day. 

At first, it was just blurry vision—stress, I assumed. But then the headaches came, sharp and relentless. My doctor’s words rang in my ears: "Extreme emotional distress can trigger physical symptoms. Your optic nerves are inflamed."

"Will it get better?" I asked. 

"With time," he said gently. "But you need to avoid triggers."

A bitter laugh escaped me. My trigger had hazel eyes and a liar’s smile. 

Part 5: The Last Goodbye
Ayaan showed up a month later, hollow-cheeked and desperate. "Zara, please. Let me make this right." 

I stood in the doorway, the sunlight casting his shadow over me. "You already did,"I said quietly. "You showed me exactly who you are."

As I shut the door, I realized—I couldn’t see his expression anymore. The tears or the regret. Maybe it was better that way. 

Epilogue: The Lesson in the Loss
Now, when the world dims at the edges, I don’t panic. I light a candle, play old songs, and remind myself: 

Some people are like fireworks—bright, beautiful, and gone too soon. But the darkness they leave behind? That’s yours to fill.