The Price of a Broken Smile

Arham wasn’t always quiet. There was a time when his laughter filled rooms and turned strangers into friends. It used to come naturally, without thought or effort. But somewhere along the way, that easy laughter faded, and what was left was something forced and hollow.

He liked to tell himself that moving on was a sign of strength. He believed that to build something new, you had to walk away from what was broken. Maybe that was true, or maybe it was just what he told himself to make the leaving easier.

When he left Alina, it happened quietly. There was no argument, no last plea. She just looked at him with tired eyes and said, “I hope you find peace, even if I couldn’t give it to you.” Those words stayed with him long after everything else had blurred.

He moved to a new apartment, met new people, filled his time with noise and plans. On the surface, life moved on. But every now and then, right in the middle of a smile, something inside him would pause. It was like a reminder that not all smiles are honest, and not every laugh comes from joy.

One evening, he was scrolling through his phone when he saw her photo. Alina was standing by the ocean, hair caught in the wind, smiling. It wasn’t the small, uncertain smile he remembered. This one was calm and free. He looked at it for a long time before whispering to himself, “She looks happy.”

And then came the ache. He realized he had never truly wished her happiness without him. He had wanted her gone, but not whole again. Her smile told him that she had healed from something he had caused, and that truth stung more than he expected.

That night he walked home in the rain without an umbrella. The city lights blurred through the drops, and everything looked softer than it really was. He laughed quietly to himself, not from joy but from recognition. He had hurt someone who once saw the best in him, and all he had gained in return was silence.

He thought of a couplet he had heard somewhere:

“Kisi ko ujaar kar base to kya base,

Kisi ko rula kar hanse to kya hanse.”

What is the point of rebuilding your life if you had to break another heart to do it?

When he got home, he sat by the window and watched the rain slide down the glass. He didn’t text her. He didn’t apologize. Some things don’t need to be fixed. They just need to be understood.

A few days later, a friend asked him, “Do you still think about her?” Arham smiled, this time gently, without pretending. “No,” he said. “I think about the person I was when I hurt her.”

And somehow, that honesty brought him a little peace. Not the kind that forgets, but the kind that finally stops running.

He understood something simple that night. You can start again. You can laugh again. You can love again. But if your happiness is built on someone else’s tears, it will never truly feel like home.