Inhumane

The Kind Villain

A story about loving someone from far enough away.

Stories With Diwakar

Every night, I write to you.

To: you

A message is typed, and then deleted, letter by letter.

Every night, I get this far. Then I delete it one letter at a time, the way I'm trying to delete the habit of you.

I didn't stop loving you.

I started noticing what my love was doing to you.

The nights you couldn't sleep because of something I said. The way you apologised for things that were mine to apologise for. How small you got whenever I was having a bad day.

This is you. This is me.

you

Drag my light toward yours.

Every time I came closer, your light flickered. You called it love. I slowly began to see it as something else.

So I learned the only direction that let you shine.

Leaving someone you love doesn't look like leaving.

• It looks like typing, and deleting.
• Letting your birthday pass without a word.
• Taking the long way around the café we used to like.
• Muting a name I can't bring myself to delete.

In the story you tell now, there's one line about me.

If you need me to be the villain so you can heal, I'll play the part. It's the last thing I can do for you, and the only one you'll never thank me for.

Guilt is just love with nowhere to go.

Every sorry I don't send lands here. I stopped counting a long time ago. The pile never stopped growing.

They say if you love someone, you fight for them.

Nobody tells you that sometimes the fight is with yourself. With the hand that reaches for the phone at 2 a.m. With the voice that says, just once, what could it hurt?

It could hurt you. That's always the answer.

Tonight, it's all written.

The message says: i miss you. i'm sorry for all of it. i'm still here, if you ever need me.

you

me

I hear you're doing better.

From people who don't know they're telling me. You laugh more. You sleep through the night. You've stopped apologising for things that were never yours.

I'm not gone. I'm just far enough away for you to be okay.

If you're the one who stayed away, carried it quietly, and let yourself be misunderstood,

that was love too. Even if no one will ever call it that.

Stories With Diwakar