Love is the first thing that comes to mind tonight. It always has been.
For as long as I can remember, I have been a hopeless romantic — someone who gravitated toward affection long before I fully understood what it meant. Even as a child, I longed to be held, spoken to gently, and reassured. My craving for love began early, and it never really left me.
For years, people told me that only those who were loved would know how to love.
But I have never believed that.
To me, love has always felt natural, almost effortless. I never needed to be taught how to care; my heart did the work on its own. Growing up, however, I misunderstood what love required. I thought I needed to offer my affection first to earn someone else’s. I thought love was something you had to trade for.
That misunderstanding shaped me.
My desire to be adored — to be held, to be spoken to kindly — became overwhelming. It pushed me into a place where longing swallowed my sense of self. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted love until I looked back and saw how it consumed me.
When I was twenty-one, someone took advantage of that desire.
I loved sincerely and generously, but my affection became a well for someone else to drink from without ever pouring anything back. It was then I learned that love, as beautiful as it is, can also wound deeply. I empathized too easily, forgave too quickly, and understood to the point of self-destruction. I became the victim of the very love I offered so freely.
In the aftermath, I promised myself that I would never give my heart away so easily again.
Yet if I could return to that moment, would I still love as fiercely?
The truth is, I would.
Because loving someone has always been easy for me — not because I am naïve, but because it feels right. And if my love can comfort someone or make their life a little brighter, I am willing to give it, even at a cost to myself.
Now, at twenty-three, I am loved and loving in return.
This year has been the kindest to me. For the first time, I feel myself learning how to love myself too. My boyfriend has played a significant role in this change. When I am with him, the way I see myself softens. My reflection no longer feels harsh or unkind; instead, I see light in my eyes, warmth in my smile. I have never felt as beautiful or as comfortable in my own skin as I do now.
Being with him has changed me.
I am stronger, calmer, and kinder to myself.
He is a source of joy and comfort, a reminder that I am worthy of gentle things. And though I fear the idea of losing him — so deeply that the thought feels unbearable — I also acknowledge that love often comes with uncertainty. I wonder whether he is a blessing, a lesson, or both. Whether our paths are temporary or lifelong. Whether we are shaping each other into better versions of ourselves.
Whatever the answer is, gratitude fills every part of me.
His presence feels like both sunrise and sunset, like waves and wind, like a prayer fulfilled at the right time. He is a gift from Allah, one I cherish wholeheartedly.
And in the quietest truth of my heart:
Losing him would break me.
Because in so many ways, he has become the closest thing I know to love.
