The Muse Who Never Knew: How Lakhvir Shaped the Words That Made Me

There are people who walk into your life and change you forever not by trying to, but simply by being who they are. Lakhvir is that person for me.

He doesn’t know it.
Maybe he will after reading this.

And honestly, that thought used to scare me. Because some truths feel safer when kept to ourselves. But I think I owe him this much… a quiet acknowledgment, not of love, but of inspiration. Of impact. Of gratitude.
This isn’t about romantic feelings. It’s about something quieter and, in some ways, deeper. It’s about how one person unknowingly helped me discover my voice, and continues to shape it even from a distance.

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Not Every Muse Knows They’re One

I don’t think Lakhvir ever thought of himself as someone’s muse.

He was never overly expressive. He never tried to be anyone’s guiding light. And yet, there was something about him the way he observed the world, the calmness he carried, the rare moments when he let his guard down… that stayed with me.

He didn’t inspire me by saying profound things or offering advice. In fact, I don’t remember any life-changing conversations. What I do remember are glances, gestures, silences… the kind that made me reflect long after he’d left the room.

In those quiet moments, something shifted in me as a writer. I began to see the beauty in restraint. In the words not said. In emotions not loudly declared but deeply felt.

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How He Changed the Way I Write

I used to write like I had something to prove. Every sentence needed to stand out, every emotion had to be obvious. I thought impact came from intensity from saying everything, all at once.

But something changed when he became part of my world quietly, unintentionally.

I began to slow down. Not just in writing, but in how I noticed things. I started paying attention to pauses, to the way people hesitate before speaking, to the emotions that live between words. I started listening more, feeling more, letting things linger.

He didn’t offer advice or talk much about emotions. But the way he carried himself, the calmness, the thoughtful silences, the moments when he’d almost say something but didn’t… those stayed with me.

Now, the characters I write often carry that same quiet tension. Someone who blends into the background, who seems unaffected but is constantly absorbing everything. Someone who says very little, but means more than anyone realizes. It’s not him, exactly but it’s the emotional truth he made visible to me.

I’ve learned that not everything needs to be explained. That restraint isn’t emptiness, it’s presence. That what’s left unsaid often speaks the loudest.

And without knowing it, he taught me that.

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This Isn’t About Love — It’s About Recognition

People often assume that if someone leaves a lasting impact, it must be because of love. And while I’ll always hold a deep fondness for Lakhvir, that’s not the story I’m telling here.

I’m telling the story of someone who helped shape the writer in me, without ever intending to.

He didn’t teach me how to write. He taught me without realizing, how to observe. How to absorb the world differently. And that made all the difference.

I don’t expect him to understand the full weight of this.
He might read this and wonder when or how he ever mattered this much.

He might even be surprised to see his name in a place like this.
But that’s the thing about muses the truest ones don’t need to do anything. They just need to be.

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To the Person Who’ll Probably Never Ask “Why Me?”

Lakhvir,
If you’re reading this, “Thank You.”
Thank you for being a part of my story, even unknowingly.
Thank you for reminding me that some of the most powerful influences are the quietest.

Thank you for being exactly who you are, and for existing in a way that helped me grow, not just as a writer, but as a person.
You never needed to know. But now you do. And that’s enough.

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Some stories are never meant to be told in full. They live between the lines, in the pauses we don’t explain, and in the people we never quite forget not because they stayed, but because they shaped something in us.

Lakhvir was never meant to be a chapter in my story but somehow, he became part of the language I write in.

I didn’t write this to be understood. I wrote it to honour a presence that never asked to be remembered, yet continues to echo through everything I create.

To anyone reading this “if someone ever inspired your growth without knowing it… cherish that. You don’t need closure to be grateful. Sometimes, gratitude is the story.”

Prachi Leheja