𝘗𝘙𝘖𝘓𝘖𝘎𝘜𝘌

They cheered when I raised the bat. Thousands of voices stitched my name into the night, fireworks cracked the sky open, and the country celebrated a victory they would remember for years.

But all I could think of was how quiet love leaves.

No headlines wrote about that part.
No camera caught the way my hands trembled when the stadium lights dimmed.
No one noticed that every cheer sounded like an apology I never got to say.

Loving Tridha was never reckless.
Losing her was.

She was never meant for noise or crowds. She belonged to mornings that smelled like chai, to handwritten lists, to futures spoken softly like secrets. While the world learned my name, she learned how to live without me.

And I let her.

They say time makes things easier.
But time only taught me how to win everything and still lose the one thing that mattered.

Some nights, I wonder if she still celebrates my centuries.
Some nights, I hope she doesn't.

Every victory I've ever held
has her absence written all over it.

Still-
if love ever finds its way back,
I won't be quiet again.