Marked by Time

He never imagined how swiftly life could change—how a single second could leave a mark that ran deeper than skin. The car crash that altered his face didn’t just leave a scar from his brow to his cheek—it severed the life he knew, along with the future he had once believed in. But worst of all, it took Maya from him.

Before the accident, they were inseparable. He remembered every detail of their love, how her laughter lifted him, how her touch made him feel unstoppable. They were building a life together—dreams of a home, of traveling to far-off places, of growing old hand-in-hand. Yet in an instant, all of it shattered.

When he returned home from the hospital, his face wrapped in bandages, he saw the shift in Maya. She didn’t flinch at the scar, not exactly—but there was something in her eyes that wasn’t there before. It wasn’t revulsion; it was something far harder to bear. It was sorrow, mixed with pity. She tried to stay, pretending everything could be the same, but her touches were lighter, her smiles forced. She stared at him longer than she used to, as if trying to see the man beneath the scar.

He could feel her slipping away even before she spoke.

One night, she finally broke down, tears streaking her face. "It’s not the scar,” she said softly, her voice cracking. “It’s just... nothing is how it used to be. I’m sorry.”

And then she left.

After that, he spent hours looking at himself in the mirror, fingers tracing the scar that had changed his life. He wondered if it was really the scar that drove her away—or if it was something deeper, a future that had slipped out of reach. The scar wasn’t just on his face; it had carved itself into his identity. It became a reminder of everything he had lost—Maya, the life they were building, the man he had once been.

Years passed, and though the pain of the wound faded, the ache in his heart remained. He learned to live with the scar, but he never truly stopped missing Maya. In time, he understood her reasons. She wasn’t just afraid of the scar—she was afraid of what their lives had become. But late at night, he still found himself wondering if love, the kind they had shared, was supposed to endure through even this.

One evening, as the sky turned orange with the setting sun, he stood by the water’s edge, the waves lapping gently at his feet. He closed his eyes and let the wind brush against his face, soft and cool, carrying away the weight of years spent holding on to the past. Maybe the scar didn’t have to define him forever. Maybe he didn’t need to mourn the life he had lost, but instead, embrace what still lay ahead.

For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of peace. Maybe love could still find him again, even with the mark he carried—because the scar wasn’t just a reminder of what he had lost. It was a reminder that he had survived.