# One-sided Love: Pain and Relief She didn't know he existed. That was the beautiful part. The agony too, but mostly the beauty. Every morning, he'd find a reason to pass her desk. The coffee cart was three floors down, yet somehow his route always wound through her corner of the office. He'd time his arrivals and departures like a man reading the stars—not for destiny, but for glimpses. A turned head. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking. How her fingers danced across the keyboard with the casual grace of someone completely unaware they were being watched. His coworkers never noticed. Or perhaps they did and said nothing out of mercy. At night, alone in his apartment, he'd construct entire conversations in his head. She'd laugh at his jokes—really laugh, not the polite exhale most people managed. She'd lean in when he spoke, as if his words were worth the gravity. In these fabrications, he was witty. Confident. A man she might actually choose. In the real world, he was the one who held the elevator door, who said "good morning," who received no particular response because he was furniture in her landscape. Necessary perhaps, but not noticed. Not wanted. This was the cruelty and the mercy of it. He could love her without condition, without the corruption of mutual knowledge. His love existed in pure form, untainted by her actual opinions, her actual self, her actual indifference. It was a love that asked nothing, demanded nothing, required nothing but the continuation of his own carefully maintained delusion. One Tuesday in October, she got into the elevator beside him. They were alone. His heart performed acrobatics. "The weather's turned," she said, more to the closing doors than to him. He almost didn't respond. The words caught in his throat like something alive. "Yes," he finally managed. "Suddenly cold." "Too suddenly," she agreed, and that was all. The doors opened on her floor. She left. He rode alone to his own, feeling the entire conversation like a wound—or a healing. He couldn't decide which. That night, he did something he'd never done before. He didn't invent an ending to their exchange. He didn't imagine her turning back, asking his name, discovering they were meant for each other. He simply let it be what it was: two people in an elevator, discussing the weather. Ordinary. Final. True. The relief came slowly, like dawn. It came with the understanding that perhaps this was the gift all along—not the fantasy of being loved, but the freedom of loving without return. No expectations to shatter. No disappointment waiting at the end of his invention. He could choose to let her go. The next morning, he took the stairs. It wasn't dramatic. It didn't feel like victory or defeat. It felt like waking from a dream that had sustained him, and finding, surprisingly, that waking was not the worst thing. The world was smaller without her in it. But it was also his own.

# All the text messages, all the videos, and calls mean a lot to me. They mean a lot, but nothing if they are just a game for you. You keep telling me how unique, awesome and smart I am. I really want to believe you, but you should be able to prove all of this to me first. You should first earn my trust and show that you don’t leave me like all the other guys. I have to make sure you’re worthy of my love.

I don’t want you to be just a layover, I don’t need another brief affair. I am ready to achieve my goal, and I am ready to make you that goal. But I don’t think I can take another game with my heart and feelings. I don’t think I’ll be able to endure another disappointment. I deserve someone who will appreciate and love me. I deserve someone who will catch me.

So please, stop making me fall in love with you. Stop promising me the blue of the sky and happy ends, stop letting me believe there is something between us even though nothing is going. I am only human. I have hopes, dreams, and feelings—feelings that are not there to play with.

I have been broken many times and now I need to be mended by you, not broken further. Hold me tight in your arms, help me gather the shards of my heart back together. You know, I’ve been through so much; I was bent nearly to the breaking point, I was manipulated, deceived, and intoxicated by people I thought were the ones. You know everything about me.

I come burdened—burst dreams, abandoned hopes, broken ribs, and a heart full of scars. I suspect you see all of it. So please understand when I ask you to let me go, because I don’t know if you’re ready for all of this. I understand that sometimes, no matter how deeply you love someone, they cannot love you in return the same way. Such a love is lonelier than solitude itself. Please, don’t become another empty cup of loneliness I have to carry.

I wish you would leave me now, before I lose myself entirely to you, before I give you all of me. But you keep pursuing me. You keep promising me years of devotion only to vanish the next week and return the month after. You promise me your hand to hold, only to let me hang when I need you most.

I cannot live like this. So please stop chasing me while you’re still not ready to catch me. I can’t keep fighting for us if it feels like I’m the only one in the ring. I can’t keep circling all these damn walls you’ve built, hoping you’ll finally let me through.

At some point, decisions have to be made because walls don’t keep people away, they keep you trapped.

I let you into my life because I felt it was right. When are you going to do the same?

…The letter ends. Now begins the story that followed the letter.

One-sided love is truly a painful thing to carry. There is nothing quite like being in love with someone who doesn’t see you—who doesn’t feel what you feel. Unrequited love hollows you out, leaves you gasping, and often you have no idea how to claw your way out of it.

I know this pain myself, and I want to tell you my story—and the story of my best friend Smita—and how we both learned to live with what we couldn’t change.

It started about three years ago. Mohon and I had known each other since school, and somehow we stayed woven into each other’s lives. We had the kind of friendship that feels intimate, the kind that can last forever. At first, what I felt for him was purely friendship. But slowly, imperceptibly, something shifted. I realized I wanted more than friendship. And I became terrified—terrified that if I spoke, I would shatter the only thing we had. So I swallowed it all, tried to pretend. But the feelings only grew, spreading through me like wildfire.

Every time we met, my heart would race. I couldn’t wait to see him. One day, I gathered all the courage I could find and told Mohon the truth—that my feelings for him had become something deeper. You can imagine how it went. If it had ended differently, I wouldn’t be writing about one-sided love now.

My best friend Smita’s story was different, though not by much. She had been with her boyfriend Dipankar for two years when things began to crack. At first she didn’t worry—every relationship has its rough patches, its seasons of doubt. But the problems didn’t fade; they accumulated. They stacked like stones until they became a mountain of quarrels, of questions about herself, of pain.

Smita refused to be the only one sacrificing, the only one pouring everything into something that was already drowning. In the beginning, their love had been all-consuming: that fevered stage where your hands never want to leave each other’s skin. Then it had settled into something steadier, something real. But gradually she saw it—the way Dipankar had stopped trying, the way everything fell to her. The fire that once blazed between them had gone cold. Smita blamed herself. It took her a long time to understand what was happening, to finally see that she was alone in this relationship, that Dipankar’s heart had never truly answered her call.

When she finally drew a line and ended the relationship, the real process began: the process of reckoning with one-sided love and learning how to live with it.

How do you recognize one-sided love?
Whether you’re caught in an actual relationship with the person or nursing a secret crush, there are telltale signs that what you feel is not returned.

He calls you his sister:
Mohon and I had been best friends for years. He knew all my secrets—well, all but one—and I knew his. We shared everything. Every time he introduced me to someone new, he’d say the same thing: “This is Sadia, my good friend. She’s like a sister to me.” Part of me swelled with pride, and part of me died a little. It felt wonderful to matter so much to him. It was also devastating to know that what I felt was nothing but friendship to him.

My clumsy attempts at flirtation went nowhere. Whenever I tried, he’d laugh it off as harmless banter and match my playfulness with his own. But I wanted him, so I took what I could get—even if it was just the bitter consolation of loving someone who didn’t love me back.

You are never alone:
We were close, but we were never truly alone together. There were moments, sure, but they were accidents of circumstance, never planned. Whenever I suggested we do something—catch a movie, take a walk—he’d brighten and say, “Great idea! Let me see if the others are free.” I ached for something intimate, something just ours. But Mohon always had a reason to bring people into the space between us.

Looking back now, I wonder how I could have been so blind. But infatuation has a way of painting everything rose-colored. I saw only what I wanted to see.

He tells you about his conquests:
This was perhaps the hardest part: listening to Mohon talk about the women in his life, his entanglements, his doubts. Every time he spoke of another girl, some small, secret part of me hoped it wouldn’t work out—that maybe then he’d finally see me. And I’ll admit this to you: it hurt. It hurt to hear him describe how he felt about her, what drew him in, why she mattered. When he was stuck, he’d ask for my advice. When he wanted to buy her a gift, he’d ask what I thought.

Why couldn’t he feel that way about me? I asked myself this so many times.

He is not jealous:
And what I noticed most of all was what I *didn’t* see: when I mentioned someone else—some man I’d supposedly met—he felt nothing. No jealousy, no unease, no hint that it bothered him. On the contrary. He was always genuinely happy when I found someone. He was happy for me in a way that made it clear: he had never, would never, want me for himself.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know at the time that I really only wanted him.

He is not listening to you:
The signs were subtly different for my friend Smita because she was already in a relationship with Dipankar. The first signal that his love had faded was simple: he had stopped truly listening to her. When she spoke of workplace troubles or her anxiety over her mother’s illness, he heard her with half his attention, or feigned hearing it as though for the first time. Even when she tried to address the fractures in their relationship, to find some way through them together, he offered no effort—he left her alone with her struggles.

He shows no interest:
Somewhere along the way, Dipankar had ceased to care for Smita or the things that mattered to her. He didn’t bother to remember what was important—he forgot her job interview, forgot her birthday. Smita kept telling herself he had too much on his plate, that no one could remember everything. She invented excuses for each of his oversights. But eventually, the truth became unavoidable: she was the only one still investing in this relationship. What had once been mutual love had become something one-sided, something only she still carried.

Everything else is more important to him:
Dipankar was the sort of man who didn’t seem to know what he wanted. He claimed he wanted to be with Smita, yet his actions said otherwise. Everything and everyone mattered more to him than she did. That was when Smita began to question herself. She wondered if she wasn’t good enough, if something was fundamentally wrong with her. She no longer felt desirable.

He makes no sacrifices for you, but asks you for them:
This too was the pattern with Smita and Dipankar: she gave everything, and he wouldn’t lift a finger for her. The relationship had become desperately unbalanced, and there was no way out of it. It was the essence of one-sided love: one person loves while the other does not. One would move mountains for the other; the other would do nothing in return.

A relationship requires both giving and taking. Both must contribute. But Dipankar only took from Smita, only asked of her. Still, she persisted in trying to salvage what they had, but it was impossible. In the end, she had to accept that her love would never be returned, and that she would have to walk forward alone.

Reasons why one-sided love can no longer feel safe:
Many of us harbor this hope that one day the person we long for will feel the same, will fall in love with us. But there are good reasons to resist this fantasy and set a boundary.

He has feelings for someone else:
There is simply another person in his life, and there is nothing we can do to change that.

I also listened to Mohon’s stories about his women all the time and witnessed all of his relationships. He often came to me for advice, and I have to be honest—I often wished his relationships would fall apart so I could imagine new possibilities for him. There were times when I deliberately withheld my help, wanting him to depend on me, to need what only I could give.

So he made me feel needed. And often those moments were the only thing I had to hold onto. But eventually I had to face the truth: he loves someone else, and what exists between us is only a one-sided love.

He just sees you as a friend:

Many of us have heard this sentence before. “Let’s stay friends.” “I like you, but only as a friend.” Mohon said it to me too. When I finally gathered the courage to confess my love, that’s what he gave me in return. I matter to him—he doesn’t want to lose me—but his feelings are only those of friendship.

It was like a slap in the face. And as painful as it was, I needed it. It took me weeks, months even, before I could truly let go and make peace with the reality. But at least, finally, I knew where I stood.

He does not know what he wants:

Be wary of such men. A man without direction won’t appreciate you or what you give. This was Smita’s story. Everything she did went unnoticed, unvalued. Dipankar didn’t really know what he wanted from the relationship or from his life. Part of him wanted to be in love because he enjoyed the attention, the comfort of a warm home, someone’s devotion. But another part of him couldn’t let go of his bachelor’s freedom: nights out with friends, coming home late, flirting with other women. Whether he was playing games with Smita consciously or not, I can’t say. What I do know is that all of it hurt her deeply, yet she lacked the strength to leave. She kept believing he would change, that he would truly love her one day.

If he has no feelings, he will not develop them.

This is a hard lesson many have to swallow: understanding that where nothing exists, nothing can grow. If someone feels nothing for you, those feelings will not materialize. Smita learned this the painful way. After two years with Dipankar, she finally accepted that he felt nothing for her and never would. The pain cuts deeper because you’ve spent so much time together, invested so much of yourself.

And Dipankar?

He didn’t know what he wanted. He saw Smita as a beautiful woman—someone who loved him, who cared for him—and he thought it would work. But it didn’t.

If you notice that your partner isn’t putting in the effort, you have to stop and question it. You have to draw a line. Don’t cling to a love that flows only one way, hoping somehow it will deepen, because real love—true love—always demands two people willing to fight for it.

How to Heal from One-Sided Love:

What can you do when you’re drowning in this heartache? How do you survive a love that was never truly mutual? The way out often seems impossible, the path ahead obscured. But there are steps—things that have worked for me, for my friends—that can help you find your way back to yourself.

Don’t Bear the Blame for What Broke:

This is crucial. You must understand: you are not responsible for love that wasn’t returned. With Smita, it was never her fault. She didn’t fail because she didn’t try hard enough, wasn’t beautiful enough, wasn’t good enough in some fundamental way. Dipankar simply didn’t know what he wanted. He wasn’t interested—not in her, not in the relationship. The failure wasn’t hers to carry. So don’t let yourself spiral into self-doubt. Don’t let shame whisper lies about who you are.

Instead, turn toward yourself. Rebuild what was broken inside. Because only someone who loves themselves can truly love another.

Transform Your Pain into Purpose:

Yes, endings are brutal. The heartache is real, the grief legitimate. It’s okay to cry, to sit with your sorrow, to seek comfort however you need it. But there comes a moment when you have to rise. You have to take that raw, churning pain and pour it into something alive—a passion, a hobby, a dream.

I signed myself up for a recitation class. I let my anguish spill out through words and verse. I moved my body, kept it strong, gave my hands something to do besides reach for the phone. And slowly, the obsessive thoughts about Mohon—*why didn’t it work, why wasn’t I enough?*—began to lose their grip.

Accept That It Truly Is Over:

This step is the hardest. You have to look at the ruins and say: *This is finished. There is no return from here.* It demands that you gather your scattered heart, your confused mind, and accept a truth that feels unbearable: there is no shared future. There never will be.

Once you’ve crossed that threshold—once you’ve truly accepted it—something shifts. The fog clears. You can think again. You can begin again.

For Smita, this took the longest. She couldn’t let go of the hope, couldn’t accept that Dipankar was gone for good. I remember sitting with her, trying to make her see: *You are better without him. You deserve more.* And slowly, she began to believe it.

Again and again, she had tried to save the relationship, sacrificed herself and ended up only being injured.

One-sided love cannot be true love. And the sooner you see that, the sooner you can start a new chapter of your life.

To stop contact:
That was the most difficult step for me personally—breaking off contact with Mohon. I knew that if I really wanted to end things, I would have to cut him out of my life entirely. But knowing and doing are two different things. After all, we had shared an intimate friendship, and I missed it in two ways: as a friend I could tell everything to, and as Mohon himself, whom I loved. So I lost both—my friend and my (almost) lover.

Mohon didn’t want to break contact either, even though he sensed it was necessary. He kept reaching out, wanting to pretend nothing had changed, but we both knew in our hearts that everything had. I saw him a few more times, but each meeting brought the pain rushing back, along with the weight of my unrequited love. So I did what I had to do for myself and severed contact with Mohon.

I had to do it to protect myself, to keep from drowning further in the pain. The first week was brutal. I deleted him from my Facebook friends, blocked him on WhatsApp and everywhere else. I didn’t check his profiles or wonder what he was doing. Smita was my anchor during that time—she stood by me even when I wavered. I’m grateful to her for that steadiness. After the first week passed, it grew easier week by week to stop thinking about him. Two broken hearts mending for the same reason make the truest of friends.

Undertake something:
Sometimes a little distraction is just what you need. Take a trip, go on an adventure, chase something you’ve always dreamed of. These things help you move through heartache and make sense of what happened.

You have to try to get some distance:
Geographical distance often works wonders—a week away somewhere far from home, where you can breathe and think clearly. If a trip isn’t possible, a drive to the lake or a walk into nature can work too. Find stillness somewhere.

This is also the perfect time to pursue what you’ve always put off—a hobby, a career goal, a creative project. Start now. Smita and I made a pact to take frequent weekend trips together.

We talked a lot about Mohon and Dipankar too, but we tried to keep it rational rather than emotional. We realized that whatever they’re doing is their business, but they’re not worth our heartbreak. And somewhere out there, we told ourselves, someone is waiting to know us and love us the way we deserve.