The weight of waiting - by Rahima Suleiman

Title: The Weight of Waiting---Chapter One: The First Glance They say the heart knows before the mind can understand. I didn’t believe in that kind of poetry until I saw her. Maya. She stood in the light of the setting sun like a painting that refused to fade. I was twenty-three, impatient and foolish, chasing dreams with reckless speed. I wish I had spoken to her then, when the air between us was electric and untouched by time. But instead, I watched, and waited, unsure of what I deserved. --- Chapter Two: Almost Love We became friends. Safe, familiar, like a song on repeat. I learned the cadence of her laughter, the tilt of her thoughts. I loved her quietly, the way stars love the night: from a distance, always shining, never touching. But she fell for someone else. A man who was sure of himself in all the ways I was not. And I, the silent witness, clapped when she found happiness and bled quietly when it slipped through her fingers. Regret tastes like unspoken love and missed chances.---Chapter Three: Years and What They Steal Time moved with cruel persistence. I moved cities, jobs, distractions. But never quite moved on. We kept in touch—brief messages, occasional calls. I dated, tried to forget. But every woman I held felt like a shadow of the one I let slip away. She remained the echo in every silence. And I remained patient, a man standing still while the world spun forward.---Chapter Four: The Letter I Never Sent I wrote her once. A letter filled with truth and trembling. I told her how I loved her, how I waited, how I never stopped. But I never sent it. Maybe because I was afraid she had moved on. Or maybe because I feared she hadn’t.---Chapter Five: The Return Fifteen years later, she returned to my city. Divorced, tired, wiser. We met for coffee, like old friends pretending time hadn’t bruised us. "Do you ever think about what might've been?" she asked. I looked at her, all the love and regret crashing through me."Every day." ---Chapter Six: The Unfolding We took it slow. Not out of fear, but reverence. As if love, after all these years, deserved to bloom gently. We relearned each other. The new versions. The scarred and the softened. She asked me once why I never told her. "Because love isn’t just about timing. It’s about courage. And I had none." ---Love is heavy. Regret is heavier. But patience, in its quiet strength, carries them both. I waited for her not because I believed she would return, but because no one else ever felt like home. And sometimes, waiting isn’t weakness.

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