Love In Many Forms

Jasmine had always felt a bit lost. She moved to a new country, not sure what she was searching for, but driven by the need for change. Somewhere, buried deep in her heart, she hoped to find her purpose. But her weakness, she quickly realized, was her tendency to fall too easily for the wrong people—especially boys.

It was a warm evening when she arrived in the city. Dressed in a red dress that felt more like a statement than a choice, she clutched her notebook as if it were her lifeline. She made her way to the hotel, paid for a room, grabbed her key, and opened the door. The room was empty, quiet, waiting for her to fill it with something new.

She opened the window to the roof and climbed out, allowing the cool breeze to wash away the tension of the day. As she sat there, she flipped through her notebook. The pages held memories a drawing of a flower, a sketch of her old city, and one of her with friends she hadn't seen in years.

The nostalgia hit her harder than she expected. Her chest ached with the weight of everything she’d left behind.

But the empty page in front of her was different. It shone with potential, inviting her to start anew. Her eyes sparkled, a new kind of energy filling her veins. She hadn’t realized how beautiful the city was, how the lights shimmered like an invitation. This wasn’t just about finding a purpose; it was about embracing a new life.

The sky was deepening into night, the city lights beginning to twinkle. The building in front of her caught her attention—the lights reflecting off its sleek glass. She drew a simple sketch, just three cubes at first, but as her pencil moved, the lines began to tell a story of their own. She erased, added, and colored. A few small strokes, and suddenly the building seemed to glow with a light that felt like her future.

Then came the knock.

Knock, knock.

She ignored it.

Knock, knock. A little louder this time.

She still stayed still.

Knock, knock. Third time’s a charm, right? She sighed and opened the door, her patience running thin. Standing there was a tall, handsome man with an easy smile.

Her heart dropped a little, a mixture of curiosity and wariness flooding her chest.

“What do you want?” she asked firmly, keeping her cool.

“This is my room, too,” he said, his voice calm, almost amused.

She raised an eyebrow. “Proof?”

He pointed to the corner. “Key’s on the table.”

She turned to scan the room. No key. Just hers. Confusion crept in, but then something caught her. Why hadn’t the front desk mentioned anything? She’d been told there was no one else booked.

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll trust you. Name’s Jasmine.”

“Damien.” He smiled.

They both stood there for a second, exchanging awkward glances. Jasmine made up her mind—this could be a quick introduction, or maybe something more. She helped him unpack his things, laughing off her earlier frustration. The sun had set now, and the room was darker, cozier. Maybe she could get to know him.

But she hadn’t noticed how his eyes lingered on her sketchbook. She caught him staring.

“You’re a good artist,” he said.

She smiled, a little surprised. “Thanks. I can teach you if you want.”

He laughed. “No thanks. I usually just steal sketchbooks.”

She blinked, unsure whether he was joking or serious. He seemed to be both, and yet, it didn’t matter. His smile matched hers, light and easy.

“These drawings… they’re like old memories to me,” she said, her voice softening.

“That’s awesome,” he replied. “It’s cool to have something that connects you to the past like that.”

The moon was rising now, casting a soft glow over the city. “Good night,” Jasmine said, feeling a strange peace settle over her.

“Good night,” he replied, his voice warm.

She pulled the blanket closer and fell into a deep, restful sleep.

But when she woke up, something was wrong. The room was too quiet. And Damien was gone. Her sketchbook was gone. Her other belongings, too.

Jasmine’s heart pounded in disbelief. Her clothes were still there, thank goodness. But her sketchbook—those precious drawings—had vanished.

Still in her pajamas, she rushed downstairs to report the theft. The front desk staff seemed confused. “There’s no ‘Damien’ here,” they said. “The only guest who checked in yesterday was someone named Max.”

She wanted to scream but held back. “I already called the police,” she said, her voice low.

Back in the room, her thoughts were a blur. The betrayal stung deeper than she expected. She had trusted him—her heart had opened, just a little. It was the lesson she needed, though. Not everyone could be trusted so easily.

But there was a silver lining. When she checked her clothes, she found a pile of cash that she had forgotten about. A sigh of relief washed over her. With that money, she bought a new sketchbook. And with a sense of determination, she began to recreate the drawings she had lost.

Then, another knock.

This time, it was a girl in white clothes.

“Hi, I’m Mary. Nice to meet you.”

Jasmine looked up from her sketchbook and smiled. “Nice to meet you too. I’m Jasmine.”

“How did you get in?” Jasmine asked, still recovering from the shock.

Mary held up a key. “I’ve been begging for a room all day. They finally gave me this one.”

Mary’s eyes glanced at Jasmine’s new sketchbook, and a smile spread across her face. “I love your sketches. You’ve got a real talent.”

Jasmine blinked, surprised by the compliment. “Thanks. You’re the first person who’s said that.”

The two of them settled in, sharing stories, drawing, and writing until the sun began to set again. Mary was a writer. Jasmine was an artist. Together, they created something far better than they could have done alone.

Days turned into weeks, and the bond between them deepened. Jasmine began to feel the weight of betrayal lifting as Mary’s friendship brought something warm and healing into her life. There was no rush of romance, no whirlwind crush—just steady, solid friendship. They inspired each other to create, to dig deeper, to be more honest in their work.

One evening, as the sunset painted the room golden, the two girls pinned their favorite works to the wall. It wasn’t a gallery, but it felt just as significant.

Jasmine looked at Mary, her heart full. “I think I found what I was looking for,” she said. “Not just a purpose,but a person who sees me.”

Mary nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes, love shows up when you’re not chasing it.”

Jasmine’s heart, once filled with loss, now overflowed with warmth. She had lost something, yes. But in return, she had gained so much more—a lesson, a new friend, and a fresh start.

She finally understood that love doesn’t come in just one form. Whether it’s romantic, friendly, or even divine, real love is about truth, patience, and trust.

Why is love such a strong emotion?

Love can come in many forms: betrayal, true love, friendship, and even God’s love for us. Love can cause heartbreak, but it can also bring healing. I don’t know if this is true for everyone, but for me, love is a sign of trust. It’s why it holds such power.

Thanks goes to Mary & CHATGTP: With her kind words it help encourage me to write more and chatgtp for helping with ideas/writing.