The taste of my own tears The taste of my own tears part One By Zeeshan I still remember the first time I saw her. It was on Bigo Live, back when I was just a kid in 4th grade. Her name was Naveera — a girl from Karachi. And me? I was Zeeshan, a boy from Kashmir. Two souls on either side of a border that has always been more than just a line on a map… A border that has stolen countless dreams, friendships, and love stories. But not mine. Or so I believed. In the beginning, we were nothing but kids — laughing, fighting, teasing each other like enemies one moment and talking for hours the next. Somewhere in that chaos, love settled in. I didn’t even realize when she became the most important piece of my world. Seven Years & A Promise Our love wasn’t short-lived — it lasted seven long years, all the way till I was in the 11th grade. We made promises… That one day, no matter what, we would meet. We started saving money for that day — in secret, without telling our families. I hid every single rupee I could. In five years, I saved ₹30,000 — a fortune for a boy like me, especially when my parents could barely give me ₹10 a day. Every rupee I got went into my phone recharges, just so I could speak to her. We couldn’t talk openly; authorities would never understand a friendship — no, a love — between an Indian boy and a Pakistani girl. We lived in constant fear of being found out. The politics between our countries was always like a wall between us, and we were trapped on either side. The First Crack Bigo Live was eventually banned in India. It was like someone had cut the only thread connecting us. I begged her for her Instagram; she refused at first, saying it was risky. But as days passed, the distance between us grew painful, and finally, she gave in. We moved our love to Instagram — late-night calls, video chats, whispered laughter that stretched till dawn. Then one day, my phone broke. When I finally borrowed another phone and opened my WhatsApp four days later, I froze in disbelief. 5,600 missed calls. Over 4,000 messages. She had been calling me endlessly, desperate to know I was okay. I replied immediately, telling her I was fine. But inside… I was shaken. How could someone love me this much? And yet… part of me feared this love was too fragile for the world we lived in. The Fear That Changed Everything Somewhere deep down, Naveera had always believed we would never meet. Maybe she was right. She once pretended to have another boyfriend — joining private broadcasts with other guys on Bigo — just to make me back away. She said later it was because she was scared. Scared that I might do something reckless, something that could bring trouble to both our families. It hurt. God, it hurt. But I understood… because love in our situation wasn’t just about passion. It was survival. My Life Behind the Screen People see schoolboys laughing in uniforms and think their lives are simple. Mine wasn’t. I was just a student from a poor family. No financial support, no one to tell me that my dreams mattered. Every day I went to school at 8 AM, came home at 3 PM, and the first thing I did was grab my phone and call her. We would talk all night, sometimes straight into the morning. When she taught me things — little life lessons, random facts, moments of comfort — it felt like she was shaping me into someone better. But deep inside, a question haunted me: Why was I born into a life where even love is a luxury I cannot touch? The Taste of My Own Tears There were nights when I cried silently, holding my phone, knowing she was only a few hundred kilometers away but separated by history, politics, and fate. We loved fiercely, but it was a love caught between two nations that are always at war — a war that neither of us started, yet we were forced to live with its consequences. They say every love story is either a blessing or a lesson. Ours was both. Because loving her taught me the taste of my own tears. Bitter. Salty. And unforgettable. 💔 Epilogue: Even today, when I see the border on a map, I don’t see lines. I see the gap between Naveera and me. A gap that no bridge has ever crossed. #Based on real incidents with me (The content is all real)