A search for self in another’s soul, where the strong seek to be seen and the fragile seek to heal
By Andleeb Jan
It’s strange, isn’t it?
Some people socialise not to know others, but to know themselves. They walk through conversations like through mirrors searching for their own reflection in other souls, trying to measure the depth of their being, their worth, their stillness after chaos. There are two kinds of them.
One strong, weathered by storms, seeking not love, but acknowledgement; a quiet proof that they are still capable of being seen. And the other fragile, unscarred, still learning to feel who falls for the strong one, wishing to love every broken piece of them. So, they meet.
The unseen meets the one who longs to see. The unbreakable meets the soft. And in that meeting, something begins.
The strong one, haunted by ghosts of the past, tries to rise again to show the world they are no longer the same shattered thing they once were. The fragile one, untouched by such storms, falls for that strength, wanting to hold the thunder in their arms, to soothe what the world once wounded. But what happens then?
Who is right in love, the one who heals, or the one who wants to feel whole again? Maybe both are right. Or maybe neither is. Even though experience makes us unbreakable, it does not give us the right to break others.
Strength does not excuse cruelty. Healing does not justify self-loss. Sometimes, love becomes a reflection of one seeking validation, the other, purpose.
Both haunted by the same emptiness, they look at each other and see what they lack: one sees calm, the other chaos. But love between unequals is a fragile thread; it stretches under the weight of unspoken expectations.
When one keeps giving and the other keeps taking, what remains is not love, but a beautiful form of dependency. Still, they stay because leaving would mean losing the mirror that shows who they are. Now I wonder when does love truly work? Perhaps when two souls, both haunted by life, stand at the same edge of experience, facing the same storm together.
When they share the same fears, the same rhythm of pain, their storms collide and calm one another. Or maybe love exists where one has already survived the storm and reaches out a steady hand to guide the other.
But then, who yearns more?
The one being helped, who finally finds meaning, or the one who gives all their strength away? Because the one who is helped finds answers to their existence, to their questions, to every storm they feared.
But where will the other go when a new storm arrives? Would they yearn for the same? Would they still reach for the one too little to face that storm with them?
The question remains.
The writer is a student who “creates from the delicate edge between strength and tenderness”.
an***********@***il.com