Novel & Cerita Love Is Not A Number

On the screen was a projected slideshow of pictures, captioned: “I love you, Darling. Until death do we part.” While Jared made his rounds chatting with the guests, I stood alone to the side. A few wives of powerful businessmen approached me to catch up. “You’re so lucky, Mrs. Hampton!” “Mhmm! Your husband has no room for anyone else in his eyes! He even prepared this whole day just for you.” I smiled politely but did not comment. Perhaps they found my lack of reaction boring because, after a while, they stopped with the pleasantries and began to gossip among themselves.

His tone softens. Luckily for me, I rarely get mad, I am like this flower in everyone’s lives that never dies. Though, everyone refers to me as annoying. “You know, I have never even been in love before.” Yes, I play around, but that doesn’t mean I give my heart to everyone I come across. “Love isn’t supposed to be a prison or a dream, or chasing what you can’t have, love is supposed to be real, love isn’t something that leaves you miserable.”

Get my mate back? “There is a chance?” I asked, the question coming on in a breath. He nodded. “Although slow, the chance does exist. Listen to me, Nathan. Love, the most powerful force in the universe, is a journey, not a destination. It's a tapestry woven with threads of joy, sorrow, patience, and forgiveness. It's a symphony of emotions, a delicate dance of give and take. Love is not always easy. It requires effort, dedication, and a willingness to grow. It demands that we be vulnerable and that we open our hearts and minds to another person, even when it feels scary. It challenges us to confront our own fears, insecurities, and past hurts.”

I watched her for I don't know how long, minutes or maybe longer. My heart was pounding so hard I was scared it might wake her up. The words were right there again, sitting on my tongue. I love you. Just three words and that was all. Three words that should have been easy. But every time I opened my mouth, something closed in my throat. I could feel the familiar fear of letting someone in creep in again. I always believed loving someone meant giving them the power to destroy you, at least that was what I learnt from my parents relationship.

But I know this version of me is learning something essential: Love isn’t proven by proximity. It’s proven by what you do with the distance.

Andre offered. “You don't need to bother about me. What you should do to help yourself is being sincere to yourself. Stop lying and getting involved in self-deception. If you can't do without someone, don't pretend that you can. You will ruin your life's happiness and someone else's. No matter how much I tried expressing my love to you, I can never compare to your one true love. I won't let you disrespect me anymore, Andre. You are not capable of loving anyone else besides her, and I won't offer you my body anymore as a vacuum to make love to her,” Camilla seethed.

I remembered the cheap plastic lighter that didn't work. Possibility B, I decided. Definitely B. Billionaires don't drive taxis. They don't smoke cheap cigarettes. And they definitely don't marry soaking wet women they met on a curb. "Get a grip, Sienna," I whispered. "You're writing fiction, don't start living it. But then again, crazies like me do love a good plot twist. Oh well. Let's see how it goes." I shoved the key card into the drawer. Out of sight, out of mind.

And never told us. Day seven hundred. The entry is short. Painful. Raw. "Kai said he loved me today. For the seven hundredth time. First time for him. Seven hundredth time for me. And I wonder: does love count if only one person remembers it? Is repeated first-love real love? Or just an illusion I'm creating for myself? I don't know. But I choose to believe it's real. Because if it's not, then what am I doing this for? What's the point of two thousand days of suffering if the love isn't real? So it's real. It has to be. Day seven hundred of real love. Even if I'm the only one who remembers days one through six hundred ninety-nine."

“You’re not objects. You’re not backup options. And if I keep stringing this out trying to figure out my feelings, that’s exactly what you start to become.” The room was very quiet. Marcus spoke first, which surprised me. He wasn’t usually the first. “Who said anything about equal?” I looked at him. “Love isn’t a fixed amount that gets divided by the number of people,” he said. “It’s not a pie. You don’t love someone less because you love someone else too.” He met my eyes. “My mother loved three kids. She didn’t love any of us a third of what she would’ve loved an only child.”

She looks so fragile in that moment. So this is what he likes? My eyes snap to hers. The look in her eyes says otherwise. Love? “I’m not sure you’re capable of that, Sharon,” I say. “You only know how to love yourself.” Silence settles between us. Cold. Final. “We’re over,” I say, pulling the ring off my finger and throwing it at him. I pick up my purse. My luggage. And walk toward the door. “You’re unlovable, Anastasia,” Tristian says behind me. “Men don’t like women like you.”