Dear Anagha,

In a crowd full of people who know you, who admire you, and who try to be seen by you, I’m the quiet one. I don’t stand out. I don’t shout. But I’m always there — silently watching, silently walking out, with a kind of affection that doesn’t need attention. Just kindness. Just presence.

You’re beautiful — not just because of how you look, but because of how simple and genuine you are. That’s what draws me in. Your simplicity is rare, and it makes everything about you feel so real and honest.

Sometimes, I find your thoughts drifting into mine. It's strange, how even without knowing everything about you, I feel connected to the way you move, speak, think. I feel like I’m the one quietly hidden behind your eyes — unnoticed, but always there.
I see your eyes, it is black at night, brown at the presence of sunlight, and when I look into it, I only see myself.

Your voice… the first time I heard it, it stayed with me. It’s not just beautiful — it’s powerful, Like Haven in the air. And every time I see you, I find myself falling for you again. I can’t help it.

I try to make you laugh. Maybe it’s just my way of feeling a little closer to you, of hoping you’ll see me. Hoping, maybe, you’ll smile because of me. Thinking, if you smile, you fall for me, but whenever you smile, I am the one how fallen twice as hard as I find.

You might never know all of this. But I just wanted you to know that somewhere in the crowd, there’s someone who sees you differently. Quietly. Completely.

The stars above seem to know,
The secret words I dare not show.
Their light dances soft, pure, and true,
Echoing my silent, "I love you."

Yours Mayank,
Someone who cares more than you know.

Sometimes, when love grows,
it does not run wild, like haphazard branches
of a tree you wanted to stand beside.

It does not unravel like a birthday present,
hidden deep under layers of suspense,
and adventure.

It does not swirl around the world like a rainbow,
celebrating first touches, accidental eye contacts,
and naked phone calls.

Sometimes, when love grows,
it grows like the lines of a poem which once marked
tombstones around your heart.

It sticks like a fresh bruise under your feet,
and makes you want to run,
behind butterflies and stars.

It grows like a seed in your throat,
every-time you gulp, it scalps a little skin,
and heart.

Sometimes, when love grows,
it outgrows you.

– Mayank Arora

II. Sometimes, love dies.

Sometimes, love dies like the falling autumn leaves
That swirl in a storm
And before you know it, the summer is over.

Sometimes, love dies like the ever widening spaces in midnight phone conversations,
Just like the crackle over the line swallows your soul,
Love swallows you whole.

It’s musty rankness creeps up on you in the middle of your third dance,
When your lipstick begins to fade and the cocktail has gone stale.
Love fails.

Sometimes love reeks of broken dreams
And heaving, bruised promises.
It stinks of the clamor for survival against all odds. Though it boasts of battle sores,
Sometimes, love loses the war.

Sometimes love dies,
Fading away faster than the colours of the polaroid
That made love grow in the first place.
Sometimes, love renders lovers faceless.

Sometimes, when love dies,
It ends the lies,
Just so you can live a little.