“Stockholm Syndrome” is a short story about a young woman who loves so deeply that she sacrifices her own sense of worth. I began writing these pieces to test my ability to craft stories and plots beyond poetry. While some of them are messier than others, I wanted to keep them on the blog because they show how my writing has changed over time.

Writing is a skill like any other—you get better with time and, well… writing. While my newer work is much clearer and uses far fewer words, I feel this older “stories” corner is also a part of me, and removing it would be wrong, even if I can now see many flaws in it.

Short Story - Stockholm Syndrome

It wasn't that she didn't know that he wasn't good for her or that he would never stay the night. It was that she had hope. She believed that in the depths of his heart, he had loved her all along, and one day he would choose her. The hope kept her eyes in a protective pink film every time she looked at his face. And all she wished for was to lay in his arms and to wake up to him stroking her hair.

It was as if there was a red string tied to her hand, which kept her attached to him. You could think she had confused his lust for affection, but in her head, she had made up her mind: she loved him. She was so sure that it was a love worthy of her sleepless nights that she would have welcomed him with arms open, even if he carried a knife with him. She felt that way even if his attention was given to her in nickels and dimes, leaving her longing for more.

And so, she dreamed of changing his ways, of leaving her bedroom on every single night of his return. Funnily enough, she thought that it was love that kept him coming back to her. In her mind, she saw no other option why he would keep coming for more. Never had she considered that other people had different thought patterns, that there was another way of living—one that didn't carry love in a person's heart.

But tonight had been worse than any other. He didn't stay to watch a movie or hold her until she fell asleep. He had been on his phone the whole night and barely paid attention to anything she had said. All she wanted was for him to stay a little while longer. She had gone as far as to beg him not to leave her. But it was as if her pleas had fallen on deaf ears as she watched him put on his jacket while she was choking on her tears.

He didn't return on any following nights and wouldn't answer her calls. At times, she was sure he would come back to her, but she was slowly losing hope. He had left her just as he came, with a storm. This time, he was leaving a gaping hole in her chest. She didn't know what else to do than to scroll through his feed on social media or beg him to talk to him in direct messages. She didn't know what else to do than rip herself apart in front of his eyes and hope that he would return.

A month had passed when an update on his feed ripped her soul apart into a thousand little shards. He had married another. She felt her emotions cycle through love, pain, and anger in a split second. How could he have been so cruel? Why would he do such a thing if he loved her? Why would he choose another? She had done nothing more than loved him.

And so she wrote him another letter, telling herself that it will be the last one. She told him that he had left her heartbroken, and her will to carry on had been dropped like a vase. That she had loved him more than she loved life. That she would have given him all of her if he had only stayed. And his wife would never love him as she did. She kept getting drunker with every word she wrote while sipping on wine and memories about him. And before she knew it, she had flooded his inbox yet again.

He didn't return, and he never answered her, until two years later when he showed up on her front porch, drunk... and she let him in.