The Silence Of Lost Feelings

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Years had passed since graduation. The days blurred into months, and the months slowly turned into years. Lumen had grown, though not in the ways he had once envisioned. The weight of his regrets had never fully lifted, but it had become a quieter presence, something he had learned to live with, even if it still lingered at the edges of his thoughts. He had moved on in some ways, but in others, he felt as though he was stuck in a loop, revisiting the past with a sense of longing he could never quite shake.

It was a regular Saturday morning when Lumen received the message—one that instantly took him back in time. The name on his phone screen was unmistakable: Lina. His heart skipped a beat, though it wasn't the flutter of excitement it once had been. It was something else now—a strange mix of curiosity, nostalgia, and uncertainty.

He hadn't heard from her in years, not since she had moved on with her life, leaving Lumen with nothing more than the hollow echo of what could have been. They had both gone their separate ways, and he had assumed that was the end of it. But here she was, reaching out once again.

The message was brief, polite, almost formal: Hey Lumen, it's been a while. I hope you're doing well. I've been thinking about you and wanted to check in. How have you been?

Lumen sat there for a moment, staring at the screen. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. There was a time when just the sound of her name would have set his heart racing, when he would have been desperate to talk to her, to explain all the things he never got the chance to say. But now, after so many years, after everything that had happened, he knew better than to expect anything more than what this moment was—an exchange of pleasantries between two people who had once been important to each other, but whose paths had long since diverged.

He took a deep breath and typed back: Hey Lina. It's been a long time. I'm doing well, just focusing on life and work. How about you?

He paused for a moment after sending the message, wondering if there was more he should have said. Maybe he could have asked about her life, about her journey. Maybe he could have been more open, more vulnerable. But the truth was, he wasn't sure if he was ready for that kind of conversation. Not yet.

Her response came quickly: I'm doing well too. I'm married now, with a family. It feels crazy how much life has changed. But I wanted to reach out, just to see how you were doing.

Lumen felt a sharp pang in his chest, a subtle ache that came with the realization that the person who had once meant everything to him was now living a life completely separate from his own. He had known this was likely, that she had moved on, but hearing it in her own words made it real in a way that nothing else could. She had found the happiness that had once eluded them both. She had found the life she deserved, one that didn't include him.

He replied, his words carefully chosen: I see, I'm glad to hear you're happy. It's good that life has worked out for you.

There was a brief silence after that, and Lumen could almost feel the distance between them growing with each passing second. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't warm either. It was the kind of distance that had settled over them like a blanket, an inevitable part of life's journey.

After a few moments, Lina's message arrived, a simple closure to their conversation: Thanks, Lumen. I hope you continue to do well, and find your own happiness too. Take care.

Lumen read the words again, as if searching for something deeper in them, some hint of the bond they once shared, some spark that would reignite the connection they had. But it wasn't there. The message was polite, kind, but distant. And that was all it was ever going to be.

He sat back in his chair, the phone still in his hand, the weight of the conversation settling on him. It wasn't that he hadn't expected this. In fact, he had known deep down that this was how it would go. Time had passed, and both of them had moved on. They had grown into different people, with different lives, different experiences. The person who had once been the center of his world was now just a memory, a chapter in a story he could no longer rewrite.

Lumen realized, in that moment, that the hardest part wasn't that Lina had moved on. It wasn't that she had found happiness without him. The hardest part was realizing that he had never really let go of her. He had carried her with him, holding onto the past, to the "what could have been," all these years. He had allowed it to shape his thoughts, his decisions, his art. But now, looking at the screen, he knew it was time to let go.

He needed to let go.

Lumen sat there for a long time, processing the weight of it all. He had spent so much time dwelling on what he had lost, but perhaps it was time to start focusing on what he still had—the lessons he had learned, the person he had become, and the possibilities that lay ahead of him. It wouldn't be easy. Letting go of something so deeply ingrained in his soul would take time, but it was the only way forward.

As the evening stretched on, Lumen set his phone down and stood up. He walked over to his desk, where his sketchbook lay untouched, the pages still blank. For the first time in a long while, he didn't feel the pressure to create something perfect, something worthy of Lina's admiration. Instead, he felt a quiet determination rise within him—a desire to create for himself, to find his own voice again, free from the shadows of the past.

He picked up the pencil, and for the first time in years, he began to draw—not for Lina, not for anyone but himself. Each line he drew felt like a step away from the past, a step toward the future. It wasn't perfect, but it was real. And for Lumen, that was enough.

As he worked, the weight of the conversation with Lina slowly faded into the background. He didn't need closure from her. He didn't need her to validate his journey. What mattered now was his own path—one that was still unfolding, one that was still full of possibility.

Lumen smiled faintly as he continued to sketch. Moving forward, he realized, wasn't about forgetting the past—it was about carrying its lessons with him and using them to build something new, something his own. And for the first time in a long time, he felt a sense of peace. He had let go.

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The weeks passed, and Lumen found himself more focused on his art than he had been in a long time. The pressure of expectation, the lingering thoughts of Lina, had loosened their grip on him. He wasn't sure what had changed exactly—whether it was the passage of time, the act of letting go, or simply the fact that he had begun creating for himself—but something had shifted. He felt a sense of freedom he hadn't experienced in years, and for the first time in a long while, he began to believe in the possibility of his own future.

One day, as he was sketching in his studio, a knock at the door startled him. He wasn't expecting anyone, but when he opened it, he found Aiden standing there, holding a large envelope.

"Hey, Lumen," Aiden said with a smile. "Got something for you."

Lumen raised an eyebrow, taking the envelope from Aiden's hands. It was thick, filled with something heavy—maybe a letter, maybe a contract, he couldn't be sure. He tore it open, and as he pulled out the contents, he saw a familiar name on the top of a letter: an art gallery had invited him to showcase his work.

His heart skipped. He hadn't even realized that he had been submitting his work for shows in the background—he had simply focused on drawing, on creating, without any real expectation. And now, here it was—an opportunity.

"Are you serious?" Lumen asked, disbelief in his voice. He scanned the letter again. It was a real offer. An invitation to exhibit his art.

Aiden grinned. "I told you. You've got something special. I guess it's about time the world saw it too."

Lumen felt a lump form in his throat, emotions he hadn't expected suddenly rising to the surface. He hadn't let anyone—except for himself—see what he was working on. The idea of sharing it with others, of putting it out there for the world to judge, made him feel vulnerable. But this was different. This wasn't about impressing Lina or anyone else. This was about him, his journey, and what he had created for himself.

"I... I don't know what to say," Lumen finally muttered, overwhelmed.

"You don't have to say anything," Aiden replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "Just go for it."

The next few days were a whirlwind of preparations. Lumen hadn't anticipated it would happen so quickly, but the gallery was eager, and the date was fast approaching. He worked tirelessly, choosing his best pieces, refining them, and arranging them for display. It wasn't easy, and at times, it felt like everything was falling apart. But each moment of struggle brought him closer to something bigger. Something he hadn't realized he was capable of.

The night before the exhibition, as he sat in his studio, staring at the final piece, he felt a sense of peace. This was his, all of it—every stroke, every line, every hour spent in solitude. It wasn't perfect, but it was real. And for the first time, he could feel the weight of all his doubts lifting. It didn't matter if the world loved it, or if anyone even noticed. What mattered was that he had done it for himself. He had created something meaningful.

The exhibition opened the following evening, and as people walked through the gallery, Lumen stood quietly at the back, watching them examine his work. Some paused longer at certain pieces, others glanced quickly and moved on. But each face, each person, was a reminder that this was his story, his art, and they were seeing it for the first time.

As the night wore on, Lumen felt a sense of pride and accomplishment. This wasn't about recognition. It wasn't about Lina, or anyone from his past. This was about him—taking that step forward, creating his own path, and being unafraid to share it with the world.

The evening ended with the gallery staff approaching him, expressing their appreciation for his work. They offered him another opportunity for a future exhibition. Lumen smiled, the satisfaction of the night settling in.

As he left the gallery, Aiden by his side, Lumen couldn't help but feel like he had crossed some invisible threshold. He wasn't the same person who had started this journey. He was stronger, more self-assured, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was on the right path—his path.

The world felt a little bigger now, and so did he.

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