It has been a long time since I last wrote a blog.
Perhaps because I have been living through a phase of life where I am constantly searching for something I cannot seem to find—peace. A quiet corner within myself where the noise of memories fades, even if only for a moment.
Yet, whenever I find myself alone, I realize how profoundly lonely I still am.
There is a grief that I have carried for years. To be honest, I am no longer trying to escape it. I have lived with it for so long that it has become a part of me. Strange as it may sound, this grief is precious to me because it is one of the few things that still connects me to the person I lost.
Even today, I search for her in my dreams.
And somehow, she is always there.
Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we simply sit together in silence. But every time I wake up, I am reminded that dreams are the only place where I can still find her.
We spent nine beautiful years together.
Nine years filled with laughter, endless conversations, shared dreams, struggles, victories, and countless memories that should have been enough to sustain a lifetime.
Yet, when I close my eyes, those beautiful moments are not the first things that come back to me.
Instead, I remember that day.
The hospital.
The white shroud wrapped around her.
Holding her one last time.
Seeing the person I loved lying motionless, her body marked by the violence of an accident.
There are images that time refuses to erase.
No matter how many years pass, they remain as vivid as they were on that day.
And perhaps that is why, despite having thousands of beautiful memories together, I often struggle to reach them. The pain of losing her stands guard at the entrance of every happy memory.
My mother often tells me,
“Remember her smile. Remember her kindness. Remember how she cared for everyone. Remember her laughter, her warmth, and the way she filled every room with life.”
I try.
I truly do.
But before those memories arrive, the memory of losing her always finds me first.
Over the years, many people have tried to explain my grief.
Some call it denial.
Others say that one day I will finally reach acceptance.
I listen respectfully, but deep inside, I know that grief cannot be measured, categorized, or compared.
Some losses are too personal for theories.
Some wounds become a permanent part of the soul.
The truth is, I have lived with this grief for so long that it has become familiar. Not comfortable, but familiar. It walks beside me every day, quietly reminding me of a love that once shaped my entire world.
Sometimes I wonder who I would be without this pain.
And then I realize that letting go of the grief feels, in some way, like letting go of her.
1àle often say that time heals everything.
I don’t think it does.
Time does not erase loss.
Time simply teaches us how to carry it.
Some people leave this world, but they never truly leave our lives.
They remain in our prayers.
In our silences.
In the songs we cannot listen to without remembering them.
In the dreams that visit us late at night.
And in the spaces of our hearts that no one else can ever fill.
Shivani,
This version is suitable for a personal blog, a tribute post, or a chapter dedicated to Shivani alongside Incomplete Without You.

You have been gone for years, yet there has not been a single day when I have not thought of you.

You are present in every chapter of my life, even the ones you never got to see.

“Incomplete Without You” is not just the title of a novel.

It is the truest sentence I have ever written.

Because some love stories do not end when a heartbeat stops.

They continue quietly, living within memories, grief, and an everlasting love that time can never take away.