She completely stripped my ego and I loved it

There is this precise, sick science to loving someone without letting them know they hold the power to completely break you.

To get why I’m like this, you have to understand the environment I was built in. Back in 6th grade, my cousin was caught talking to his girlfriend on TikTok—he was like 11 or 12. My parents saw that and instantly put the hammer down. No socials. Clear-cut warning: Focus on your studies, this isn't for your age, stay away from girls. And honestly? I swallowed it. I locked that entire side of myself away. I even politely turned down two girls who proposed to me over the years because I was so terrified of crossing that line.

By 12th grade, I had everything a guy could ask for. Good family, friends, academic standing—the works. But at night before sleep, my brain would just helplessly drag me into this endless rabbit hole. There was a corner in my chest that was completely empty. I didn’t want a relationship because of peer pressure. It was just this quiet, persistent lack of… something.

Then 12th grade happened, sections were reshuffled, and she walked back into my life.

I knew her from 9th grade. For four whole years, I looked at her as this cringy, talkative, weird-laughing girl who was basically just my rival in my favorite subjects. My pride kept her locked in that box. But I didn't even realize when that competitive irritation turned into real, genuine love.

The shift happened out of nowhere in an English class. The teacher was reading My Mother at 66, and suddenly, she just started crying right there. The rest of the class laughed—“Oh you’re so sensitive, it’s just a poem, why are you crying?” But while everyone was making fun of her, my guard just completely collapsed. I didn't see a rival anymore. I thought: What is she going through right now that made her cry like that?

Slowly, her little habits just completely stripped away my ego. One day she asked the class, "Anyone wanna play chess?" and my mind was blown—wow, she plays chess too? I wanted to raise my hand so bad, but something in me just froze. Another time, she called out my name just to show the teacher we had the exact same book cover.

By then, I knew I was in love. So I did what my brain always does when I feel helpless: I became an undercover detective. An online stalker.

I found her Instagram, but my ego refused to follow her until she talked to me in real life first. I started eavesdropping on her conversations, picking up tiny breadcrumbs. She played video games I played. She read novels. The reverse of her nickname was literally my nickname. There were so many contrasts and parallels between us at that point that it felt cosmically impossible.

Then I saw her Spotify was linked to her IG. I went full forensic mode—analyzing her playlists, her notes, reading between the lines. That’s when I pieced it together: her father was no more. She had massive family problems, and she had just lost her cat. The girl who was always seen talking, laughing, drawing teachers, and quietly staring out the window at birds between lectures… she was carrying an insane amount of grief. She wasn't crying at some poem. She had already lost her father, and the thought of losing her mother was breaking her inside.

For 4 months, I stayed quietly in love with her. I held onto this one line like a sacred rule: I love you and I want nothing from you, not even your love.

The breakthrough happened through drawing. She made a sketch of our teacher, and my friend chimed in: "Ma'am, A\\\ could draw you even better."\ She looked at me and asked, "Do you draw too?" I said I didn't have my materials, and she immediately said, "You can take mine." I drew the teacher, everyone hyped it up, and that evening, I finally sent the follow request. She accepted, and my Light Yagami brain immediately took over.

I followed her first, but send a DM? No way. I have to make her DM me first.

I knew she wrote stuff. I took a picture of the 1st draft of my 1st chapter—literally all I had written—and posted it to my IG story like: "Finally chapter 8 of draft 2 finished."

It worked. She DMed me.

We started talking, and that single chat ran for 22 continuous days without a single "goodnight" or "wassup" or "hi." Just one unbroken, continuous thread of information sharing, creative ideas, and pure connection.

But I was still paranoid. I'd eavesdrop and hear her tell her friends, "Only I have to say things, he mostly stays silent." My brain kept telling me she was in a relationship, but my optimistic side refused to give up—until this one evening.

I had just single-handedly destroyed the other section in an English competition. I was the happiest I had been in years. And that exact same evening completely ruined me.

I checked her Spotify. Her profile picture was changed to a trending Ghibli image. I zoomed in, inspected it closely, and saw strands of hair peeking out at the edge. I checked her following, found this guy R from our class, and there it was—his matching Ghibli picture, same background, same cropped photo.

Everything felt still that day.

I wasn't even mad that she was in a relationship. It was who she was with. This guy regularly objectified girls—like literally saying, "Look at her body and sh." It felt like he didn't deserve her. She fucking deserved better.

I always knew we couldn't work out—different religions, my own overthinking, worst-case scenarios I played in my head. But I had always planned to confess after 12th grade ended and close the chapter for good. Now? It felt completely pointless.

Still, I needed one last chance before boards. I knew she came early and spent 20-25 minutes sitting alone in the parking lot waiting for her friends. I used to go to school on a coin flip—public transport or my own vehicle. I stopped flipping the coin. I took my vehicle every day just to catch that last desperate window.

On the last day, I saw her sitting there alone. My heart was jumping straight out of my ribcage. I told myself: I know what you've done before, but if you do not talk to her right now, I will never forgive you.

I walked up to her using the Benjamin Franklin effect—asking for a favor.

"Can I ask a favor?"

"Yeah?"

"I wrote a short story, but I'm confused about the ending. Can I give you the incomplete draft and you'd help me how this story should end?"

"But I do not write stories anymore."

"It's okay, you just have to read it and guide me through the ending. I have two endings in mind already."

"Yeah, sure."

She said sure. I told her it’d take me a week to finish the draft. I walked away terrified, but by the end of it, I felt this crazy sense of relief.

The irony? I couldn't finish that short story in a week. I couldn't finish it in two years.

Because over time, that stupid short story developed into a full-fledged novel. And I still haven't finished the draft. Deep down, I know why—because as long as that story stays unfinished, the promise is still alive. The draft isn't closed.

The last time I saw her was on the last board exam of 2025 where she was posing for a photo with her friends and that guy, whilst I was silently going home from the other way.

Two months had passed since the last day of board exams and the results came out, and my brain—incapable of letting a single detail exist without data—did what it always does.

I didn't have her admit card ID or her roll number. She never gave them to me. But if you know the school’s center code, the sequential sequence of classroom seating, and a few fixed variables, it isn't impossible. It just takes patience. I set up the parameter combinations and spent hours systematically brute-forcing the board portal until the system finally cracked open and gave me her official marksheet.

I opened the document and stared at the screen in complete, silent shock.

She beat me.

She didn't just pass; she beat my overall aggregate by 0.4%. And to make the universe’s sense of humor even more explicit, she scored higher than me by exactly 2 marks in my absolute favorite subject—the one subject I treated as my personal domain, the one area where I thought I held the absolute upper hand during our years as academic rivals.

Then, out of pure habit, I checked her boyfriend’s details.

the guy who was standing next to her in that final courtyard photo—he didn't just score lower. He got a compartment. He failed two or three subjects outright and had to re-sit the board exams just to officially pass high school now I don't actually know if he passed later or not , whatever might've happened I don't care now.

I don't even regret that much that I never got close to her or saw her fully unfiltered version. I’m just grateful that for once in my life, after all those suppressed teenage years, someone actually invoked the genuine feeling of love and care in me.

I still catch myself thinking about asking her to co-write a book with me sometimes lol (#late night thoughts).

I guess I spent all those months thinking I was Light Yagami—analyzing playlists, brute-forcing data, engineering chess moves from the shadows just to stay safe. But the truth is, I was just scared. I was just a guy standing in a parking lot, holding an unfinished story, terrified of what happens when you finally write the last page.

Note- since the story was way too long I took the help of AI to reframe it