If I were tara

 There are stories that we read, stories that we hear, and then there are stories that live inside us, aching, breathing, waiting to be lived. If I were Tara from Tamasha I wouldn’t just be a character in a film. I would be the girl who loved too much, who saw someone’s soul before they saw it themselves, who waited not because she was weak but because love, real love, doesn’t follow the logic of time.  

I would still go to Corsica. I would still laugh like I had never been more free. I would still dance in the streets with a stranger who wasn’t really a stranger at all, just a piece of my heart that I hadn’t met yet. And when I’d come back, I would still remember him. I wouldn’t let time or distance or reality convince me that what I felt was just a moment. Because some moments are forever, even if they don’t promise you eternity.  

If I were Tara, I would still walk into that bookstore. I would still find him. And I would still look into his eyes and know, know with every part of me, that something was missing. That the boy I had met under the Corsican sky had been tucked away, hidden beneath the weight of expectations and routines and a world that doesn’t let people be who they are.  

But if I were Tara, I would still love him. Not the version he had been forced to become but the one I knew was buried beneath. I would still hold on, still fight for him when he had long forgotten how to fight for himself. Because some people, some loves, are worth the wait, worth the storm, worth every tear and every silence.  

And yet  

If I were Tara, I would have also broken. I would have walked away, not because I wanted to but because sometimes love means giving someone the space to find themselves. And I would have cried, not the kind of tears that come and go but the kind that settle in your bones, that make a home in your chest. I would have loved him even in the distance, even in the absence, even in the not knowing if he would ever return.  

But if I were Tara, I would have believed. Believed that love is not about possession but recognition. That one day, when he was ready, when he had unraveled the weight of the world from his shoulders, he would find his way back, not to me but to himself. And when that happened, I would be waiting, not as a savior, not as a dream, but as a girl who loved with all her heart and had the courage to wait for the love she deserved.  

Because if I were Tara, I would know  

Some loves are storms but some loves  

Some loves are the lighthouse that guides you home.