The Mirror and the Mask- Fables of Truthism
Chapter:6- Desire – The Fire That Feeds or Forgets You: Fable:2: The Disappearance of the Self (The Flame She Mistook for Home)
Surbhi thought love meant endurance.
If it hurts, then it is real.
If it leaves you hollow, it must be worth filling. That’s how her life experiences had conditioned her while growing up.
She was just nine years old when her father left.
Had just entered adolescence when her mother stopped saying ‘good night.’
It was her Sweet Sixteen when she learned to apologize before asking for anything.
And By twenty-four, Surbhi had mastered the choreography of shrinking…..Smiling through neglect, giving without receiving, and mistaking breadcrumbs for devotion.
Maybe that’s why when Arjun entered her life, all unfinished sentences and beautiful ruin, Surbhi recognized him like a recurring dream.
He never pretended to be whole.
He said things like ‘I don’t do stability,’.
‘I am a work in progress,’ and Surbhi took it as a challenge, not a warning.
She believed that love meant staying. Especially when the other person couldn’t.
Especially when they were hurting.
Especially when she wasn’t chosen.
Because what was love, if not the art of proving yourself worthy of it?
Every time he disappeared and returned, she softened. Every time he criticized her tenderness, she hardened. She became fluent in the language of emotional rationing…..learning which parts of herself to dim so he wouldn’t feel eclipsed.
And yet, he called her ‘too much.’
The truth is…..he didn’t break her.
He simply revealed where she was already cracked.
Where she had mistaken abandonment for intimacy, withholding for mystery, chaos for passion.
The night she finally left wasn’t dramatic. There were no fights. No catharsis. Just a slow knowing.
She looked at Arjun, sleeping beside her, and felt a grief sharper than heartbreak:
the grief of recognizing that she had spent years writing love stories in places where no ink belonged.
She walked to the mirror and didn’t search for beauty. She searched for origin.
Who had taught her that love was earned through suffering?
Who had made her believe that disappearing for someone else was proof of devotion?
And most piercing of all:
Who might she have become had she not spent all these years translating pain into poetry?
The next morning, she didn’t text. Didn’t explain.
She just left. Quietly. Fully. Without resentment.
And for the first time, she understood……
You do not have to burn to prove your light.
Not every spark deserves your shelter.
Not every wound needs hands to heal.
Some fires only teach you this:
Desire can disguise what’s real.
Loved it !
Sometimes all you need to leave and not explaining anything.
This was impeccable!! I don't have words for it.
Just felt like something we learn too late.
Waiting for the next parts of it. This chapter seems very interesting indeed.