The Regret

“What Ken has is too pure, too rare to expose to the harsh judgments of the world. In our stolen days, we are fully alive—two people who found each other again against impossible odds, and Ken usually says and understands that true things don’t always follow the rules society writes.”

Some regrets are not born from hatred.

They are born from care that slowly realizes it has no place to stay.

Ken never liked comparisons.

To him, every human being carried a completely different life space, different wounds, different blessings, and different timelines. Comparing lives always felt meaningless to him because no two souls walked the same road.

One day during a casual conversation, Hini asked him if he would like to play a game.

Ken laughed softly and agreed without thinking much. He expected a simple online game or some funny challenge.

But Hini surprised him.

She said. “After twenty years, let us see in which position each of us stands.”

For a moment, Ken went silent.

That single sentence disturbed something deep inside him.

Maybe Hini never meant it seriously. Maybe it was just a random philosophical thought. But for Ken, it felt completely opposite to the way he understood life.

Life was not a competition.

People were not racing tracks.

Moments were not achievements to compare later.

That was the very first moment Ken emotionally stepped back from Hini.

Not because he stopped caring.

But because he realized they understood life differently.

Still, he continued talking to her because her thoughts filled his mind in ways he could not control.

And slowly, Ken realized something different after isolating himself from social contacts.

True care rarely receives true understanding.

To Hini, Ken was perhaps just another contact in her long list of conversations.

But to Ken, Hini was still a rare charm that time could not erase.

Days passed.

Their conversations continued.

And then one day, after twenty-three years, they finally met in person.

The moment Ken saw her on her bike and waving her hands, his heart lost its balance.

Chatting through messages had made him expressive and comfortable. But standing before her physically after two decades made him speechless. His palms sweated. His thoughts scattered. His words disappeared.

And then he looked into her eyes.

The same eyes.

The same calmness he had seen twenty-three years ago from the last bench of the classroom.

For one brief moment, time collapsed.

He was no longer forty.

He was that young college boy again.

Ken had worked in top companies. He had traveled, met influential people, beautiful women, intelligent minds from across the world. None of them ever created emotional disturbance inside him.

But this forty-year-old woman standing before him created a memory he knew he would cherish forever.

Not because of love.

But because some people carry emotional history within their presence.

They spoke for some time.

Simple conversations.

Simple smiles.

And then they left.

A few hours later, something unusual happened.

For the very first time in his life, Ken asked a woman directly for her photograph.

Not because he lacked access to photos.

Not because he carried desire.

But because he wanted to preserve the moment to stay with him forever.

Hini became silent.

Hours passed without a response.

Ken felt strangely tense waiting for her reply.

When she finally responded, her words hurt him unexpectedly.

She asked him whether he would ask for photographs from his male friends too. She explained how many men had approached her asking for pictures and how uncomfortable such requests made her feel.

Ken understood her fear.

But somewhere deep inside, he felt misunderstood.

Why would he ask for photographs from male friends? A man naturally gets emotionally drawn toward a woman he once carried in his thoughts for years.

That was human nature, not disrespect.

Still, he calmly asked why she was viewing him in the same category as everyone else.

Hini avoided the question at first.

Only after Ken insisted did she finally speak openly about the insecurity she carried because of the way men approached her throughout life.

Ken accepted her explanation.

But silently, he felt she failed to categorize people correctly.

That day, Ken finally revealed the truth he had buried for twenty-three years.

He told her about how he had repeatedly asked his friend Thee during college days to express his feelings to her. He told her about the countless attempts, the waiting, the fear, and the heartbreak.

Hini looked surprised.

Because, according to her, Thee had never told her anything about Ken’s feelings.

The moment shattered something inside him.

The friend he trusted the most had silently buried his truth for decades.

And suddenly, Ken understood something strange.

Maybe destiny had now reopened the unfinished chapter for a reason.

Maybe truth always finds its way, no matter how late.

Maybe genuine feelings never fully disappear from existence.

Still, Ken apologized politely for asking her for a photograph. He thought perhaps he had crossed a line unknowingly.

But somewhere within himself, he also questioned the contradiction.

Hini publicly shared photos and videos across social media platforms with open visibility. Yet she felt insecure when someone she deeply conversed with emotionally asked for a picture directly.

Ken never hid anything from her.

He openly shared his thoughts, emotions, struggles, routines, memories, and every important moment happening in his life. But Hini remained emotionally conservative. She opened herself only when questioned carefully.

To Ken, relationships — even friendships — were built through openness and emotional reciprocity.

And slowly, he started feeling the imbalance.

Yet despite everything, he still cared for her deeply.

Even after apologizing, he silently preserved her photographs collected from social media because those images carried memories attached to emotions.

Then, for the second time, Hini asked him directly:

“Do you love me? Are you planning to propose to me?”

This time, Ken answered more firmly than before. He is very far from “the feelings” that every human carries. If Ken wants anything, he would ask directly

“I need peaceful sleep,” he said.

Love affairs, emotional attachments, hidden expectations — according to him, all these things eventually steal peace and disturb happiness. He believed that at forty-plus age, what many people call love often becomes intimacy or physical desire disguised beautifully. If someone wants to be intimate, they can ask directly, but why play with love?

To him, real peace mattered more than romance. Romance ends in minutes, but peace stays forever

But Hini never fully understood the deeper meaning behind his words.

She knew Ken was brutally straightforward. If he wanted anything from her, he would ask her directly without manipulation.

Many times, Ken had asked her if he could simply take her for a drive someday — not for intimacy, not for romance, but because he genuinely wanted her to be with him, long uninterrupted conversations with someone he once imagined would become part of his life’s journey forever.

For Ken, reconnecting with Hini after twenty-three years still felt miraculous.

Because true things somehow always find a path back into life.

But miracles alone cannot sustain human connection.

Days passed again.

Ken continued caring for her.

If Hini disappeared from conversation for three or four days, he always checked on her well-being immediately. But slowly, he realized the same concern rarely returned toward him.

One day, Ken met with a minor accident. His shoulder got injured badly, and he struggled to work comfortably for several days. Because of the pain and exhaustion, he stopped texting Hini for more than four days.

But Hini never texted either.

Not even once.

Not even to ask whether he was alright.

Ken understood she was busy — a homemaker, a working woman, a mother balancing responsibilities. Yet somewhere inside, he felt that genuine concern never requires free time.

A single message costs only a minute.

That was the moment he realized something clearly:

Anything that remains one-sided slowly loses meaning.

So Ken quietly stepped back.

Not out of anger.

Not out of hatred.

But because he did not want to become another emotional burden in her life.

For the first time in his life, Ken regretted the very person he once admired the most.

Because despite everything — despite misunderstandings, emotional distance, unanswered care, and silent disappointments — he still could not erase her from his thoughts.

Whenever something reminded him of her, he still asked about her well-being.

And every time he heard she was happy, a small peaceful smile still appeared inside him.

— to be continued

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