Mukta
January 3, 2025
"There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart." - Jane Austen
Love. It’s like the first bloom after a harsh winter—delicate yet resilient, simple yet profound. For me, that bloom came when I least expected it, emerging through the frozen ground of heartbreak and self-doubt. It was his patience, his steady warmth, that nurtured the soil of my soul, reminding me that even after the coldest seasons, something beautiful can grow. It’s the kind of bloom that pushes through frost-covered ground, defying the cold that once seemed endless. Each petal tells a story of survival and hope, a quiet reminder that even in the hardest of seasons, beauty and strength can coexist. It’s endlessly complex, isn’t it? We throw it around so freely—“I love pizza,” “I love sunsets,” “I love you”—but when it’s real, when it’s raw and transformative, love becomes less about the word and more about the feeling. Love is like sunlight breaking through a stormy sky—unexpected, warming, and profoundly healing. When he stepped into my life, it was as if that sunlight touched every shadow I had grown accustomed to—shadows cast by years of self-doubt, by the quiet ache of feeling unseen, by fears I’d tucked away so deeply they had become part of me. His love illuminated those corners, gently showing me that the darkness I’d accepted didn’t have to define me. His love thawed the frosts of past disappointments, filling my days with a warmth I didn’t know I needed. It wasn’t just a fleeting glow—it was steady, like the sun rising each day, a promise that even after the darkest nights, there is light to come. It’s the way its light touches everything, melting the frost of long-forgotten sorrows, awakening parts of you that have been dormant for too long. It’s not just warmth—it’s the promise of growth, the quiet assurance that after the storm, life can begin again.
For me, love isn’t grand gestures or epic declarations. It’s in the tiny, everyday moments that carry more weight than they should. It’s in someone remembering your coffee order, or pausing mid-conversation to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. It’s in the way they anticipate your needs—offering you a jacket when the air grows cold, or texting you a simple “Drive safe” when the roads are slick. It’s the quiet attentiveness that makes you feel held, even in the smallest moments. It’s in the way they send you a poem that speaks your soul, or notice the quiet sadness in your laughter before you even say a word. It’s the way they listen, not just to your words but to the silences between them, understanding the things you’re too afraid to say.
I thought I understood love—what it felt like, how it worked. But then he came into my life and showed me love in ways I didn’t know existed. He repaired pieces of me he never broke, filling cracks I had learned to live with—cracks shaped by self-doubt, by the echoes of words that once tore at my confidence, by the quiet weight of wounds I thought would never heal. I remember one evening, sitting in silence, overwhelmed by the chaos in my mind. Without a word, he reached for my hand, grounding me with a gentle squeeze. In that moment, I felt something shift—a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying began to lift, replaced by the quiet assurance that I didn’t have to face it all alone. It wasn’t just his words but his actions—steady, deliberate, and full of care—that taught me love doesn’t demand; it nurtures.
"To love someone means to see them as God intended them to be." — Fyodor Dostoevsky
With him, I felt seen for the first time—not for my flaws, but for my potential, my dreams, my light. Love, for me, has been about healing. It heals in the way a kind word can dissolve a thousand unspoken insecurities. It heals in the way someone looks at you, not with pity for your scars, but with pride for the way you’ve carried them. It heals in the quiet moments—someone holding your hand when words fail, someone saying, “You don’t have to do this alone.”
He became my mirror, reflecting back the best parts of me even when I couldn’t see them myself. It wasn’t just love; it was restoration. And oh, how beautifully he restored me. He never rushed my healing, never pressured me to be more than I was. Instead, he built a sanctuary around my chaos, showing me that even the most shattered pieces could be held with grace.
Love, I’ve learned, speaks many languages.
When words falter, it’s the comforting reassurance of hearing, “I’m here for you,” on a tough day. Through acts of service, it’s in the way he noticed my car running low on fuel and quietly took care of it, showing love in action.
His gentle touch during moments of doubt grounded me, reminding me of his unwavering presence. A thoughtful gift—a book I once mentioned in passing—showed me how deeply he listened, how much he wanted to know me.
And time, the rarest gift of all, was in the way he sat beside me, not filling the silence, but simply being there. Each language spoke to my heart, weaving together a love that felt like home. When words falter, it’s the comforting reassurance of hearing, “I’m here for you,” on a tough day. Through acts of service, it’s in the way he noticed my car running low on fuel and quietly took care of it, showing love in action. His gentle touch during moments of doubt grounded me, reminding me of his unwavering presence. A thoughtful gift—a book I once mentioned in passing—showed me how deeply he listened, how much he wanted to know me. And time, the rarest gift of all, was in the way he sat beside me, not filling the silence, but simply being there. Each language spoke to my heart, weaving together a love that felt like home. It’s the comforting words of reassurance when doubt clouds your mind, the quiet acts of service that say, “I care for you,” without needing to be spoken. It’s the touch of a hand that grounds you, the gift that reflects how deeply someone knows you, or the time spent simply being present. Each language has its own rhythm, its own beauty, and together they form a symphony that enriched my understanding of what it means to truly love and be loved. It’s not always "I love you" whispered under starlit skies. Sometimes, it’s making sure the car is fueled before a long drive or texting, “Did you eat today?” It’s listening—really listening—when you’re too tired to speak. It’s showing up, over and over again, even when the world feels unkind.
"I am unfamiliar with the ways of love, it finds new paths to reach the heart." — Jaun Elia
For a long time, I didn’t believe I deserved that kind of love. I thought my wounds made me unlovable. But love proved me wrong, over and over again. As Rumi said, “The wound is the place where the light enters you.” Love didn’t try to fix me—it simply sat with me, reminding me that I wasn’t broken in the first place. This realization changed everything for me. It was like peeling back a veil I didn’t know I had worn, seeing myself not as someone who needed fixing, but as someone already whole, deserving of kindness and care. It reshaped how I spoke to myself, how I allowed myself to feel, and most of all, how I welcomed love into my life without fear of judgment.
So maybe that’s what love is to me: the gentle reminder that I’m enough.
It’s the way love supports you, like scaffolding around a building—not holding you up because you’re weak, but because you’re growing into something bigger, something stronger. It doesn’t complete you; it complements you.
Here’s what I know now: love isn’t about finding someone to rescue you. It’s about finding someone who stands beside you as you rescue yourself.
It’s about being shown that you’re capable of things you never imagined—kindness, patience, forgiveness, courage. I remember a moment when I lashed out, expecting rejection, but instead, he stayed. He listened, gently reminding me that anger is often just pain wearing a mask. In his calm presence, I discovered the courage to unravel those layers and offer an apology I didn’t think I was capable of. It’s about realizing that love doesn’t take from you; it adds to you. I remember one night, lost in self-doubt, when he sat beside me and said, “You’re more than enough.” It wasn’t just his words but the way he said them, his unwavering belief in me, that planted seeds of confidence I didn’t know could grow. Love became the quiet force that expanded my sense of self, showing me how much more I could be. It expands your heart, your world, your capacity to give and receive.
Love, when it’s true, shows you the best version of yourself—not because it changes you, but because it lets you be fully, unapologetically you. It’s the mirror that reflects your light, even on the days when you struggle to see it for yourself.
So, what is love to me? It’s the sunrise after a sleepless night. The warm blanket on a cold day. The quiet reassurance that, no matter what, you’re not alone. It’s the healing and the holding, the patience and the peace.
And most of all, it’s the belief that you are worthy of all of it, just as you are.
“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own…I have loved none but you.” —Captain Wentworth, Persuasion by Jane Austen
With love,
Mukta
Song of choice,
