It was an unusually hot afternoon. The sun blazed high in the sky, casting fierce golden beams over the dusty skyline of Delhi. Inside her modest 15th-floor apartment, Asha lay sprawled across her bed, one arm thrown over her eyes as the ceiling fan spun lazily above. The heat pressed on her chest like a weight, and her mind floated somewhere between sleep and the dull ache of exhaustion.
She had returned home late the night before, her shift at the hospital dragging longer than expected. Being a junior resident at AIIMS wasn’t easy—it drained her. Most days, it felt like the world was asking too much of her. Today was supposed to be her one moment of peace.
Then the doorbell rang.
It echoed through the apartment like a sharp slap to her senses. She groaned, letting her legs hang over the edge of the bed before standing up with heavy limbs. Her bare feet padded across the cool floor tiles as she reached the door and swung it open, more annoyed than curious.
She froze.
Standing before her was a stranger. But not the kind you forget. No—this was a stranger whose laugh used to echo in her heart. A stranger whose fingers once interlaced with hers under the classroom bench. A stranger whose breath once lingered on her skin. A stranger she once called her future.
Anil.
He looked different, more mature. There was a slight stubble on his chin, and his eyes—those eyes she once memorised like verses—were tired, but still familiar. Still beautiful.
Asha stared at him, unmoving.
“Hi... Anil,” he said, reaching out his hand, unsure of what expression he wore—nervous, hopeful, maybe both. “If you remember.”
Asha blinked slowly, words taking longer than usual to form in her throat. “Oh. Hi... Yeah, I have your image in my head.”
An awkward pause.
“So,” he said, “am I... welcome inside?”
She hesitated. Then, stepping back, she opened the door wider. “Yeah. Please. Come in.”
The door closed behind them with a soft click. Asha moved toward the kitchen, pulling out a glass and pouring water. She handed it to him without a word.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the glass with a small smile. He looked around—modest furniture, medical books stacked everywhere, a stethoscope hanging on a hook. “I heard you got a job here in Delhi. Seema told me. So I thought... it’s been years... I hope it’s okay I just came by.”
“It’s fine,” she replied, her voice soft. “Just unexpected. Yeah, I got selected for AIIMS.”
They both sat, awkwardness heavy in the air like a storm cloud.
“I’m sorry,” Anil said suddenly.
Asha looked up, surprised.
“I was stupid,” he said, his voice lower now. “Just a teenage boy who didn’t know how to deal with failure. I was so lost in my head... I ended up hurting you.”
She didn’t respond at first. Instead, her eyes drifted to her hands resting in her lap. Her thoughts wandered—back to a time of simplicity. To Goa, where he laughed like a child and kissed her like she was the world. To mornings when he would pick her flowers and tuck them behind her ears. To late-night study sessions, shared pencils, and cycling to tuition together.
Then came the NEET result. Her name on the list. His absence. Silence became the wall between them. She tried to reach him—letters, calls, even visits—but he shut her out completely. The last time she saw him was from behind a closed window. She had waited there for an hour, hopeful he’d open it. He never did.
The pain of that moment never truly left.
But now, as he sat before her, apologising years too late, something in her stiffened.
“I understand,” she said, cutting him off gently. “We were young. It was a lot for both of us. But life moves on. We’ve moved on.”
Anil’s heart dropped.
That wasn’t what he had come here to say. He wanted to tell her the truth—how he had never loved anyone after her. How that girl who posted “meet my Pookie” was just a friend playing a prank. How he couldn’t bear the thought of any other woman’s touch. But now, hearing Asha’s words, his courage crumbled. If she had moved on... maybe she had someone else now. Maybe she belonged to someone else's arms, someone else's world.
So he nodded. Swallowed his truth.
“Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “Yeah... we’ve moved on.”
But inside, his heart was tearing open. The thought of Asha—his Asha—holding someone else, whispering the same soft ‘I love you’s he once heard, was unbearable. Every muscle in his chest ached, but he kept still.
His phone rang. He looked down. “Sorry, it’s my friend. He’s waiting. Our flight’s at 4.”
“Flight?” Asha asked, confused.
“Oh—yeah. I didn’t mention. I got selected for an international contract business role. We’re flying to the U.S. in a few hours.”
“Oh!” Her eyebrows lifted. “Congratulations. That’s... really great.”
Anil’s memory flickered back to a day he’d almost forgotten. Sitting on his bed, defeated after NEET results, eyes red and heavy. And Asha, bright-eyed, determined, holding his hand.
“Listen. I'm here. We’re gonna do this. We can and we will. I'll always be here supporting you. Even if I fail or you fail, I won’t leave your side. I'll always be your number one supporter. Come. Give me a hug.”
Back in the present, Asha stood up.
“So, you came to meet me before you left?”
He stood too. “Yeah. I don’t know how the future will go, so... I thought I should see you.”
“It’s nice to meet you again. And yeah... God knows what the future holds.”
A moment passed.
“So, see you till then,” he said softly, walking toward the door.
She followed, heart thudding in her chest. Both were fighting urges—hers to pull him back into a hug, his to whisper, I never stopped loving you.
But neither spoke.
Instead, they stood there, silent, only the past humming loudly between them. Finally, Asha gave a small wave. “Goodbye.”
Anil waved back. “Bye.”
He stepped into the lift. The door shut slowly, and he was gone.
Asha closed the door, leaned back against it, then sank to the floor, breath shaky. She stared at the ceiling. The silence echoed loudly around her.
Then, suddenly, she stood, rushed to the balcony, and looked down. She spotted a car pulling away, drifting down the street, toward the airport.
She smiled—small, bittersweet.
If destiny allows, miles apart, we’ll meet again. But for now... maybe being strangers again is the best.
The drive to the airport was quiet. Anil’s friend was humming something under his breath, tapping the steering wheel to a tune playing on the radio. But Anil didn’t hear a thing. All he could feel was the lump in his throat, the silence in Asha’s eyes, and the echo of her words—“We’ve moved on.”
He wanted to scream. To turn back. To hug her once, just once, and ask if she truly had moved on. But he sat still, fingers clenched into fists on his lap. Her voice kept repeating in his mind. She had said it so calmly. As if all those years meant nothing. As if the mornings they spent laughing, the nights whispering dreams—they were all just faded pages of some old book.
But they weren’t.
Not for him.
He had waited. Years passed, opportunities came, girls tried to get close—some even beautiful, intelligent, charming—but none of them were her. No one had her fire, her softness, her scent that lingered on his shirt even hours after she left. He wanted to tell her that. He wanted to scream, “You’re the only woman I ever held in my arms and felt like I belonged somewhere.”
But he didn’t.
Because she said she moved on.
And he didn’t want to beg.
He turned his head toward the window. Outside, the roads blurred past. His chest ached. Not just ache—something sharper. Something like grief. Grieving someone who’s still alive, still breathing, but no longer yours.
Back in the apartment, Asha stared at the empty glass he’d used. It sat there on the table, catching sunlight, still holding the shape of his touch.
She hated that she felt this way.
She had moved on—or at least told herself she had. She had buried his memory beneath the weight of duty, ambition, exhaustion. But now... one look at him and the walls cracked. The air around him was still so familiar. The way he tilted his head when nervous, the way his voice dropped when he meant something serious—it all rushed back like a flood she wasn’t prepared for.
And that stupid smile. That half-smile he always gave when he was hiding his pain.
She sat back down, this time not on the sofa, but the cold tiled floor. Her head rested against the couch, eyes closed.
She hadn’t asked him if he was with someone now. Maybe he was. Maybe that girl in the picture really was someone special. Maybe that’s why he didn’t say more. Maybe he had moved on.
She let out a bitter laugh, a tear slipping down her cheek before she could stop it. “We’ve moved on,” she whispered. And she hated herself a little for saying it. For pretending. For letting him walk away without asking the question burning her heart—Did you ever love someone else? Did you forget me like I tried to forget you?
But she didn’t ask.
Because what if the answer broke her?
So she just let it be. Let him leave. Let fate carry them both to different skies.
But deep inside, she still loved him.
And deep inside, he never stopped loving her.
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