WHISPER OF DESIRE

The sound of the waves filled the air. Each slow rise and fall carried a familiar rhythm that made my chest ache. I breathed in as the wind brushed against my skin. I pulled my cover-up tighter, but the wind kept opening it. Underneath, my black swimsuit clung to me. My eyes wandered to the sea, to the boats moving with the water, to the coconut trees that danced with the wind. Everything looked the same, but nothing felt the same. This beach has always been quiet. Peaceful, even. But tonight, it feels cruel. I thought I came here to breathe, but all I could do was remember. I don’t know what part of love hurts the most. Is it when someone who once loved you forgets? When someone you don’t love waits for you anyway? When the person you admire smiles at someone else? Or when two people love each other, yet can’t be together? Maybe all of it. Maybe love itself is the wound. It’s a disease I wish I had avoided before I got infected. Once, I believed that love could fix broken things. That if you gave enough, it would heal you too. But love doesn’t always work like that. Sometimes, it only teaches you how to endure pain quietly. What if love isn’t meant to heal, but to test how much you can lose before you stop hoping? I closed my eyes, but his face still came back to me—the look he gave me before he left. The words he never said. The words I never had the courage to tell him. I was never brave. Not with him. The lights along the shore flickered faintly, guiding me back to where my friends were. Their laughter reached me. I wanted to go back, but my feet stayed where they were. I wanted to move, but a part of me wanted to disappear. We were celebrating tonight—for me and for an old friend returned from Canada. A small reunion after years apart. For me and that friend. The one person I promised myself I’d already forgotten. When I saw him walk in, everything around me stopped. I froze, pretending to be busy and very fine. His fiancée was beside him. I heard her laugh. And the worst is... I hate it. I wanted to congratulate him for everything. His success. His engagement. His new life. But I hate it. My throat tightened, and I couldn’t speak. What would I even say? “I’m proud of you”? “I’m happy for you”? Lies. All of them. So I walked away. I told my friends I needed air, but the truth is, I just couldn’t stand being near him. Not when I knew I had no right to feel this way anymore. I looked down at the sand. My footprints were scattered from where I’d walked earlier. Before, there were two sets, mine and his. Now, it’s just me. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Maybe being alone is what I deserve after holding on too long. People say silence helps you heal. But silence also keeps you trapped in the same memory you’re trying to escape from. Sometimes, I wonder what happens to the love that refuses to die. The kind you bury deep, hoping it fades, but it never does. It only hides. It waits. It bleeds quietly. What if that love never left me? What if it’s still here, haunting me every time I come back to this place? Like a ghost I keep trying to escape, but it follows me anyway. For some people, that kind of love turns bitter. For others, it turns into longing. For the unlucky ones like me, it turns into jealousy and guilt. I thought time could erase everything. But time doesn’t heal when the heart refuses to forget. He once told me he loved me. I believed him. I really did. And I loved him too, maybe too much, maybe too quietly. But neither of us said it when it mattered. Now it’s too late. Maybe what we had was love that never learned to live. Maybe it was always something that looked like love but never became it. And as the wind carried the sound of laughter from the distance, I whispered to the sea— “Why does it still hurt?” But I don't know. Even my heart and mind don't know.