Our Love Belongs to a Parallel Universe.

I used to believe love was bound to this world alone—to the narrow passage of time, the frail borders of memory, and the fragile lives we lead. But when you left, when the echo of your footsteps vanished into silence, I began to wonder if this world was truly the only stage where love could exist.

Maybe there are places beyond, places we cannot see but only feel. Places where endings don’t come like sharp knives in the dark. Places where two people can find each other again and again, no matter how far apart life drags them in this reality.

And so I tell myself, when the nights are heavy and your absence presses on my chest, that our love belongs to a parallel universe.

1. The First Life

I remember the first time I met you.

The air smelled of rain, though the storm had already passed. You were standing under the awning of a bookstore, shaking droplets from your umbrella, your eyes scanning the glass display for something to read. I should have walked past. I was late, as usual. But something made me stop.

Maybe it was the way the world seemed to still itself around you, the way even the city’s chaos softened as though it, too, paused to listen. Or maybe it was the smallest thing—the tilt of your head, the crease in your brow when you read the spines of books. Whatever it was, it anchored me.

You turned and caught me staring. I felt the kind of embarrassment that makes you want to vanish, but instead, you smiled. Not a wide, careless smile, but a quiet one that felt like an invitation.

That was how our story began—softly, like a whisper the universe almost forgot to speak.

2. The Fracture

We loved in ways that stitched sunlight into the dull fabric of ordinary days. We walked along rivers, talked ourselves into laughter until dawn, and built tiny rituals that no one else would understand. You would leave a coffee cup on the windowsill for me when you knew I would be late. I would tuck notes into the pages of your books for you to find weeks later.

But love, in this world, does not guarantee permanence.

There was no single villain, no catastrophic betrayal. There was simply life: jobs in different cities, opportunities that demanded sacrifice, the invisible weight of expectations. Slowly, we unraveled—not with shouting or slammed doors, but with silence, with missed calls, with days when “tomorrow” kept replacing “today.”

The last time I saw you, your eyes carried both love and resignation. You touched my hand and said, “Maybe in another life.”

At the time, I thought it was just something people said when they couldn’t make things work. But now I believe you meant it. Truly.

3. The Search

Grief is not always loud. Sometimes it is the quiet routine of missing someone—pouring two cups of tea before realizing only one is needed, reaching across the bed for a hand that isn’t there.

For months, I lived inside that ache. And yet, in the middle of it, I began to dream.

At first, the dreams were small: you and I on familiar streets, our laughter stitched into the night air. But then, the settings shifted. I saw us in places that never existed—cities with floating lanterns that never burned out, forests glowing with silver leaves, trains that traveled not on rails but on rivers of light. And in each dream, we were together, as though every universe insisted on rewriting our fate.

I woke with the certainty that these weren’t just dreams. They were glimpses—threads of other realities tugging at the edges of mine.

And that’s when I began to believe: our love did not die. It migrated.

4. The Parallel Universe

In the parallel universe, we did not let go.

In that universe, we chose each other over everything else. We packed our lives into a single suitcase and went wherever the other needed to go. We fought, yes, but we always came back to the center, always found the path home.

In that universe, our mornings still began with coffee on the windowsill, and our nights ended with the sound of pages turning side by side. You still teased me about my habit of misplacing keys; I still laughed at how you could never fold a map properly.

We grew older there—not apart, but together. Our wrinkles were not signs of weariness but roadmaps of joy. Our silences were not voids but comfortable spaces. Our love became not a question but a constant.

That universe holds the version of us that time and circumstance tried to erase here. That universe is where our love belongs.

5. The Present

Here, in this world, I walk alone. But I am never truly without you.

When a stranger’s laughter echoes yours, when a song we loved sneaks into a café playlist, when the sky blushes with the same shade of pink we once admired together—these are portals, reminders that even if I cannot hold your hand here, somewhere else, I do.

I live with the ache of separation, but I also live with the wonder of possibility. For isn’t it more comforting to think that love does not vanish, but merely shifts its address?

6. The Hope

Sometimes, I imagine the universes as endless stars in a night sky. Each one holds a different version of us—some where we never met, some where we are strangers passing by, and some where our love is stronger than gravity itself.

I do not need to know which one is “real.” Reality, after all, is not the prison we once believed it to be. It is porous, shifting, full of doors we cannot yet open.

And maybe, one day, when this body is tired and this world has finished with me, I will step through one of those doors and find the version of you that’s been waiting. The you who never had to say goodbye.

7. The Forever

So I whisper to the stars, to the hidden laws of existence, to the fragile thread that binds us:

Our love is not gone.

Our love is not lost.

Our love belongs to a parallel universe.

And somewhere out there, we are still together.