The Day It All Ended

And it’s been a year now.

The day it all ended, my fan exploded.
Not metaphorically. It actually caught fire.

And somehow, that still wasn’t the worst part of the day.

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It’s been a year now, and it still feels a bit surreal — me here, writing, and you somewhere out there, miles away, our hearts no longer in conversation with each other.

What is this day, really?
For most people, it’s just another day on the calendar. But for me — or at least the version of me that existed a year ago — this day felt like something close to cursed.

That morning started normally. I had been served “breakfast”. iykyk.
Then everything just… fell apart.

I remember clinging to my bed, crying my heart out. Not the quiet kind — the kind that leaves you drained, like something has been pulled out of you, because my heart was pulled away.

And then my fan caught fire.

It burned through my bedding. Even touched the trousers I was wearing. For a moment, I didn’t even know what to focus on — the fire in front of me or everything already burning inside me.

And as if that wasn’t enough, I later found out my laptop had also given up.

Just like that.

Everything within reach that day seemed to stop working.

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How do we even handle breakups?

Some of us cry. Some eat. Some try to distract themselves with anything that can take their mind off it. Others throw themselves into something — anything — just to feel less.

I tried all of it.
Willingly. Almost desperately.

And none of it worked.

Because the truth is, some things don’t go away just because you want them to.

If you’ve ever been there, then you understand.

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Now it’s been a year.

And this feels like me writing about something that almost doesn’t belong to me anymore — like a version of my life I’ve slowly stepped out of.

Maybe it’s because I’m not the same person I was then.

And you… you’ve probably changed too. In ways I can’t even picture anymore.

That’s a strange kind of grief on its own —
realising that someone you once knew so well is now someone you can’t quite place anymore.

What’s left now are the letters I wrote, the poems that still carry your name, and the memory of something that felt like it was meant to last… even though it didn’t.

But it gave me a glimpse.

And I’ve come to realise that sometimes, a glimpse is enough.

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It didn’t last long, but it showed me what something real could feel like.

And even now, a year later, I can say this —
I wouldn’t be who I am without it.

I needed that experience.
Even if it didn’t end the way I wanted.

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People say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

I’m not sure I fully believe that.

There are parts of me that still feel… tender. Not broken. Just not fully healed.

But they are getting there. Slowly.
In their own time.

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And through everything, I never found it in me to hate you.

To hate someone I once shared something real with doesn’t sit right with me. Whatever we had — it was real.

You’re human. I’m human.
And sometimes, things just don’t work out the way we hoped.

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So here’s my quiet prayer for you:

May you grow into whoever you’re meant to be.
May life be kind to you.
May you give your best, no matter where life takes you.
May your prayers be answered.

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And maybe — just maybe — breakups aren’t just endings.

Maybe they break something open in us… so something else can grow.

I’m not fully sure I believe that yet.

But I’m closer than I was a year ago.

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This day used to feel cursed.

Now, it just feels like a day that happened.

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I still carry pieces of you with me.
Not in a way that hurts — just in a way that remembers.

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I don’t think I need to hold onto this day anymore.

It belongs to the past now.

And the past… can stay there.

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Thank you.

Once again — thank you.

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You ever had a day like this stay with you longer than it should?