The Third Love

It’s already 8:30 in the evening. Her flight is at 9:45. Too much to say, and barely any time left to say it.

My speedometer climbs—122… 125… 130. I’m not slowing down. I twist the throttle harder. The bike wobbles beneath me, but it feels like it understands; it’s pushing with me. I cut between trucks, the wind slicing my tears across my cheeks.

I’m crying—loud, messy, unstoppable.

I can’t see the road clearly anymore; my eyes are just pools of regret.

And honestly, I’m not even looking at the road.

Most of my mind is drowning in regret and self-loath. A small part of it—barely ten percent—is still in doubt. One tiny sliver, maybe just a couple of cents of hope, believes I’ll make it happen.

The rest of me?

It’s already accepted the truth. And maybe that’s why that tiny hope keeps whispering that crashing this bike at top speed would hurt less than what’s coming.

Is she my second love?

They say you fall in love three times in life.

The first one—dreamy, childish—straight out of fairytales.

The second one—intense, wild—teaches you lessons and leaves scars.

The third one—unexpected—feels like home, like peace.

My love for her is intense. Emotionally deep for sure.

And if she is my second love… that means this story has an ending.

Just the thought of that explodes inside my skull like a grenade.

No. No, she isn’t my “second” anything.

She’s the only one. The only love.

I can’t let this slip away.

I pull the accelerator again.

The wheels skid harder.

And I don’t stop.

I reach the airport, breath burning, heart punching my ribs.

I scan the entire departure hall—every gate, every queue.

She’s nowhere.

She must already be inside.

Too late.

Ah, screw it.

I sprint to the ticket counter.

I slap my card onto the desk. The lady swipes it—hands me my ticket.

I rush through security and into the lobby.

My eyes sweep every corner, every seat, every silhouette.

Even from the back, even just by her hair, I’d recognize her.

She has to be somewhere. Did she just slip under my nose?

Hundred thoughts rushing into my brain and suddenly—

A tap on my shoulder.

I turn—

And there they are.

Those eyes. Wide, pure, shocked.

Her raised eyebrows ask questions before her mouth does.

It’s her.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Radha asks, baffled.

I inhaled once. Twice. A third time.

My voice barely makes it out.

“I had to meet you. Before you left.”

Her gaze drops to the airline ticket in my hand.

“Wait… the ticket? Why would you…?”

All I manage is a shy, pathetic smile and a tiny shrug.

She gets it.

“Idiot,” she whispers—

But there’s warmth in that word.

She pushes one of her bags into my hand and starts rolling the trolley toward the seating area.

I fall into step beside her.

“You know,” she says, her voice softer than the airport lights,

“I’m kinda relieved you showed up.”

“Why’s that?” I ask.

“I’m leaving everything behind, Kanha. My home… my people. I’m shaking inside,” she continued.

But I wasn’t really listening anymore.

Because anytime she says my name…

a tiny twitch of her round nose happens—

and my brain just zones out.

I still remember the first time it happened was four years ago, the day she moved into my neighborhood.

I introduced myself, she repeated my name—“Kanha”—nose twitch… and suddenly everything inside me short-circuited. I didn’t know a single thing about this girl, but somewhere deep, I knew it.

This lady. She is mine.

We became friends too fast—as if we were just continuing a story from a past life.

From sharing Instagram reels to watching every new movie together.

From early-morning marathons to those midnight walks when her cravings woke the whole universe.

Our first restaurant meal together? I remember every second of it.

It was late. Almost closing time. Most tables were empty.

Two tired waiters were finishing up with the last few customers.

We sat down, and when asked to order, she confidently told them:

“Four plates of noodles. And serve us only after you finish everyone else’s. Bring everything together and not one after the other please.”

We waited.

54 minutes.

Just talking, laughing, starving, and existing in a bubble.

Finally, the waiters came with our plates after sending everyone else home.

Before they could walk away, she stopped them.

“Please sit. Eat with us.”

Later, when I asked why she did that, she simply shrugged:

“It feels weird when two people just stand and wait while we eat.

“It’s nicer if everyone eats together, right?”

That night, I went home and opened a small wooden box—the one where I keep my beads. I started making two bracelets.

These ain’t no ordinary beads.

Every year, during the temple festival in my village, they remove a few beads from the Goddess’s necklace and give one to each of us—a blessing, a small promise that she’s watching over us.

One bead every year. I’ve collected twenty-four so far.

I threaded them carefully into two circles—one for her, one for me. When placed side by side, they form an infinity.

I will be there for you, you will be there for me, and we will do this forever.

The only ending that ever felt right.

I’m in love with everything about her. Her laugh. Those eyes. Her resting face. The clumsy way she exists. How she checks on me, makes me feel like a kid, and the way she grips my arm during late-night walks makes me feel like a protector.

Thinking of a future with her always brought peace. But the thought of confessing it… stole every bit of that peace away.

I overthink. Too much. Like now—I shake my head, snapping out of the daze. She’s still talking about how anxious she is about shifting.

“…obviously, Rony will be there too…” she adds.

And there it is.

Rony.

A name I’ve started hating for exactly four weeks. Her boyfriend. Kept hidden all these days—until Instagram soft launches slapped me with reality. She is amazing at keeping things—my secrets, her promises, every detail I ever trusted her with. Not once did she let anything slip. She helped me out of every mess, and whenever I doubted her instincts, she would say, “I’m Radha and Radha is always right.”

I helped her, too. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. But the point is about what we had—whatever this was—felt complete. Purposeful. Like life suddenly clicked into place. Until that idiot appeared and smashed everything into dust.

But still… I believe I can convince her. I trust my love. I have to tell her. I have to give her the bracelet. I clear my throat.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. You’re acting like you’re leaving forever.”

“Kanha… I am leaving forever,” she says.

I blink. Laugh. Because my brain refuses to understand.

“What?”

“Rony proposed,” she whispers.

The air thins. A vacuum is formed in my chest.

“And you kept that from me all this while?!” I snap—louder than I meant.

“Please don’t be mad. He made me promise… not to tell any friends until the wedding is near. He believes in evil eyes and all that and I respect him. So I had to.” Her voice is small, apologetic.

My head is bursting. Anger. Regret. Panic. I want to scream. Cry. Run to the roof of this airport and throw myself off.

She looks straight into me and says, “Kanha, I’m sorry… but I’m leaving forever. I’m settling there. He is the one for me. He is my forever.”

That’s it. My skull splits. My heart tries to rip itself apart. Life loses meaning in a second.

I take a pause… speechless.

“I… I need the restroom,” I manage, before everything explodes.

I ran towards the washroom, I grabbed one of the bracelets—hers—and threw it into the bin. Fifteen minutes of splashing water on my face, trying to breathe and trying not to collapse into pieces. I decided to walk out with a new plan: Say goodbye. Leave the airport. Go far… just leave before I do something stupid.

I walk out of the washroom, still wiping the water from my face, trying to pretend I’m fine. My eyes sting, my hair is a mess, but I force myself to walk normally. I see her sitting near the boarding gate, looking concerned. I take a slow breath and remind myself—just say goodbye and leave.

She chose her life, I will choose mine.

I go up to her and say, “Bye, Radha. Have a safe flight.”

Before she can fully look up, before she can notice anything off about me, I turn and start walking away.

But she calls out behind me, “Kanha?”

I stop. My feet stop. My heart stops.

I don’t turn.

Her footsteps approach, slow, hesitant.

She comes beside me, confused.

I take a step, but she gently holds my wrist.

“Are you angry? Because I didn’t tell you earlier?” she asks softly.

I swallow hard. “Why would I be angry? It’s your life.”

The crack in my voice betrays me.

She moves in front of me, blocking my path, forcing me to face her. Her eyes are soft, pleading.

“Kanha… you’re my best friend. I can’t do this without you. Please… stay with me till I leave?”

I stare at the floor. My jaw tightens. My chest feels like it’s collapsing inwards.

I remain silent. No nod, no yes, no anything.

Because if I speak, even one word… I’ll break.

She holds my hand and pulls me toward the café—says she wants one last coffee before she flies.

Then, suddenly:

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

I’m already pissed. I look at her, not saying a word.

“Do you…”

She hesitates.

“Do you think I’m making the right move?”

Are you seriously asking me this right now?

I don’t say it—but I’m sure my face screams it.

If you need to ask that question at all… the answer is obviously no.

But I hold my silence.

We reach the counter. I speak before she can.

“One espresso and whatever the lady needs,” I said to the guy at the counter.

I know what her go-to drink is, but I no longer wanted to order that, assume things.

“One cappuccino with almond milk, please,” she said

and turned towards me.

“Before you judge, just listen to me,” she says.

“I’m afraid, Kanha. But he’s the guy for me. Talking to him makes me—”

I notice it.

There is spark in her eyes when she talks about him.

The excitement lifting her words.

Her hands are moving faster.

Her breath quickens.

She’s glowing.

And it kills me.

“But everything is happening so fast,” she continues,

“I’m confused… I can’t even analyze myself… I don’t—”

Before she finishes, she bumps into a woman carrying a tray.

Coffee spills onto the woman.

The woman snaps instantly:

“Did you keep your eyes in your back pocket, miss main character?”

Radha stumbles back, startled, guilt written all over her face.

She starts apologizing—

soft voice, trembling hands.

And something inside me snaps.

I step forward, my voice louder:

“She said sorry! Are you done now?!”

The woman fires back.

Words sharpen.

People turn.

Security notices.

Radha tries to pull me away, whispering,

“Kanha, stop… please…”

But for the first time in my life,

I let all the anger I’ve been swallowing speak for me.

Airport security intervened, throwing me out of the café and giving me one final warning.

Radha watches, scared—not of them…

But of me.

Later, heading toward her gate, she breaks the silence:

“You didn’t have to stand up for me,” she murmurs.

I look straight at her. Cold.

“You’re not wrong.”

“What? It was my mistake. I bumped into her.”

“I’m talking about Rony.

You’re not wrong.”

She freezes. I continue.

“Radha, you’re so beautiful that every time I compliment you, I only talk about those big, beautiful eyes and that cute, pretty face. I never went beyond that, never talked about your mind. You are the smartest person I have ever seen in my life.

I don’t know him. I’ve never even heard of him. But I know you. And I trust you. You always make the best decisions—for everyone. Of course you made a good one for yourself. You just had no one to share it with. That’s why you doubted. That’s all.

You’re Radha.

And Radha is always right.”

She laughs—that soft giggle.

And yeah… I meant it. Most of it.

She needed to hear it. All of it.

And when she smiled—really smiled—I saw a light in her eyes she never had for me.

A love she has only for him.

It felt weirdly good.

Not because I got to vent my anger…

But because I stood up for her.

Because I wiped that worry off her face.

Because for a moment, I could do something for her.

She hugged me and left for the gate. I paused and called her back, took out the other bracelet, my bracelet, put it on her hand, and said, “I will always be there for you.”

Her puppy face came into play, she said “Kanha” before she hugged me, and that twitch—me zoned out all over again.

So yes, this is the end of my second love.

The love that wanted her, the love that wanted a future, the love that wanted… something back.

But in the ashes, something gentler rises.

My third love.

With her. Still her.

Not the love that asks.

Not the love that waits for an answer.

Just the love that stays.

The love that wants to hold her happiness.

The love that breathes when she smiles.

The love that survives on the smallest twitch of her nose.

A love without expectations.

Without return.

Without fear.

Just love.

I know people might argue that this is an impractical thing, but for me, this surely fits in the definition of third love.

Loving her… it feels like home.