Home Was Never Here

He was heading back home after a long, exhausting day at work. The city lights flickered like distant fireflies, but his heart felt heavier than the helmet on his head. He wasn’t just tired, he was angry, shattered, sad, frustrated, and, most unusual of all, silent. The boy who could fill a room with his voice now couldn’t even hear his own thoughts without flinching.

His wrist twisted the throttle harder without thinking, the bike surging forward like it wanted to run away from everything with him. The wind tore past, biting his skin, whispering nothing that could calm him. His eyes blurred, not from dust, but from the tears he refused to let fall. His shouts stayed trapped inside his helmet, bouncing back to him like echoes in an empty hall.

Maybe the day had been bad. Or maybe this had been building for years.

Growing up, he had learned early that life wasn’t going to hand him comfort. His childhood wasn’t painted in warm hugs or gentle bedtime stories. There were no lazy Sunday mornings filled with laughter in bed, no parents waiting with open arms after school. His parents loved him, yes — but their love was practical, disciplined, distant. They taught him to survive, but not how to be held. He watched other kids get soft kisses on their foreheads; he got lessons on how to “be strong” instead.

Some nights, as a boy, he would hide under his blanket with a pillow pressed against his chest, pretending it was someone holding him. He never told anyone that — not even now.

And maybe that was why every connection in his adult life meant so much to him. Why he gave his all to people. Why he poured himself out for the ones he loved, even when they never asked.

But tonight, all of that felt meaningless. Because someone he had trusted with his heart, someone who knew his dreams, his fears, his scars, had betrayed him. Not just a simple lie, but the kind of betrayal that rearranges the walls inside your soul. The kind that makes you question if you’ll ever trust again.

He pulled over at his favorite tea stall. The owner noticed him right away.

“Sir, why are your eyes red?”

“Dust, maybe,” he replied, forcing a small laugh.

But it wasn’t dust. It was years.

He took his tea, sat on his bike, and stared into the dark street. The steam from the cup curled into the air like his thoughts - fragile, fading.

You’ve achieved so much, he told himself. Your parents are proud. Your friends look up to you. You’ve been the strong one, the giving one. But here you are, feeling worthless.

He took a slow sip. The tea was warm, but inside, he was ice.

And then the self-talk began.

I deserve a love that doesn’t disappear when the days get heavy. I deserve someone who doesn’t just love the happy, loud, strong me, but also the quiet, broken, restless me. I deserve arms that feel like home, a voice that softens the storms in my head. I deserve someone who looks at me and knows when my smile is fake. Someone who can reach into my silence and pull me back without asking for anything in return. I deserve love that chooses me every single day , even on days I don’t feel worth choosing.

He finished his tea. The city noise kept moving around him, indifferent to his thoughts.

He went home, showered, and sat in the dark for a while. The night felt like it was breathing with him.

And in the quiet, he let himself imagine not anyone from his past, but someone who might exist somewhere in the world. Someone whose hands would fit perfectly with his, whose laughter would loosen the knots in his chest, whose love wouldn’t be afraid of his shadows. Someone who wouldn’t just be with him, but stay.

Maybe he would meet her on a day like this, when he wasn’t even looking. Maybe she would find him when he had almost stopped believing.

And maybe, just maybe, she would be the one who finally made the boy from the quiet, loveless nights feel like he was home.

-SURAJ