Somewhere in Between
Some feelings never got a name, yet they stayed.
There comes a phase in life when we meet someone who quietly changes so much within us.
It is never only about liking him. It is about how his presence made me want to become better. Calmer. More patient. Closer to Allah. Without realizing it, those feelings grew alongside my healing, alongside the process of mending myself.
And maybe that is the hardest thing to forget. Because what stays is not only him, but also the version of me that was born while he was there.
I once reached a point where I felt that Allah did not bring him back into my life without a reason. After so long trying to improve myself, learning to let go, learning to quiet my heart, someone from the past returned, carrying feelings that apparently had never truly disappeared, even after years.
The walls I had struggled to rebuild collapsed again because of the smallest things. The way he showed up was never grand, but it was enough to make my heart believe.
I tried not to expect too much. But hope is like a seed. It grows underground first, quietly, where no one can see it. I only noticed it was there when it had already broken through the soil. And I no longer knew when it had taken up so much space in my heart again.
I was happy. Truly happy. For the first time in a very long while, my heart felt alive.
Falling in love again after years is not easy. Opening your heart after repeatedly teaching it to stay closed is not easy either. But there are certain people who somehow pass through every defense without even trying.
He felt like home, a place my heart kept wanting to return to. Even though nothing ever truly began.
A closeness that was never given a name. And maybe unfinished things are the ones that stay in our minds the longest.
Sometimes what exhausts us most is not rejection, but uncertainty. A silence that leaves us wondering whether to keep holding on or to slowly walk away. No explanation, no clarity, only small changes that feel more distant with each passing day.
And there are nights when I ask myself: why am I still here? Why has my heart not yet agreed to go home?
I tried to understand. I tried to look at everything not only from my own side.
Sometimes people choose silence when life becomes heavy. Sometimes they bury things because they do not know how to open them. Sometimes they avoid difficult conversations not because they do not care, but because they are afraid of hurting someone with the wrong words.
Maybe some people simply learned to survive that way.
And in the middle of trying to understand, I learned that love is not only about communication. It is also about trying to know him, to understand what he is carrying, and to see the situation he is standing in. Maybe that is what sincerity means. Not demanding every answer at once, but choosing to understand with a soft heart.
But I also learned that understanding is not the same as sacrificing myself. I can understand without waiting. I can love without losing who I am because even a soft heart needs a place to rest.
Talking about love, we often mistake closeness for it. Love is not measured by how much time two people spend together, or how beautiful their moments look from the outside. It shows in how they treat each other when the beauty fades.
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It is easy to be kind to someone who is smiling, calm, and asking for little. So the real question is: what happens when we are not okay?
When we overthink. When we cry without being able to explain why. When we need comfort instead of being the one who comforts. When all we have to offer is a tired and fragile heart.
That is where the difference shows.
Real love does not mean someone never gets tired or never makes mistakes. It does not mean accepting disrespect or emptying yourself for another person. It means that when things become heavy, two people still choose to listen, to speak honestly, to try, to take responsibility, and to walk back toward each other.
Loving someone at their best is easy. Staying beside them while they struggle takes maturity, patience, and a sincere wish to stay.
I learned that sincere love does not rush. It does not need to be proven every day, and it does not hide behind silence to avoid responsibility. It listens before it reacts. It chooses to understand rather than to win.
Mature love is seen in how someone speaks to you when they are upset, in how they keep their word, in how they protect your peace instead of disturbing it. It does not need grand gestures. It lives in small, faithful acts, repeated over time.
But there is something else I am still learning.
Every one of us carries our own life. Our own battles, our own responsibilities, our own quiet corners where we need space to breathe. Being apart for a while does not always mean being forgotten. Sometimes a person is simply busy surviving their own days.
Love does not have to be intense all the time. It does not have to be available every hour of every day. What matters is knowing how to keep the connection alive without turning it into a weight on the other person’s shoulders. A short message that arrives at the right moment. A prayer sent from far away. A calm presence that asks for nothing in return.
I think genuine connection does not live on constant validation. It does not need to be proven again and again to feel real. It rests on two things: understanding each other and respecting each other, consistently, even on ordinary days when nothing special is happening.
And when my heart starts to run faster than it should, I remind myself of three things.
I believe in Qadr. Whatever Allah has written for me will find its way to me, the way a river always finds the sea. It may bend around rocks or take the long way, but it never forgets where it is going. And whatever slipped away from me was never meant to be mine. It only passed through my life to teach me something.
I hold on to sabr. I do not have to rush. I do not have to panic over what is meant for me, as if it could be taken away overnight. Patience is not weakness. It is trusting that time is working even when I cannot see it.
I practice tawakkul. I do my part, I try my best, I pray with all that I have, and then I loosen my grip and place the rest in Allah’s hands. What truly belongs to me will never end up belonging to someone else.
And there is one more thing I have only recently realized. Maybe I spent so much time asking, “Is he meant for me?” that I forgot to ask, “Am I becoming a servant Allah is pleased with, whatever the answer may be?” Maybe what Allah has been teaching me through all of this was never really about him, but about how my heart learns to depend on Him alone.
So I say Alhamdulillah for the people who stayed, for those who left, and for those who remained somewhere in between. For every lesson that arrived dressed as disappointment. For a heart that can still feel, even after being hurt.
Closeness can be temporary. Attraction can fade. Conversations can go quiet. Beautiful nights can become memories. But love is more than having someone nearby when it feels good. It is making someone feel safe, valued, respected, and chosen, even on the days when being together is hard.
Now I find myself somewhere in between. Like twilight, no longer day and not yet night. Between hope and uncertainty. Between holding on and letting go. Between the words that were never said and the prayers that always were.
Is this what it means to truly love? I do not know yet. But I am learning that I do not have to carry every answer today. There is beauty in patience, and there is peace in leaving what I cannot control to Allah.
If he is meant for me, may he come with honesty and care. If he is not, may Allah replace him with something better and a heart that is calm.
May Allah make our paths easy. May the worries in our heads be replaced by peace in our hearts. And may every story we pray for, whether in silence or aloud, find its way to a happy ending.
