Lyrics: Rahul Amin
Music: Rahul Amin
I remember the way you looked at me tonight β
not the way you used to,
but the way someone looks at a place they once lived
and no longer recognize.
You talked about your new life with that careful distance,
as if every word needed space to survive.
I nodded.
I smiled.
I pretended the silence between us was comfort
and not the outline of everything we lost.
We walked by the water again β
the same path,
the same slow steps,
as if routine could disguise how fragile the moment was.
You laughed once.
It sounded unfamiliar.
Like something rehearsed.
Like something borrowed from the life you chose without me.
The moon was low.
The night felt soft.
And somewhere between your words,
I realized you were already leaving β
not in movement,
not in distance,
but in the quiet way someone disappears
while still standing beside you.
You said you would go.
Your eyes said you already had.
I didnβt argue.
I didnβt beg.
I just held your hand a little longer
and memorized the shape of your pulse.
Time moved strangely after that β
slow, still, thick.
Like even the air refused to let go.
When the first light touched the river,
your warmth had faded.
Your phone had gone quiet.
And the world felt heavier,
but somehow calmer.
People say goodbyes are moments β
quick, spoken, sharp.
But ours wasnβt like that.
Ours was gradual,
silent,
inevitable.
A fading, not a break.
And now, as the morning settles in,
thereβs only one truth left:
You loved someone else.
You lived somewhere else.
You believe somewhere else.
But for one night β
just one β
you were here.
With me.
Still.
And that is enough.