Do, I Love Her !!

Blog post description.

8/26/20252 min read

Do I Love Her? I Don’t Know.

She used to say, “Your love is nothing but words.”

And maybe she was right.

Because standing here, looking back, I ask myself the same thing:

Was it love?

Is it love?

What even is love?

If I ask myself that question, I don’t have a definition.

I only have a feeling.

And that feeling is this:

Without her, life feels like a burden.

A Day Without Her

I try to wake up at 7 a.m.

I actually wake up at 10.

Not because I’m tired.

Just because I don’t want to start another day.

I rush through my morning routine—not for punctuality, but to avoid talking to my parents.

I’m the head of my workplace. No one questions me.

That’s a privilege.

But also a silence.

The cab ride to office is mute.

Same thoughts. Same questions.

Why this day again?

At work, I take on tasks that aren’t mine.

Not for ambition.

Just to drown out the noise in my head.

On the way back, I bring subordinates with me.

So I have to talk.

So I don’t have to think.

At home, I switch on Netflix or Hotstar.

Not for entertainment.

Just to keep my parents distracted.

Then I search for her.

Facebook. LinkedIn.

She hasn’t accepted my request.

She probably never will.

Dinner is mechanical.

At 8:30 p.m., I tell everyone I’m going to sleep.

But I don’t sleep.

I close my door.

I look at her pictures for 10–15 minutes.

Then I play mobile games until 4 a.m.

Not for fun.

Just to escape her thoughts.

Sometimes I sleep before 2 p.m.

Sometimes I try meditation.

Sometimes books.

Sometimes movies.

But nothing is consistent—except this routine

Weekends and Temples

You’ll be happy to know I get two days off now.

But I feel like the most unlucky one.

Saturday evenings, I go to the temple.

I used to ask God for you.

Now I ask for your happiness.

Sorry for being selfish all those years.

I meditate—sometimes for 45 minutes.

There’s a black dog I met there.

I bring him biscuits.

He doesn’t ask questions.

Sunday, I wake up between 11 and 1.

My parents think I sleep.

But I’m just trying to silence my mind.

After lunch, I drive.

100 to 150 kilometers.

Loud podcasts.

Don’t ask me which ones—I don’t even know.

Months pass.

Years pass.

Festivals come and go.

I keep running from family.

So, Do I Love You?

I still say—I don’t know.

But I know what I feel.

I feel like waking up to your voice.

I feel like sharing my thoughts with you.

I feel like hugging you in cold weather.

I feel like driving with you in the passenger seat.

I feel like going back to Shimla, Munnar, Bangkok—with you.

Maybe even Sri Lanka.

I want to carry you on my back.

I want to bring you pads during your period—so you feel cared for.

I want to buy you a bra again—so you feel secure.

I want to say sorry.

I feel sorry.

I feel like I lost something I didn’t know how to hold.

I feel like I want to leave this life.

I feel like I want you to forgive me—or release me.

I feel like I want to take my last breath in your lap.

So do I love you?

I still don’t know.

But I feel.

And maybe that’s the only truth I have left.