The Schrodinger’s door

 

The paradox lies in the fact that as soon as I opened the door and walked out of their place, the existence of love that might have been there suddenly fled. It evaporated into the air, fragile as a whisper, leaving behind the ghost of a feeling I couldn’t fully grasp. Had I stayed a little longer, had we spent a little more time together, perhaps I could have found the words to embody what we shared instead of relying on metaphors. We were two rats caged in a room, our vulnerabilities pulling us closer like an invisible thread we didn’t know how to untangle. I thought about it long enough in my head to be left with words but not enough weight to fully convey all that I felt inside.

How do I explain that a stranger I had known for only 67 hours became one of the most important people in my life? It wasn’t for the things they did, nor the things I did;  it was for the spaces we created together. The conversations where we unravelled the rationality of our thoughts, how they made me feel seen without the weight of patronization. It was the way they listened and the stories they told, each word a quiet reminder that intentional slow living was not just a concept but a choice I could make, even if only for those few fleeting days.

It all started when I met them in a cheeky little café in Patan where we sipped our honey lemon ginger tea, sharing adorably funny conversations about their tangents of thought. It felt like watching a flowchart come to life, each box leading to the next with perfect clarity. As I began to understand their stream of consciousness, I found myself drawn in deeper not to them but to the way they articulated their thoughts each one laced with insight and coherence. Later, as we lost ourselves in लागु पदार्थको सेवन, my mind betrayed me, overwhelmed and exhausted: and they stepped in, instinctively looking after me. A stranger, with no obligation, cared for me like it was second nature. That moment revealed their depth: not just surface-level kindness but an unyielding compassion that infused every action, every glance.

One thing led to another, and I found myself in their bed for three nights in a row. Not for anything physical, but simply to adore their face, exchange glances, and hold their hand. There was something so special about the intimacy we shared, something even more beautiful about the absence of sexual connotations. It was their grace that allowed me to slow down, to see myself as more than the sum of my trauma, to see myself through their eyes, eyes that reflected nothing but honesty and an appreciation for my raw, unpolished self.

It wasn’t the aesthetics they sought, as they often reminded me. Holding my face gently, they’d tell me how my entire being seemed built on perfectionism. Until the last day, I resisted believing them. But on that final day, I cracked. I let it in. For the first time, I saw myself as they saw me: beautiful, unfiltered, and whole. And then was when I truly felt complete, a wave of euphoria had suddenly hit me it was a double-edged sword going through my chest except this time the blades were not poisonous they were filled with elixir that fortified my essence.

Now, the silence in my room feels heavier than ever, as if the walls have absorbed every word we never got to say. The silences we shared, the way they looked at me as if - I was something worth holding on to - echo in the emptiness.The weight of what could have been crushes my heart in ways I can’t put into words. And yet, I wouldn’t trade those 67 hours for anything. They were a gift:  a brief, incandescent flicker of love that will linger in the corners of my mind for years to come. And even though they’ve left me shattered, I would love them again. Over and over. Just to feel alive in their presence one more time.

विचार अफ द डे : 

मन छ, तसर्थ मन दुख्छ। 

मन नभएको भए त सारा संसार खल्लो भइ जान्छ।