Winning by Losing in Love: The Journey to Becoming #1
Some stories cannot be told in a single sitting.
This person did not come to me for the first time because of a massive crisis. He simply said, “I feel burdened from within; there is something that won’t surface, something stuck.” Many people come to me appearing fine on the outside, yet carrying an old, lingering wound. Like my patient, he wanted to share the pain of his heart in a safe space—without judgment, without analysis. He told me this story over five sessions. Five different days, five different sittings. In the first session, he barely spoke; there were long silences and wandering eyes. In the second, he opened up a bit. In the third, his eyes welled up. In the fourth, he even laughed. And when he stood up to leave after the fifth, he said, “For the first time in years, I feel light.”
This is his story, in his own words, exactly as he narrated it to me.
I was in the city’s largest marketplace that day.
It was just before Eid. There was a frantic rush everywhere—crowds at the stalls, the voices of children, the calls of shopkeepers. I was there for some work, in a hurry, intending to return soon. But then, suddenly, I saw a face in that crowd, and my steps froze.
They just stopped.
It was as if someone had grabbed my shoulder from behind.
I had seen her before, many times. But that day, something was different. Perhaps it was the angle of the light, perhaps the way she was smiling while talking to someone, or perhaps I was just incredibly exhausted that day. And exhausted people feel things more deeply. I don’t know. But what happened, happened.
In that moment, the roar of thousands of people faded into the distance.
This was the first true love of my life. Or, at the very least, it was the first time I understood what true love really meant.
I had known her for some time. We lived in the same neighborhood and would occasionally cross paths. There were light exchanges—talk of the weather, the locality, or mutual acquaintances. But I had never told her that, after she left, I would reach home and repeat the things she said over and over to myself.
Once, she was haggling with a vegetable seller as I was walking by. She turned, looked at me, and said with a laugh:
“This vendor is looting everyone; tell him something.”
I stopped. There was mischief in her eyes, that smile on her lips that had etched itself into my mind. I spoke to the vendor, negotiated the price down. She was pleased and said:
“Thank you. You actually came in handy for the first time.”
I laughed and asked, “The first time?”
She laughed too, and walked away.
That night, I kept thinking about that sentence. Came in handy for the first time. Such simple words, yet they meant the world to me. That is a sign of true love—when even the most trivial remark becomes something monumental for you.
I could have turned back right there. I could have gone to my work, locked that moment in a corner of my mind. Many people do exactly that. They spend their entire lives doing that. They feel, they fear, and then they turn away. They carry the “what ifs” with them until the end—the regret of not taking that step that day.
But that day, I chose not to turn away.
I started walking toward her. With every step, my heart pounded louder. My mind was flooded with a thousand questions: What will I say? How will I start? What if she turns away? What if people are watching? But my feet did not stop.
When I reached her, she saw me. For a moment, she paused, too.
“What happened?” she asked.
And what I said, I hadn’t planned. There was no preparation, no script. It just escaped:
“I know I am not worthy of you. Perhaps I never was. But I have asked for you in every prayer, in every solitude. The thought of being without you breaks me from within.”
She remained silent. A long, heavy silence.
Then, she looked into my eyes and said softly:
“You are a very good person. But I cannot give you what you want. My heart belongs to someone else.”
I wanted to say something, to offer a response, a counter-argument. But what could I say? There is no reply to a confession of the heart.
“Understood,” was all I said.
She turned and walked away. I didn’t stop her. My eyes followed her retreating footsteps until she disappeared into the crowd. People walked past me, none of them knowing that, just moments ago, a major part of my world had been lost in that sea of people.
When the pain of love is true, everything else starts to feel small.
I couldn’t sleep for a long time that night. The pain of one-sided love is something that doesn’t bruise the body, but the soul. Close your eyes, and there is that face; open them, and there is that same silence. I replayed the moment she said her heart belonged to someone else over and over.
Had I made a mistake? Should I have not said it? Would it have been better to stay silent?
But then, another question arose: If I had stayed silent, would I have found peace?
No.
The greatest pain of one-sided love is not that the other person refused you. The greatest pain is that you never spoke, never tried, and spent your entire life living with “what ifs.” At least I wouldn’t have to carry that regret.
Months passed.
There was no one to talk to. No one to tell, no one who would understand. I would sit alone at night, battling my own mind, searching for answers to my own questions.
One night was particularly dark.
I was sitting on the roof, looking at the sky, and for the first time, I was completely honest with myself. No excuses, no false consolations. I simply accepted that I was in pain—a real, raw pain—and that I had to feel it.
When you cannot cry in front of anyone, cry before God.
I did exactly that. For a long time.
And after that night, something changed. It wasn’t that the pain disappeared, but I stopped being afraid of it. When fear ends, a person can move forward.
After a defeat in love, a person can take one of two paths.
One path is to break, to scatter, to curse the world, and believe that everything is over. The other path is to accept that pain as your teacher.
I chose the second path.
It wasn’t easy. Many nights were spent in tears; many mornings, I didn’t want to get up. But every time the darkness felt too deep, I remembered that moment in the crowd where I had been completely honest. And I thought that a person capable of such truth cannot be broken.
A few months after that incident, a strange transformation occurred in my life.
The person who used to seek others’ opinions for every decision suddenly started moving forward. I believe what happened in that crowd opened a door within me. Once you have bared your soul in front of thousands, you are no longer afraid of trivial things. I started the business I had been thinking about for years but had always made excuses for—not enough money, not enough time, not enough courage. Now, those excuses were gone. The first six months were very difficult; many times, I felt it wouldn’t work. But after enduring the pain of love, the hardships of business felt small. A person who can endure a broken heart can endure the ups and downs of business.
Slowly, the business started to work, then it started to soar.
Two years later, when I bought my first car, I remembered that marketplace, that crowd, and that face. And I smiled. Not because I had proven anything, but because if that moment hadn’t happened, if that pain hadn’t existed, I would likely still be standing exactly where I was years ago—afraid, stuck, a prisoner of others’ opinions. Sitting in that first car, when I started the engine, only one thought crossed my mind: this journey began the day I took those steps into that crowd.
Today, my business is doing well; I have a home, cars, and peace of mind. But the greatest wealth is knowing who I am—both my weaknesses and my strengths. And that, I learned from the one-sided love that people call a failure.
Today, when I sit in my room listening to people’s stories, I often see my own story in theirs. The same pain, the same confusion, the same questions about what lies ahead. And I tell them that the pain of one-sided love didn’t come to finish you; it came to help you begin. It is your choice whether you make it your grave or your foundation.
If you, too, are standing at such a crossroads where you have been defeated in love, where your heart is broken, where it feels like everything is over, then mark these words:
The pain of love is a sign that you are still alive. You can still feel. You are still fully human.
You can win even after losing in love. It is just important to realize that winning is not only about attaining; sometimes, winning is about discovering yourself.
And that is the greatest gift of true love.
