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Woh Nigahein


From the first moment I saw her, I knew something had changed in me.


It wasn’t dramatic — no thunder, no orchestra, no glowing light from the sky. Just a passing glance. But there was something in those eyes… something that refused to let go of my heart.


She was sitting by the window seat in the college library, sunlight tracing the outline of her hair. She wasn't even looking around. Her eyes were deep into a book, lost in a world that didn’t include me. But to me, she was the world in that moment.


I found myself drawn to that corner of the library every day. I never spoke to her. Never dared. What would I say? “Hi, I’ve been watching you read the same book for a week”? No. So I stayed silent.But I watched.

Not in a creepy way—I hope. I just… noticed things. The way her brow furrowed when she was focused. The gentle way she turned the pages. The slight smile when something in the book pleased her.

And her eyes.

God, those eyes.

There was a story behind them—something I could never read, no matter how closely I looked. Sometimes, they carried a storm. Sometimes, they held dreams. But always, always, they seemed distant, like they were searching for something far away.


I told myself I’d speak to her one day. Maybe when she looked up and our eyes met. Maybe then I’d smile. Maybe she’d smile back.

But she never looked up.

She remained in her world, and I in mine.


Time passed, and college ended. I never got her name. She probably never noticed me. We graduated, people clapped, photographs were taken. I searched for her in the crowd. She was there — in a white dress, laughter in her eyes as her friends surrounded her. I stood far away, watching.


That was the last day I saw her.

Or so I thought.

Years later, life had moved on, but my heart hadn’t.

I worked a regular job in a quiet city. I wasn’t unhappy, but I wasn’t exactly alive either. I’d often walk alone in the evenings, through bookstores and cafés, searching for something I couldn’t name.

And then one day, I saw her again.

Same eyes. Same calm face.

She was across the street, walking with a man. Her hand was in his. She was laughing — that same soft laugh I remembered from graduation day. He said something, and she looked at him the way I had dreamed she might look at me.


And I realized… she had found what she was searching for. That distant look in her eyes was gone. They were home now.


I stood there, frozen in time. Part of me wanted to cross the street, to say, “Hey, remember me? We went to the same college. You used to read in the library. I used to sit three rows down, just to be close to you.”

But I didn’t.

Because there was nothing to say.

She walked past. She didn’t see me.

She was happy.

And I… I was full.

Not of sadness. Not regret, either.

Just a quiet ache.

Like a beautiful poem you read but can never recite. Like a melody you hum but never record. She was my quiet love, the kind that never disturbed the air around her.

I walked home that night with a strange peace. She never knew I existed, but in my world, she had been everything. And that was enough.

Some stories are not meant to be shared. Some loves are not meant to be returned.

But they still matter.

Because in that quiet corner of the library, in those silent moments when only the turning of a page could be heard — I was alive.

Because of her.

Because of woh nigahein.


                                                                     
                                                                       ~ The End ~

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Location: south, 2520 S 170th St, New Berlin, WI 53151, USA

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