"Hey, I miss you. I was thinking about that night at the beach again... the way you looked at me. Felt like magic. Can we talk?"
Aarav stared at the message for a moment, heart racing, thumb hovering over the send button.
It was late. 12:39 AM. Rain tapped on the windows of his flat in Pune. He hadn’t spoken to Nisha in over four months, but tonight, memories rose like ghosts—soft, persistent, glowing with what-ifs.
He took a breath, closed his eyes, and hit Send.
A tiny ping. A whoosh. Message delivered.
And then it happened.
His blood turned cold.
He’d sent it to Nishant, not Nisha.
Nishant Kumar. His college roommate. Now a semi-famous food vlogger.
Aarav gasped.
“NO. No, no, no—”
He fumbled to unsend the message, but the blue ticks appeared instantly. Read.
Typing…
“Oh god.”
Then came the reply:
Nishant: Bro…
Are you okay?
Nishant: Should we… talk about this beach night?
Nishant: 😂😂😂
Aarav dropped his phone and buried his face in his pillow.
The Next Morning
Aarav awoke to sunlight and dread. He picked up his phone, hoping maybe it was all a dream.
It wasn’t.
There were five more messages from Nishant:
Nishant: Don’t worry, I won’t tell the beach.
Nishant: Or the stars. Or the ocean.
Nishant: Unless the ocean is Nisha?
Nishant: Sorry. Couldn’t resist.
Nishant: But if you wanna talk… call me. No judgment.
Aarav groaned.
He’d spent four months trying to forget Nisha. Now, one mistake had dragged her name back into the world like a scratched CD playing a sad song on repeat.
Still… something about Nishant’s last message lingered.
No judgment.
Two Days Later
They hadn’t spoken in over a year, but Nishant answered on the first ring.
“Dramatic lover boy,” he said.
“I deserve that,” Aarav muttered.
“No argument here.”
There was a pause.
“So,” Nishant said gently, “you wanna tell me about her?”
Aarav sighed. “I sent it by accident. It was meant for Nisha. But maybe... I wasn’t actually going to send it. You know? Maybe I just needed to say it. To someone.”
“Then say it,” Nishant replied.
And just like that, Aarav did.
He told him about the weekend trip to Alibaug, the fire-lit beach walk, the way Nisha had danced barefoot in the waves. About the plans they made and never kept. About the stupid fight. And the silence that followed.
“I didn’t cheat,” Aarav said. “I just… didn’t show up enough. Not emotionally.”
Nishant didn’t speak for a moment.
“Sounds like you regret it.”
“Every day.”
“Well, lucky for you,” Nishant said, “life’s not a movie. You don’t need an airport sprint. Just courage. Start with a message that’s actually meant for her this time.”
That Night
Aarav drafted a message again.
"Hi. This isn’t about guilt or apologies. Just wanted to say… I miss talking to you. I hope you're doing well. No pressure to respond. Just... letting you know."
He read it. Reread it. His thumb shook.
And then he didn’t send it.
He saved it to drafts.
Instead, he opened Instagram. Just curiosity, he told himself.
Nisha’s last post was from five days ago. A selfie at a bookstore in Delhi.
Aarav smiled sadly.
She used to hate bookstores. Said they smelled like “dust and unfinished dreams.”
Looks like she’d changed.
Or maybe, he thought, she just started finishing dreams.
Three Weeks Later
Aarav’s phone buzzed as he exited the elevator in his office.
It was a message from an Unknown Number.
"Hey, Aarav. This is Nisha. Got your message."
His heart flipped.
What message?
He checked.
The draft had been sent.
His face turned pale.
It must have been one of those accidental sends—when the phone rubs in your pocket and decides to ruin your life.
He panicked, typing:
"I didn’t mean to— I mean, I did, but not like that—It wasn’t planned—"
Before he could finish, she replied:
"Relax. It was… unexpected. But not unwelcome."
Then another:
"I’m in Pune for a few days. Want to meet? Just talk. No pressure."
Aarav froze.
Two Days Later – 5:30 PM
They met at a quiet café called Paper Moon. She looked older—not aged, but evolved. Her hair shorter, eyes calmer. The wild fire of her energy now glowed like candlelight instead of lightning.
“I ordered your old favorite,” she said. “Lemon chai.”
He smiled.
“I almost didn’t come,” she added.
“Me too,” he admitted.
“But then I thought,” she continued, “why not? We’re just two people with some history and a shared love for awkward silences.”
He chuckled.
They talked. Slowly at first. Then with ease. About work. Life. Her move to Delhi. His half-hearted attempts at dating. Her new cat.
Not once did they talk about the breakup.
Not until the sun began to dip.
“I was angry,” she said finally. “Not just at you. At myself. For falling so fast.”
“I was scared,” he admitted. “I thought being with you meant losing parts of myself. I didn’t realize you were trying to add to me, not erase me.”
She nodded. “Timing was wrong.”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
Then she smiled. “But timing’s weird. So are wrong numbers.”
He looked at her. “So… what now?”
She stood up, picked up her bag.
“We don’t owe the universe an answer tonight.”
He stood too.
“But,” she added, “if you ever send another wrong message, make sure it’s the right mistake again.”
He grinned.
“Deal.”
Epilogue – Six Months Later
Aarav’s phone lit up.
Nisha: I’m at the beach. You’re late. Again.
He typed:
Aarav: On my way. Don’t flirt with the ocean.
Nisha: Only if it flirts back.
He laughed and grabbed his keys.
Sometimes, the best things in life begin with a typo.
And a little courage to follow where it leads.
THE END
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