Can someone dedicate their entire life to the person they love, just for the sake of their smile and happiness?

 

These were the thoughts that weighed heavily on my mind as I boarded the train, tears streaming down my face and pain enveloping my heart. This journey was my last hope, my final grasp at a love that felt like it had slipped through my fingers. But life isn’t a movie, where happy endings are guaranteed, is it?

 

I sank into my seat, feeling utterly broken inside as the train began to move. The rhythmic clattering of the wheels matched the pounding of my heart, which was now painfully aware of the emptiness that Kira had left behind. I gazed out the window, my eyes unfocused, as memories of her danced before me like ghosts, reminding me of what I had lost. It was a haunting realization that no matter where I went, I was trapped in a prison of my own making—my heart, my soul, both shackled by the love I still had for Kira.

 

Her laughter echoed in my mind, the way her eyes sparkled with joy, and the warmth of her embrace—a symphony of memories that played on repeat, refusing to let me find solace. It felt as though I was confined in an emotional jail, and the only key to my freedom was held by Kira. But she wasn't there, and it dawned on me that this was a reality I couldn't escape from.

 

"Excuse me, sir," a kind voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see a woman in the seat across from me, looking concerned. "Are you alright?"

 

I forced a smile, masking the turmoil inside. "Yes, just lost in thoughts," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. But my heart knew better; it was screaming in agony, desperate for a release.

 

As the train raced forward, I made a decision. I realized that it didn't matter where I was physically; the true prison was within me. I knew then that I couldn't just run away. I had to face my feelings head-on.

I decided to step off the train at the next station. As the train slowed to a stop, I grabbed my bag and exited quickly, ignoring the curious glances from other passengers. I felt a sudden urgency, a pull to return home where I could confront my emotions fully.

 

Back at home, the silence was deafening. The familiar surroundings seemed alien without the hope that had once lived in them. That night, I found myself drawn to the one thing that had been my solace throughout this journey: writing. I opened my notebook and began to pour my soul into what would be the last chapter of *Kiesh Diary*—the final testament to my love for Kira.

 

Every stroke of the pen was a journey through the emotions that had consumed me: happiness, sadness, excitement, and nervousness. I relived every moment we had shared, each line a reflection of the love that had once been so vibrant. And though I knew how it would end, writing brought me a sense of closure I hadn't expected.

 

As I finished the chapter, I felt a bittersweet satisfaction. The words were now a part of our story, etched into the pages for eternity. With a heavy heart, I sent the final chapter to my publisher, knowing it would soon be shared with the world.

 

In the stillness of the night, I made a choice—a choice that had lingered in the back of my mind for far too long. I took a deep breath, feeling an eerie calm wash over me. I picked up the knife, the weight of it a chilling reminder of what I was about to do. But the turmoil in my heart was louder than any rational thought.

 

I sat on the bed, a smile on my face as I plugged in my earphones and played our song, "Duniya." The melody was soothing, wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. As I listened, memories of Kira flooded my mind once more, each one a reminder of the love that had both saved and destroyed me.

 

With tears in my eyes and a sense of resolve, I slit my wrist. The world around me blurred, and time seemed to slow down. As blood flowed from my wrist, a sense of peace washed over me, a relief from the constant ache that had plagued me for so long.

 

In those final moments, the memories of Kira played like a film reel, each frame a testament to the love we had shared. For the first time in three years, I felt a sense of *sukoon*—a calmness that had eluded me for so long. The pain that had been my constant companion was finally dissipating, replaced by a quiet acceptance.

 

"I'm coming home, Kira," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the song. "In this life or the next, I'll find you."

 

As my soul slipped away, I felt free. The chains of my emotional confinement were breaking, and for the first time, I was truly at peace. I knew Kira and I couldn't be together in this life, but I couldn't wait to be with her in another one. It was a promise I held close, a hope that transcended the boundaries of life and death.

 

The words of the song "Mann Bharrya" by B Praak echoed in my mind:

 

*Agle janam vich allah  

Aisa khel racha ke bheje  

Mainu tu banake bheje  

Tainu main banake bheje*

 

In my final moments, I understood that I had died inside the day we broke up. My body had been merely waiting for my soul to follow. And as the darkness enveloped me, I knew I was finally free from the pain that had consumed me.