Room 607

I know now that our connection wasn’t meant to last. But perhaps it was meant to help us grow—to release our past traumas, to know ourselves better, to discover our deepest corners, to reach the hidden secrets of our souls, and to reveal and heal them.

I hope you are doing the same.

Because I am.

Yesterday, I had another session of tears over you. I read some silly love text online, something that made me remember our moments, your quiet feelings, and all the things that passed between us. And for a moment, I felt as if you were thinking about me too.

When I went to bed, I looked at the stars and asked them to give you a kiss from me.

And today, while I was searching through some papers, I found one from your office—some notes written on it. I also found the agenda I used back then, and there are so many of your drawings and little texts in it, along with prices and random things.

I kissed the paper and smelled it, almost desperately trying to find something that still felt like you were there. Something that would remind me of your smell, of those gentle days.

I keep it as one of my most precious memories, next to my desk.

And I keep remembering that day when I was cold and you gave me your jacket.

I kept smelling it, breathing in your scent, carrying it with me all day. Until eventually I took it off and told myself that I would rather be cold than keep doing something so crazy—hurting myself by imagining an impossible, happy future.

And then, this weekend, I went out with my husband and a friend of his—a girl from his office. They seemed to be getting along very well. At some point, she got cold, and he gave her his jacket. And in that moment, I remembered myself wearing yours.

And then I had this strange thought: It would be great if they fell in love, so I could be free.

And that thought scares me.

It scares me because I suddenly realised that I don’t love him at all—not in that way. I felt no jealousy. Nothing.

I love him like my dearest friend. Like a brother.

Nothing more.

I don’t know if “karmic connection” is the right term, but I will keep calling it that.

I have realised so many things about myself that I had never considered before. But I am also sad and somehow hollow.

Because I’m not sure I became a better person.

I don’t really like myself now.

I feel colder. More distant. Tired of people. Sick of liars and fake ones.

I keep attracting men around me—I never understood why until these days, as usual. It feels like I have some sort of satellite system around me all the time.

And they just make me sick.

I wished all of them would disappear and that there would be only you.

Now I realise why I am always in trouble when there are men around me.

It is because of the purest way I have of showing kindness and love to people. I simply don’t make much of a distinction between men and women. I behave the same way with everyone.

If you don’t have a dirty mind, why would you even think you need to behave differently around men than around women?

My nun-like brain refuses to think differently about men than women.

I simply see everyone as human. Universally human. I was born this way.

I remember now my childhood memories of school and high-school gossip about my “boyfriends.” There were many of them.

But I don’t think anyone ever believed that we were simply friends.

Or perhaps I was the only one who saw it that way.

And the funny thing is, I was a virgin until late in university, and I was going to marry the first man I was ever with. But our parents didn’t agree. They said we were too young.

And after that, all my troubles began. I went down to hell.

And I remember my best friend from high school, who was a boy too.

We spent more than four years together, I think. He was the funniest and cleverest person I had ever known. He read a lot.

We had endless days of conversations and debates about philosophy, life, jokes—anything and everything.

I thought of him as the brother I never had. My parents had had a boy before me, but he died shortly after birth.

And then, one day, he started confessing that he was deeply in love with me.

I was shocked.

I had never, not even for a second, thought of him as anything other than a brother. And I felt so hurt and disgusted that he could think of our pure relationship in that way.

I cut him off so abruptly. Immediately. No explanations. Nothing.

I couldn’t bear the thought that he had somehow destroyed the beautiful connection we had.

I always felt that he never fully healed after that. He married, but he doesn’t seem happy. And I still feel truly sorry for hurting someone who had once been so dear to me. I never saw him again after that.

And the funny thing—you know what it is?

He had the same name as you.

So how am I supposed to call this now?

Karma?