​The Lover Who Became the Crime

I’ve always been drawn to crime and mystery films—the thrill of chasing clues, following faint trails, doubting everything and everyone. I love listening to that inner voice, that instinct that whispers where to look next, nudging you toward the shadowy footsteps of a criminal you hope to uncover. It feels like a game of hide and seek. I loved that game as a child. Maybe because my mind has always been wired to build puzzles, to connect scattered pieces until a solution appears. Maybe that’s why a part of my soul has never been tamed—restless, stormy. Maybe that’s why, years ago, I studied law. Something about defending others, standing up for what was right, soothed something deep inside me. But the softer part of my spirit could never make peace with that darker side of life. It refused to let me continue down that path. So it led me toward the other half of my nature—toward ballet, a dance that consumes my whole being and transports me somewhere else entirely. I’ve always been fascinated by the body and how it works, and maybe that’s why I eventually became a yoga and dance instructor. In their essence, both yoga and ballet carry the same paradox: both are calm and wild; both hold darkness and light. They confront you with parts of yourself you’d rather avoid. Yet once you walk through that darkness, you reach the light, and there’s peace—like dancing Swan Lake on stage, or the stillness that arrives after the most complicated yoga poses. It’s the calm after the storm.

I tell you all this because the path I walked—the storms and the serenity—led me to you.

Do you remember the day we saw each other at the gym, when our eyes locked? Fate’s little game… how it pushes people into the most unexpected corners of life—into love, into separation, into a maze of complicated feelings.

Do you know why I began my story with my love for mystery shows? Because even now, I move by instinct. I follow signs, hoping to find a trace of you, something that will quiet my heart for a moment. I’m like a detective giving everything to solve a case—chasing clues, seeking truth. Just like I search for signs in nature, trying to reach you: when I see a dandelion and wonder if it carries news from you, when a bird sings, when sunlight suddenly breaks through a cloudy sky, when a rainbow appears after a heavy rain, when the moon surprises me behind my window.

I always defended our love against everything and everyone, because you felt like the truest choice in my heart. I listen to my inner voice—too well, maybe. Perhaps I should have listened to logic this time. But they say the one who follows their intuition is the one who wins. In all those mystery films, it’s always the detective who trusts their instinct who uncovers the truth.

I loved you deeply. You were like ballet to me—an art that carries both radiance and shadows, an art that plays with your soul. You did the same to me. You tickled my spirit, stirred it, teased it—almost as if you enjoyed killing me in the end.

You’re so much like those enigmatic films. In those stories, the culprit is almost always the last person you’d suspect—the one you believe incapable of harm. Just like in real life, in love, the person you least expect can end up hurting you. Your lover can become the killer of your own emotions, and you become the detective searching for the one who committed the crime.

See how the whole story twisted into something almost surreal, almost science-fiction? But here’s the truth: you are a case I still haven’t closed. The file remains open— because sometimes the clues don’t lead you forward… they follow you.

Ashley the name you gave me