Love Without Losing Myself

Sometimes Love Isn’t Enough

“Sometimes the hardest lesson is learning that love alone cannot save us.”

The scent of jerk chicken mingled with laughter and the clamor of taxi-horns. For a heartbeat, the world around Amara blurred—not from longing or hate, but from the quiet ache of remembering how much of herself she once poured into Andre.

“Amara remembered the girl she’d been—soft-hearted, eager to love. Now, she stood rooted, no longer moved by Andre’s presence.”

Andre had taken so much of her— and handed the best of what she gave to another. Amara felt no anger—only gentle sorrow for her younger self, and a newfound resolve to protect herself.

She blinked, hoping the familiar shape was a trick of the sunlight, a stranger caught in the swirl of commuters. But then Andre turned, head tilted in that old searching way, and the city noise faded. Memories of late-night calls and broken promises surfaced, grounding her in the present.

The old Amara would have felt her pulse quicken; the new Amara felt only a quiet stillness.

Andre hadn’t seen her yet. But Amara could already feel the shift within herself—the subtle affirming of her spine, the grounding of her breath as she inhaled the humid, spice-laden air. Once, she would have approached him, hiding her hurt. Now, she stood firm, present and rooted.

When their eyes finally met, Amara didn’t flinch.

She simply… faced Andre.

“How have you been?” Andre asked, trying for casual.

“Good,” Amara replied, steady.

They exchanged brief updates about family. Andre mentioned living with his girlfriend, his smile strained. Amara offered only a polite nod—her silence now a boundary.

Andre went on, “My dad migrated to America. Left me behind. Doesn’t even check in. His wife has him… different.”

Amara felt a tug of compassion. But it stayed where it belonged, Inside her—not on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Amara said softly. “And work?” she asked.

Andre’s shoulders slumped. He dropped his chin, gaze falling to the side-walk, unable to meet her eyes. His feet shifted, restless, betraying his unease. Under his breath, barely audible above the city noise, he murmured, “I’m not really working right now…”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Andre’s eyes drifted back to Amara’s face, searching for traces of the girl he once knew. He swallowed, voice low and uncertain.

“I think about a lot of things lately—the chances I ruined with you, and in my professional life… what could have been.” His words lingered, heavy with regret.

Finally, his voice softened, almost drifting away. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you, Amara.”

In the past, these words would’ve cracked Amara open. Now, they simply passed through her like wind—felt, but no longer controlling her.

Amara checked her phone and excused herself. Andre asked to reconnect, but Amara declined, firm and gentle.

Andre blinked, wounded—not by rejection, but by realizing Amara had changed. The girl who once would’ve moved mountains for him was gone.

Just then, Amara’s phone vibrated, the buzz a small anchor amid the noise and heat. She stepped aside, finding a patch of shade beneath a sagging awning, and lifted the phone to her ear.

“Hey, pookie bear,” she said softly.

Juhvi’s voice wrapped around Amara like something familiar and steady. “Just checking in. You good?”

“Yeah,” Amara said, a small smile touching her lips as the scent of roasted-corn drifted by. “I’m good.”

“You sure? You sound a little… different.”

“I actually ran into my ex just now.”

A pause. Not tense. Not suspicious. Just Juhvi making room for her truth.

“Oh. And how was that?”

“Unexpected,” Amara answered. “But it was fine. Andre didn’t overstep. Just talked.”

“And you’re, okay?” he asked, gentle, not probing.

Amara felt warmth bloom in her chest.

With Andre, she had spoken, but her words often slipped past him like water—heard but never understood. She had poured her heart out countless times only to feel invisible.

But with Juhvi…

she didn’t have to fight to be understood.

“Yeah,” Amara said. “You don’t have to worry.”

“As long as no boundaries were crossed,” he said softly, “then that’s good.”

“They weren’t,” Amara assured him. “I ended the conversation and left.”

“Alright,” he said, and she could hear the trust in his voice. “I’m here, okay?”

“I know.”

After the call, Amara walked on, the bustle marking her path forward—past the unexpected run-in, past the sting of old memories—toward Juhvi.

Her relationship with Juhvi wasn’t perfect. He had his own flaws, his own blind spots, his own human edges. They argued sometimes. Misunderstood each other. There were days when Amara’s doubts overwhelmed her and days when his reassurances felt too soft to silence her fears completely. But he always tried and that alone was a language Amara wasn’t used to.

As she walked, Amara realized something she hadn’t let herself fully acknowledge before: Juhvi wasn’t perfect, but he cared enough to meet her where she was, to understand her fears. He didn’t dismiss her doubts; he tried to hold them with her and prioritize working through insecurities together.

Still… trusting was hard; because it demands vulnerability. Real love meant risking pain and disappointment, hoping to be met with care.

True love wanted honesty, not perfection—a vulnerability that still scared Amara.

She feared repeating the mistakes that once drained her. But she also knew that love without risk wasn’t love at all.

Amara wondered whether she was ready to risk loving openly again, trusting she could give without losing herself.

The thought didn’t frighten Amara the way it used to. Instead, it steadied her. She wasn’t stepping blindly. She was stepping wisely.

And she walked on—

Toward home, toward healing,

Toward the beautiful, uncertain risk of love.

Seeds Of Change

“Growth begins the moment we choose ourselves.”

The last day of January found Amara at home, her phone propped up on the kitchen table as she spoke with the gift service provider. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating the notepad where she’d scribbled ideas and instructions.

Amara wanted the gift to be special—Juhvi’s favorite cologne set, Original Bailey’s Irish Cream, playful glassware, gourmet-chocolates, and their inside joke snacks. She planned to bundle everything with a personalized label in a reusable, customized gift box.

The provider nodded, jotting notes. “Got it. Anything else?”

She grinned, imagining Juhvi’s reaction, as she explained to the gift provider exactly what she wanted on the label for the snack bundle…

The provider laughed. “That’ll definitely make him smile.”

As Amara finalized the gift details, excitement mixed with anxiety. She wanted everything to reflect their story, but worried she might be repeating old patterns— giving too much, too soon.

Despite her doubts, Amara pressed on, hoping the gift would be more than a gesture—a promise and celebration of the love she was learning to trust.

After the call, Amara sat quietly, her mind drifting from the gift list to other thoughts.

It had been two weeks since she’d left her job at the telecom company. The decision still felt raw, a mix of relief and disappointment. She remembered the first day—how eager she’d been to prove herself, to learn, to belong. But the reality had been different.

No training, just a login and a headset, and the expectation that she’d figure it out on her own. Every call for help felt like an intrusion, every sigh or clipped answer from her teammates a reminder that she didn’t fit in.

Amara tried to persevere, but constant uncertainty and late apologies left her exhausted and feeling set up to fail.

Now, with no job to anchor her days, she felt unmoored but also strangely hopeful. She began to dream of starting her own event-planning business, focused on creating memorable, intimate experiences.

She traced a finger over the edge of the notepad, thinking of all the ways she’d shown up for others, at work and in love. This time, she wanted to show up for herself too. The disappointment of the job still stung, but it didn’t define her. She was more than her last role, more than her last mistake.

A message from Juhvi pulled Amara back to the present, making her smile and feel hopeful for a new beginning.

She glanced at her phone and smiled at Juhvi’s message:

“Just checking in. How’s your day going?”

Her thumbs hovered for a moment, then she typed:

Hey, pookie bear

Today’s been pretty quiet. I spent some time catching up on things and just trying to stay positive.

Still getting used to not having work to rush off to, but I know I made the right choice.

I’m grateful for you, though. How’s your day going?

She paused, reread her words, and sent the message.

A gentle warmth settled in her chest. No matter what happened next, she was determined to keep showing up—for herself, and for Juhvi.

Few moments later, Juhvi responded:

Hey, love

I’m about to head out for work, but I wanted to check in before I left.

I hope today brings you some peace.

I’ll tell you all about my day when I get home.

Amara smiled and typed back:

Thank you, babe. Please travel safely.

I’ll be looking forward to hearing all about your day when you get home.

Love you always.

Juhvi replied: Love you too, Amara. Talk soon.

Their brief exchange left Amara feeling reassured and grateful for Juhvi’s steady presence in her life.

After texting Juhvi, Amara set her phone aside. The warmth of his messages lingered, but doubts remained.

Amara’s doubts weren’t just about Andre. She and Juhvi had shared months of conversation and laughter, but hadn’t gone on a real date. Their one meet-up felt more like a test than a beginning, and while she selflessly planned his gift, she wondered if their slow pace meant progress or stagnation.

She appreciated how Juhvi took things slow, never rushing her, always making sure she was comfortable. It was the opposite of Andre, who pushed for what he wanted and made her feel guilty for wanting to wait. With Juhvi, apologies came easily, and he tried to understand her, something she’d never gotten from Andre.

Sometimes, Amara worried their slow pace meant stagnation. She questioned if Juhvi was truly invested, or if she was pouring her heart into something that might never begin.

The doubts pressed in: Was she repeating old patterns—giving too much, hoping too hard, risking disappointment?

Amara hoped this time was different. She hoped that the slow, careful steps meant something lasting. But uncertainty lingered. Sometimes, she caught herself holding her breath, waiting for a sign that he felt the same way. Maybe, she thought, the real risk wasn’t in loving Juhvi—it was in trusting herself to survive, no matter how things turned out.

Andre called again, checking in with familiar excuses. Amara kept the conversations brief and shared everything with Juhvi, who trusted her to handle it should he cross the line.

Each time Andre called, Amara felt reluctant but answered politely, keeping the conversation brief. Afterward, she was unsettled but resolute.

Amara was clear about her boundaries and ready to enforce them if Andre pushed further.

Drawing the line

“Boundaries are the bridges to our freedom.”

Amara was rinsing dishes at the kitchen sink, when her phone buzzed on the counter, Andre’s number glowing on the screen.

She paused, wiped her hands on a towel, and answered, her voice calm.

“Hello?”

Andre’s tone was tentative, almost apologetic. “Hey, Amara. How are you”

“I know I’ve been calling more than usual… I can’t help it. I keep thinking about you—and what we could’ve been.”

Amara listened, feeling the familiar tug of nostalgia, but she didn’t let it sway her.

“You have a girlfriend now, Andre. You need to focus on your new relationship. I need to do right by myself and my relationship. This—us talking—can’t happen again.”

There was a short silence then she spoke gently but firmly. We are done

Andre’s breath caught, and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Okay. I get it. I just… I wanted you to know how I felt.”

Amara nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “Thank you for telling me. Take care, Andre.”

“You too, Amara.”

Amara ended the call, feeling relief and closure. She glanced at her business plan for “Moments by Amara,” then opened her notebook and, with steady hands, wrote a simple affirmation:

“I choose myself. My dreams matter.”

Sunlight spilled across the page as she wrote, warming her skin and illuminating the words—a small promise to herself that her worth was not tied to anyone else’s love or apology.

Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is let someone go. I release Andre, and I release myself.

I am proud of myself for choosing me. I am whole, with or without anyone’s apology.

I used to believe love meant holding on, even when it hurt. Now, I know love sometimes means letting go—and choosing myself.

Amara walked toward the living room, ready to share her feelings and hopes with Juhvi. As she walked, Amara felt lighter. She was ready to build a future where she loved deeply, but never at the cost of herself.

New Roots

“Every ending is the soil for a new beginning.”

Amara sat across from Juhvaine at her kitchen table, sunlight still lingering from the afternoon. She hesitated, then spoke, her voice steady but soft.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

Juhvaine looked up, attentive. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

She took a breath. “It’s about Andre. He called again, but this time I drew the line. I told him we couldn’t keep talking, that I needed to focus on myself and my relationship with you. It wasn’t easy, but I felt… relieved. Like I finally let go of something I’d been carrying for too long.”

Juhvaine squeezed her hand, reassuring. “I’m proud of you, Amara. That takes strength.”

Amara smiled, feeling lighter. “I realized I don’t need to control the outcome anymore. I love you, but I know I’m whole on my own. I’m learning to let go, to trust that whatever happens, I won’t lose myself.”

Amara took a steady breath, her fingers tracing the edge of her notebook as she slid it across the table to Juhvaine. “I want to show you something I’ve been working on,” she said, her voice a blend of excitement and vulnerability.

Juhvaine leaned in, attentive. Amara opened the notebook to a page titled “Moments by Amara.” She smiled, a little shy but proud. “This is my business plan. My niche is Luxury Social Event Styling and Intimate Experience Design. I want to create emotional, memorable, beautifully crafted moments—experiences that feel personal and meaningful, not just grand or expensive.”

She paused, searching his eyes. “I realized that the way I’ve learned to love myself—slowly, intentionally, with care—is exactly how I want to help others celebrate their lives. I want to offer intimate, memory-centered moments. Not just events, but experiences that remind people they’re seen, valued, and loved. It’s about creating spaces where people can connect deeply, just like I’ve learned to connect with myself.”

Juhvaine’s admiration was clear in his smile. “That’s incredible, Amara. You’re turning your growth into something beautiful for others. I love that you’re focusing on the emotional side, not just the aesthetics.”

He flipped through her notes, pausing at a sketch of a candlelit dinner.

“You know, I think your story—how you learned to love yourself, set boundaries, and let go—will inspire your clients. You’re not just designing events; you’re helping people create memories that last.”

“That’s exactly what I hope for. I want every experience to be a celebration of love, not just between people, but for themselves.”

Juhvaine squeezed her hand. “You’re onto something special. I’m proud of you—and I’m here for the journey.”

Amara closed her notebook, feeling a gentle warmth in her chest. She looked at Juhvaine, her voice steady but open.

“You know, for a long time I tried to control everything—my relationships, my future, even how people saw me. I thought if I could just get it right, I’d finally be happy. But letting go of Andre, and working on this business, taught me something. I can’t control how things turn out. I can only choose myself, love deeply, and trust that whatever happens, I’ll be okay.”

She paused, letting the truth settle between them. “I love you, Juhvaine. I want us to work, but I don’t need to chase or force anything anymore. If love is freely given, it’s enough. If not, I know I’ll walk away whole.”

Juhvaine’s eyes softened. “That’s real, Amara. I admire your strength. And I want you to know—I’m here for you, for all of it.”

He reached beneath the table and pulled out a carefully wrapped package. “I expect to see you in this for our first date he said with a twinkle in his eyes”.

Amara’s breath caught as she unwrapped the dress, the fabric soft and elegant in her hands. She recognized it instantly—a dress she’d admired but never expected to own. The gesture spoke louder than any promise.

She looked at him, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you, Juhvaine.” Her words were simple, but her heart felt lighter, untethered from worry or expectation.

Amara traced the dress, sunlight warming her skin. She glanced at her notebook—“I choose myself. My dreams matter.”

For the first time, she felt no urge to control what came next. She welcomed uncertainty, trusting herself to meet whatever the future held. With a quiet smile, she looked forward to their date—not as a test, but as a celebration of new roots and the love, she’d found for herself. She was ready, and that was enough.