My First Letter To You,

Dear ‘whatever beautiful name the world currently calls you’,

There’s a certain rhythm to longing, don’t you think? That's why all hearts beat like ba-dum ba-dum,even the broken ones (don’t laugh at the ridiculousness of that sound) . A quiet or a chaotic beat, but still a hum that ever rings in the chambers of the heart, even when the world outside is deafening with its demands. I feel it now, this rhythm, steady and persistent. It’s the whisper of hope, the soft chant of a flower daring to bloom in the cracks of this weary,restrospective heart. And if it blooms, if it reaches toward the light, I hope you’ll be there, standing on the other side, waiting to see it grow.

You might not be reading this but since writing the words from our souls as letters is the new gold,I write to you not as the woman I hope to be, but as the woman I am—raw, unfinished- but finished for you that I don't even know yet, and tangled in uncertainties. You see, I’ve spent so many nights with sleepless eyes and heavy thoughts, wondering if I’m enough, if I’ll ever be enough for someone like you knowing the esteemed imagery of you that I have in mind. GenZ kids will call it delulu but I call it a motivation to build myself into someone deserving of you. Nights consumed by the weight of the never-for-once-ending exams, the pressure of becoming, the endless race to prove something I’m not sure I even understand. But through it all, there’s been a small, persistent voice in the quiet, whispering: Keep going. He’s out there.

Whoever you are, I want you to know this: the girl writing to you today is not a perfect masterpiece. She’s not the kind of woman sculpted by flawless ideals or crotcheted into the golden yarns of poetry. She’s a mosaic of cracks and colors not on the rainbow, of strength and fragility, of hope and hesitation. She’s someone who fights to believe in herself every single day, even when the world as a mirror reflects more questions than answers.

See, let me tell you a secret, I know it will no longer be one now. When I was younger, love felt like a very distant dream, like the stories you read in books where everything falls perfectly into place. Like Cinderella's shoes falling off at the royal ball or Rapunzel's golden strands bringing her love while confined to a tower. I used to imagine you as an Adonis and I write you a letter—tall, handsome, and chiseled from some ancient myth. But life has taught me a truth I wasn’t ready to hear back then: love is not about the surface. It’s not about perfection. It’s about seeing someone for all they are—their flaws, their fears, their broken pieces—and choosing them anyway.

Still, if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t mind a touch of polished visage. A smile that lights up the dark corners of my mind, eyes that feel like home. Call it my last indulgence in youthful daydreams or call it the remaining crumbles of my adolescence naivety. But now, more than anything, I hope for a love that stays. A love that doesn’t flinch at the chaos of my thoughts or the weight of my insecurities. A love that holds steady when I stumble.

If you find your way to me, I want you to know the woman you’re choosing to love has lived many lives in one. She’s the girl who’s known sleepless nights, not just from the hymns of her backyard crickets or the glare of study lamps but from the battles fought in her own mind. She’s the child who dreamed of the world as a lush oasis without fences and the adult who sometimes feels crushed by their own weight. She’s the woman who’s still searching for her place, her purpose, her path.

But she’s also the woman who hopes, fiercely and endlessly. Who believes, despite the cracks, that something beautiful can grow here. That love entrust it's seedlings in a heart that’s been weathered by storms and still finds the courage to bloom.

To the other half of my soul, I hope you’ll see all of this. I hope you’ll see the girl who’s fought to stand where she is, who’s carried the weight of her dreams and the dreams of others, who’s stumbled and fallen but always, always gotten back up. I hope you’ll see the cracks not as flaws but as proof of survival.

And when that flower blooms, when it reaches for the light, I hope you’ll be there to nurture it. To water it with your kindness, your patience, your understanding. To remind me on the days I forget, that I am enough, just as I am.

I don’t know what life will look like when we meet. Or if we will ever meet. I don’t know who I’ll be by then. But I hope you’ll love me, not just for who I’ve become, but for who I’ve always been. The girl with the cute smile, sleepless nights and a thawing heart. The woman with dreams too big for her arms to hold.

And I hope, more than anything, that you’ll let me love you too. With all the tenderness I’ve been saving, with all the hope I’ve been guarding, with all the pieces of me I’ve learned to gather over time.

So, wherever you are, whoever you are, know that I’m waiting. That I’m hoping. That I’m daring to believe in the beauty of what’s yet to come. And also that I'm daring to believe that no heart is to broken to love just as no soil is too parched to nurture life.

With all the love I have yet to give,

Muhsinah.