The Lavender Lounge

There was once a boy who loved quietly but fully, the kind of love that shows up in small ways: warm drinks on midnights, short drives with music low, donuts shared between conversations that didn’t need

to be loud to mean something.

He gave her a ring once. Not because it was grand or expensive, but because it reminded him of her — simple, subtle, and full of warmth. It became one of his favorite things — not for what it was, but for who wore it.

For a time, they drifted into something tender. It wasn’t fireworks, but it was soft and safe — a kind of closeness he thought might become home.

But one day, after the sun had risen a little too early and the night had weighed heavier than usual, she messaged him. Her words came slowly, carefully, like she had carried them too long:

Some endings don’t come with slammed doors or harsh words. Sometimes, they arrive quietly — in truth that’s hard to say, and harder to hear.

Today, I let go of someone I cared about deeply. Not because the love wasn’t real, but because it wasn’t mutual — not in the way that makes things last. And that’s okay.

I was loved enough to be told the truth. With gentleness, with clarity, with care. And for that, I’m grateful. Sometimes, love shows up not in forever, but in the way someone chooses to part with you — not with silence or avoidance, but with honesty and heart.

I loved sincerely. I gave what I could, not because I wanted anything in return, but because some people are just worth the effort. And though it wasn’t reciprocated the way I had hoped, I have no regrets. To love someone honestly is never…

It started when I was a kid.

I don’t remember much about that day, what the weather was like, what we were learning in class, or what shoes I was wearing. But I remember the hunger.

I had nothing with me to eat. No lunch, no snacks. Just an empty pocket and a quiet kind of ache I didn’t know how to express. I tried to sit still and focus, to keep my head down while the other kids pulled out their food. I told myself it was fine, that I could wait until the day ended.

And then someone beside me did something I’ll never forget.

A classmate, someone I didn’t know very well, someone I hadn’t spoken much to, opened her pack of biscuits, broke one in half, and handed the piece to me without a word. No questions, no explanations, no pity. Just a simple act.

Half…