The time I gifted myself love

She waited on her birthday, heart open, eyes on her phone, hoping for his call. Even just a message, a simple flicker of thought.Her mother asked that evening, "Any special plans tonight?"She smiled softly and lied, "We’re going out for dinner."

Hours slipped by. She returned home, a bouquet of red roses in hand, a gift she'd bought herself, retreating to her room with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.But in the quiet of the night, she wept, not for him, but for the illusion she had created—the love she had imagined, woven from threads of hope and longing.

Years passed.  She kept meeting people, thinking she will never find her love. Till she met the one. And there he was—traveling to Oman, his smile warm at the thought."Oman and Her," he mused, "it would make a perfect book title for their love story."

But this time, she was different.

This story was different.What had changed? She had learned her worth. She no longer built castles in the clouds for others to inhabit.Grief had been her teacher, showing her how to recognize real love when it stood before her and how to let go of the rest.

The red thread of fate had led her not just to him, but to herself. And in that, she found her truest love.