I Wish I Could Hate You

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons, living or deceased, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. © 2026 Anurag Gupta No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or trans mitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the primary author , except in the case of brief quotations used in book reviews or critical essays. This book has been published with all efforts taken to make the material error-free after the consent of the author. However, the author and the publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause.

To my readers, this is for you. Your trust in my words inspires me to bare my soul, knowing that somewhere, someone might find a piece of themselves in these pages. Your belief gives meaning to my writing. To the ones who stayed during my darkest days thank you for reminding me that even in chaos, there’s hope. Your presence was the light I needed when I could see none. To those who left scars, thank you for teaching me resilience. Your actions may have hurt, but they also helped me discover the strength I didn’t know I had. This book wouldn’t exist without those lessons. Finally, to love the complicated, messy, heartbreaking, and beautiful emotion that drives us all thank you for teaching me that even in its absence, it has a way of staying with us, shaping who we are. With heartfelt gratitude, Anurag Gupta

Just another face in the crowd, perhaps. A writer. A storyteller. Someone who’s walked through love, heartbreak, healing, and the endless maze of self-discovery. But beneath all that, I’m just Anuu a name that holds my dreams, scars, and stories. This isn’t just my journey; it’s yours too. Through all my stories, I hope you walk a mile in my shoes, feel the weight of my experiences, and maybe, find pieces of yourself along the way. To every reader holding my words: thank you. Thank you for taking a moment to listen, for lending your eyes to my words, and your heart to my emotions. Writing hasn’t been easy it meant opening wounds and revisiting places I thought I’d left behind. But if these words can inspire even a flicker of strength in you, then every tear, every sleepless night, has been worth it. I owe this journey to the countless people who've been part of it those who've loved me, hurt me, and healed me. You all shaped these stories. To my friends and readers who've believed in me: this one, and every story, is for you. I wasn't always a writer. My journey began not with a pen but with pain. Heartbreak doesn't just break your heart; it leaves cracks in your soul, cracks where the words start to seep through. Writing became my escape, my therapy, my redemption. But my stories aren’t just about heartbreak. They’re about find ing purpose. They’re about waking up one day and deciding, “Enough. Today, I live for myself.” I’ve failed, and I’ve fallen. But every time, I’ve gotten back up. Not because I’m strong, but because I didn’t have a choice. Life moves forward, and so do we. Today, I write not just for myself, but for you. For the readers who’ve picked up my books and said they helped them heal. For everyone who’s ever felt like they weren’t enough. For everyone who’s been left behind but kept walking anyway. For everyone who’s still searching for their story’s happy ending. I’m not here to tell you that life gets easier. It doesn’t. But I’m here to tell you that you’re stronger than you think. That the bad days don’t last forever. And that somewhere in this world, some one is supporting you just like I’m advocating for you right now. Let my stories remind you that no matter where you are in life, you can always rewrite your narrative. Because your story is yours to tell. And if, by chance, we ever meet in person or if you simply want to drop a message after reading my words or maybe, you want me to be a part of your story from afar, all you have to do is call me Anuu. I’ll be there, listening, understanding, and rooting for you, like a part of you who never turns away

To my family, Thank you or teaching me what love truly means through patience when I made mistakes, through forgiveness. Everything good that lives in me today carries a reflection of your upbringing. The values you planted, the lessons you repeated, and the warmth you gave me shaped the person I am still becoming. And if life were written again under different skies, in an other world, in another time, there is only one thing I would wish for. I hope in every universe I find you as my family. “In every lifetime, in every rhyme and line, I’d choose the same blood, the same hearts to call mine.”

They say love is the most beautiful feeling in the world, but what they don’t tell you is how devastating it can be when it leaves. Love isn’t always about happy endings or fairytale romances; sometimes, it’s about learning to breathe again after it’s gone. I never thought I’d write this story, not because it’s too personal, but because I never wanted to revisit the memories that still haunt me. Yet, here I am, spilling my heart onto these pages. This isn’t a tale of hate or revenge, though I once wished it were. It’s a story of vulnerability, heartbreak, and the painful journey of letting go. It’s about finding closure in the chaos, strength in the shattering, and hope in the aftermath of love. This book isn’t just mine it’s for everyone who’s ever loved someone they couldn’t have, for those who’ve been broken but refused to give up. It’s for you, the one holding these pages, searching for answers, for comfort, for a reason to keep going. Love doesn’t always make sense, and maybe it never will. But as I stand on the other side of the storm, I’ve realized one thing: even when you wish you could hate someone, the love you once had doesn’t just disappear it transforms, teaching you lessons you never knew you needed to learn. Welcome to my story. It’s raw, it’s messy, and it’s unapologetically real. I hope it finds you in the way it’s meant to.

I searched for you in every corner of my world, until I realised I was the one missing.

The weather was oddly calm that day. The sky, paint ed with shades of grey, seemed to hold back its tears. A light breeze brushed past the trees, making their leaves rustle gently. The pond sat still, its surface reflecting the gloom above. A few birds chirped half-heartedly, as if unsure whether to sing or stay silent. Everything about the park felt heavy. But why am I telling you this? Isn’t every park like this? Green grass, scattered benches, and a sense of stillness that feels the same everywhere? Yet, this place was different for me. It wasn’t just a park it was a graveyard. A graveyard of dreams, hopes, and a version of me I wasn’t sure existed anymore. This was the place I used to come with her. Every corner, every path, every bench seemed to whisper her name. The laughter we shared, the conversations we had they were everywhere. But now, those memories didn’t bring joy. They weighed me down like invisible chains, pulling me deeper into thoughts I didn’t want to face. And yet, I kept coming back. Why? Maybe because I was searching for something her, myself, or just a reason to move forward. I didn’t know. All I knew was that this place held the echoes of a past I couldn’t let go of, even when it hurt. Like me, you might have your own “park” a place where you’ve left pieces of yourself, wondering if you’ll ever get them back. That park was my escape. It didn’t judge me, didn’t ask ques tions, and didn’t expect answers I couldn’t give. It just exist ed, patiently waiting for me to untangle the mess in my head. The first time I sat there, I thought I’d spend an hour at most, but one hour turned into two, two turned into evenings, and soon, I found myself returning every day. By the time you finish reading, you’ll meet others who’ve sat on this very bench. Some have laughed here, some have cried, and some have, like me, been forced to confront the questions they didn’t want to answer. But that’s what this is: a story of questions, of finding yourself, and maybe, just maybe, of learning to love again. For a long time, I blamed them, whoever they were. Then I blamed the circumstances, the timing, the universe. But as I sat there, watching the ripples in the pond settle and the ducks glide in effortless harmony, a thought crept in: maybe the person I was truly angry at was me. That’s the thing about losing yourself it happens so gradual ly, so quietly, that you don’t even notice until it’s too late. It’s in the compromises you make, the silences you keep, and the boundaries you let slip. My journal lay open on my lap, its pages teasing me to revisit a letter I never sent. Dear You,” it began, I thought losing someone like you would be the hardest thing in life. But I was wrong. The hardest part is losing myself in the process of holding on to you.” “It’s been two years now. Two years since we parted ways, two years since I cried myself to sleep, wondering if I’d ever be okay again. When you broke up with me, it felt like my whole world had fallen apart. You were such a big part of my life that, when you were gone, it left this huge, hollow space I didn’t know how to fill. I didn’t know how to move on or even how to exist without you. I kept going over our memories again and again, replaying every moment, every conversation, asking myself if I could’ve done something differently if there was some way we could’ve made it work. For many months, there wasn’t a single day I didn’t cry. It felt like the pain would never end, like I was stuck in this endless loop. Every little thing reminded me of you, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop the tears from coming. I don’t hate you; I hate what happened. I just couldn’t bring myself to hate you, no matter how much it hurt. I can’t deny that you were the one who showed me what love really is, what it feels like to be loved. I still think about those mornings at Energy Park, the first sleepless night we spent together, and the way I felt when you came to my house for the first time. If anything, I wish you well. I hope you’ve found peace, hap piness, and everything you’ve been looking for. And how unlucky I am. I have no way to reach out to you, no way to even check how you’re doing. Unlike you, who can just call me randomly after months of disappearing, as if nothing ever happened. You always had that privilege, while I was left with nothing just memories, unanswered questions, and the hope that maybe, one day, I’d hear from you again. the what- ifs and the hope that maybe we could somehow find our way back to each other. So, this is it. I couldn’t even say goodbye to you in person be cause your stubbornness made that decision for both of us. I wanted closure, a chance to look you in the eye one last time, but you didn’t let that happen. It hurt then, and honestly, it still does. This is me releasing the past, the pain, the questions, and even the love we once shared. I’m leaving it all here, in this letter. I wish I could hate you.” I wrote those words months ago, but they still felt fresh. Back then, I believed closure would come by writing this letter, that maybe if I poured my heart out, it would silence the echoes of everything I wanted to say but never could. Yet, the letter stayed unsent. Perhaps, I was never writing it for you; I was writing it for me. At the time, I had no idea what those days in the park would lead to. I didn’t know they would become the foundation for this book, the place where strangers became confidants, and where heartbreak turned into understanding. It was there, sit ting on that weathered bench by the pond, that I realized the stories we carry can’t be buried they have to be told, even if only to ourselves. The park became more than just a setting it became a witness to my journey and to the journeys of others who stumbled into my life. It held conversations that made me question ev erything I thought I knew, memories that forced me to let go, and lessons I didn’t know I needed to learn. If you’re holding this book, you’re about to walk into those moments with me. I had no idea then that the park would be the stage for stories of love, loss, and self-discovery. But now, as I write this, I realize it’s not just my story. It’s a story for anyone who has sat on a bench, looked at the world around them, and wondered how to put the pieces back together.

“We spend years learning how to love, and seconds learning how to lose. What no one teaches us is how to remain ourselves in between.”

Sometimes people don’t need answers, they just need someone who doesn’t leave.

This book didn’t begin with me sitting at a desk. It started in energy park the same park where we used to meet every single day. A place that once felt like home but later became a graveyard of our memories. After you left, I went back there every day, searching for pieces of you in the air, the trees, the water. The bench where we sat, the pond where your reflection would ripple next to mine it all felt so alive, as if mocking the emptiness you left behind. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to hold on to anger, to blame you for ev erything that went wrong. But no matter how hard I try; I’m left with the same thing memories. Memories that refuse to fade. The sound of your laughter, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about your dreams, the quiet nights when it felt like the world stopped just for us. That day, though, wasn’t about me. It was about her. I noticed her sitting by the pond, her legs submerged in the murky water. It wasn’t just water, though. I knew this pond well it was home to snakes just beneath the surface. She didn’t care. She sat there, sobbing uncontrollably, as if pouring her entire soul into the air around her. People walked by, some glancing curiously, others pretend ing not to notice. A few even smirked, as if her heartbreak was some twisted form of entertainment. No one stopped to ask if she was okay. I hesitated, unsure if I should approach her. It wasn’t my place. But then I saw it the rawness in her pain, a kind of vul nerability that mirrored my own. Before I could overthink it, I walked up to her and said softly, “Please take your legs out of the pond.” She didn’t even look at me at first. Instead, her sobs grew louder, as if my presence had somehow cracked open a part of her, she’d been trying to hold together. I crouched down beside her and offered her my handkerchief. “Here,” I said gently. “Take it.” Her hands trembled as she reached for it, clutching it like it was the only solid thing in her world. “What happened?” I asked. She didn’t answer. For a moment, I thought she wouldn’t say anything at all. But I didn’t push her. I just sat there quietly, watching the ripples in the water and letting her take her time. After a while, she whispered, “Why does it hurt so much to be left behind by someone who said they loved you?” Her words hit me like a punch to the chest. I didn’t have an answer for her because, in truth, I’d been asking myself the same question for months. Over the next few days, she began to open up. Her name was Saumya, and her heartbreak was raw and fresh, like a wound that refused to stop bleeding. She didn’t trust me at first, she kept her words guarded, her tears careful. But slowly, she be gan to let me in. Her questions started to come more freely. “Why do people cheat?” she asked one day, staring at the pond. “Why do they leave after making promises they swore they’d never break?” “How do you stop loving someone who never really loved you back?” Each question hit harder than the last. They weren’t just her questions they were mine too. And as I tried to give her an swers, I realised I was uncovering truths I had buried deep inside myself. Saumya didn’t know it, but her questions became the foun dation of this book. Along with my own unsent letters and sleepless nights, they shaped the chapters to come. This book isn’t just my story it’s hers, too. It’s for everyone who’s ever sat in a park, a room, or anywhere else, crying over someone who left without looking back. It’s for the questions that haunt us in the quietest moments and the answers we might never get. “Loving you was my favourite mistake, and forgetting you is the hardest lesson I’ve ever had to learn.” But maybe, just maybe, this book is the beginning of some thing new for me, for Saumya, and for anyone who finds their own story in these pages.

“Some loves are like sunsets Beautiful, fleeting, impossible to hold. You can’t hate the sun for leaving, But you will always wish it stayed a little longer.”

We don’t always fall in love with people, sometimes we fall for what they give us.

The sun was dipping lower, casting an orange hue over the pond. I tossed a pebble into the water, watching the ripples disturb the surface, much like her words disturbed my thoughts. She broke the silence first. “Anu, why do people leave the ones they once said they loved? she asked suddenly, breaking the silence, I don’t understand relationships anymore, why do people even get together if it’s not real?” she added, her voice quieter this time, almost like she was afraid of the answer. I leaned back on the bench, staring at the setting sun. It wasn’t an easy question, and I knew she didn’t want some shallow response. “That’s not something you can explain in a single sentence,” I said finally, my voice steady but thoughtful. “But it’s a question I’ve asked myself too many times. And maybe maybe there’s no one answer, but there are patterns.” Her silence told me she was waiting for more, but instead of continuing, I turned the question over in my mind. Why do people leave? The thoughts swirled, and that’s how this chapter began to form. They say relationships define who we are, that they teach us lessons we wouldn’t learn otherwise. But the truth is, not every relationship is about love, and not every connection comes from a place of good intentions. I’ve thought about this a lot especially after everything I’ve been through. Relationships can fall into one of four categories: love, attraction, need, or ego. Some are beautiful, some are fleeting, and some well, theyHere is the text extracted from the image, formatted as normal paragraphs: leave scars. Love Story The first type is the one everyone dreams of love. Real, raw, unshakable love. It’s the kind that makes you believe in forever. There’s a couple I knew let’s call them Rhea and Arjun. They were the textbook definition of love. It wasn’t just in the way they looked at each other or the way they could finish each other’s sentences. It was in the small, almost invisible moments: Arjun carrying Rhea’s favourite book in his bag just in case she needed a distraction, or Rhea making sure Arjun always had his chai exactly how he liked it. Their love wasn’t flashy or loud. It was quiet, steady, and deeply rooted. But love, even in its purest form, isn’t perfect. They fought over silly things, struggled with misunderstandings, and even drifted apart for a while. But what brought them back together was their commitment not to some idea of love, but to each other. This is the kind of relationship most people want. The kind I wanted, too. But it’s rare. It’s also the kind that makes the other types stand out so painfully. The Spark of Attraction Not every relationship is about love, though. Some are about the fire, the thrill, the magnetic pull of attraction. And it’s easy to mistake that spark for something deeper. Take Meera and Kabir. They were like a summer storm intense, passionate, impossible to ignore. From the moment they met, it was fireworks. They’d talk for hours, laugh until their sides hurt, and couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It felt like love or at least, that’s what they told themselves. But here’s the thing about attraction: it’s like a firework. Bright, beautiful, but over far too quickly. As time went on, Meera realised Kabir didn’t share her dreams, and Kabir found that Meera’s outlook on life clashed with his own. The connection they thought was love was just chemistry, and once the spark faded, there wasn’t much left to hold them together. I wonder how many people are stuck in attraction, convincing themselves it’s love. I know I was, for a while. But it never lasts. The Relationship of Need Then, there are relationships born out of necessity. These aren’t about love or passion they’re about filling a void. Need can be of lust too maybe the worst thing that could happen to you or the need to move on, or even a materialistic need like money. Let me tell you about Pooja and Ankit. Pooja was terrified of being alone, and Ankit needed someone to help him find his footing in life. Together, they felt safe. Pooja got the companionship she craved, and Ankit got the support he needed to chase his dreams. But here’s the problem: relationships built on need are like sandcastles. They look solid, but the moment the tide comes in, they crumble. Pooja realised she wanted more than just someone to keep her company. Ankit started to feel suffocated, knowing he couldn’t give her the emotional depth she needed. These relationships can last for years sometimes even a lifetime. But they’re hollow. They’re about surviving, not thriving. And the worst part? Both people usually know it, deep down. The Ego Trip The last type is the hardest to understand and the easiest to spot from the outside: relationships built on ego, FOMO, or the desire to flex. Varun and Sakshi were that Instagram-perfect couple. Match-ing outfits, vacations to exotic places, and captions about how much they adored each other. But behind the scenes, it was all about appearances. Varun was with Sakshi because she made him look good. Being with her fed his ego. Sakshi stayed with Varun because he gave her status someone to flaunt in front of her friends, someone who made her feel powerful. They weren’t in love with each other. They were in love with how the relationship made them feel about themselves. And the moment the validation stopped, so did the relationship. These relationships are frustrating because they’re intentional. Varun and Sakshi knew what they were doing. They weren’t confused like Meera and Kabir or desperate like Pooja and Ankit. They chose to stay for selfish reasons, and when they walked away, they left behind a trail of broken promises and hurt feelings. What I do know is this: not all relationships are meant to last. Some teach us lessons, others leave us broken, and a few a very few show us what love really looks like. If I’ve learned anything, it’s this: you can’t force love where it doesn’t exist, and you can’t fake it for long. So, if you ever find yourself asking why someone stayed, or why they left, remember it all comes down to what they were looking for. And sometimes, what they were looking for wasn’t you.

Some love with hearts, others with needs, Some stay for comfort, some for greed. A few are lost in lust’s quick flame, And some just fear they will lose the game.

I don’t hate you, and that’s the problem because it means a part of me still remembers us.

Saumya asked me, her voice filled with exhaustion, “Anu can you really hate someone you loved? I mean, we always hear people say ‘I hate them now,’ but I just don’t get it. How can you go from loving someone with everything you have, to suddenly hating them?” I sat there for a moment, watching her struggle with the question, feeling her confusion in my own chest. I thought about it long and hard. I knew exactly where she was coming from. How could you go from feeling everything joy, excitement, warmth, to this this coldness, this emptiness? “I don’t think you can,” I finally replied, my voice quiet. “Not if it was real love. Love and hate don’t really come from the same place. You might feel betrayed, even numb, but hate? That’s something different.” She looked down, clearly trying to digest what I had said, but I could see the truth in her eyes. She was already beginning to understand. Can you really hate someone you once claimed to love? That’s a question I’ve wrestled with for a long time. And the answer, I’ve realised, is no not if it was real love. True love doesn’t leave space for hatred. It might leave you hurt, broken, or even resentful, but hate? Hate comes from a different place entirely. Most of the people who claim to hate their exes weren’t really in love to begin with. They fall into one of the other three categories those who were in relationships out of attraction, need, or ego. They confuse their temporary feelings for love, and when the relationship ends, their so-called “love” turns into bitterness or revenge. But that’s not love. It never was. The truth is, only a handful of people in this world know what real love is. The rest of us are just trying to figure it out, and in that process, many people get it completely wrong. Think about the people who harm their partners after a break-up. Those who leak private pictures, spread rumours, physically harm, or worse how could that ever come from love? I’ve read horrifying stories one where a man brutally murdered his girlfriend after a breakup, dismembering her body. Another where a woman falsely accused her ex-boyfriend of crimes he didn’t commit, just to ruin his life. There are men and women out there who crosses every limit of humanity, all while claiming they “loved” their partner. Love, real love, doesn’t act this way. It doesn’t destroy. It doesn’t seek revenge. It doesn’t humiliate or harm. Those who do such things might claim they loved, but the truth is, they were only in it for themselves, what they could gain, how they could feel, or how they could appear. When those needs aren’t met, they lash out. It’s important to make this distinction. Because if someone genuinely loved you, they wouldn’t want to hurt you, even after it ended. They might feel anger, heartbreak, or disappointment, but love doesn’t transform into hatred. It doesn’t work like that. When you see someone going to such extremes, it’s clear they were never in love. Not even for a moment. They might’ve been in lust, they might’ve needed you for comfort, or maybe they stayed for the ego boost but love wasn’t part of the equation. True love leaves scars, yes, but not the kind you see on crime reports or in actions. It’s the kind that stays quietly, long after the person has left your life. It’s the kind that makes you want the best for them, even if you aren’t a part of their story anymore. But what about anger? What about those who were cheated on or betrayed? How can you expect someone not to feel rage when their trust has been broken? That’s different, isn’t it? Anger, unlike hatred, has a reason. It has a place. And sometimes, it’s the only way to process the heartbreak of being cheated on. For now, just remember this: love doesn’t hate. It can hurt, it can grieve, it can even walk away. But it never hates. Those who claim otherwise were never truly in love to begin with.

I wanted to hate you, wanted to fight, But love still lingers in the night. Hate is easy, but love is still here, A wound that hurts but holds so dear.