Nysa's POV

Why did You let me meet him?

Why, when You knew — You knew — he would never stay?

Why did You let his name echo in my heart like a prayer I never meant to whisper?

You saw me, didn't You?

All those nights when I said I don’t believe in love — when I told You I was fine being alone.

When I convinced myself that love was just a mess I’d rather avoid.

And then You — You — placed him right in front of me. Not as a storm, not as a loud miracle…

But as a quiet wind.

A soft conversation.

A moment of eye contact in a hospital corridor.

A name I asked a friend about, just out of curiosity.

Why?

Why did You make his voice the only sound that could calm my chaos?

Why did You allow my stupid heart to make homes in his sentences, in his silence, in his stubbornness?

Why did You let me fall in love with the way he dreams, the way he argues, the way he stays distant — like the moon, always beautiful and always out of reach?

I asked for strength.

You gave me softness.

I asked for peace.

You gave me longing.

I begged You not to make me weak again.

You placed him right in front of me — the very definition of impossible love — and told me to feel.

What lesson is this?

Is it that I should learn to love and let go?

Is it that not every story is meant to bloom, even if every part of me did?

Or is it punishment?

For being too closed off? For mocking the very idea of love?

Then fine, God. If this was Your lesson — I learned it.

I loved. I lost. I broke.

But don’t You dare tell me this was just a phase.

Don’t You tell me it wasn’t meant to change me.

Because I don’t laugh like I used to.

I don’t trust like I used to.

I don’t even pray like I used to.

And You know what hurts the most?

He didn’t even ask to be loved.

He never promised me anything.

He was honest — said he couldn’t feel the same.

And still, I kept choosing him like he was the answer to a question my soul never stopped asking.

So tell me, God — why?

Why him?

Why not someone who wanted to stay?

Why not someone who believed I was enough?

Why did You allow my love to bloom where it was never going to be watered?

Why do I still whisper his name in a world where he walks away from me without turning back?

Why is the ache holy, but the person never mine?

Why did You make me love someone… who was only ever meant to be a wound?

– Naysa

She stopped pretending.

Stopped telling herself she was over it, stopped pasting fake smiles to her face like bandaids over bullet wounds.

That night, she didn’t numb it. She let it ache.

Let it bleed.

Let it scream.

And when the silence came — not the one full of thoughts, but the one that comes after crying yourself dry — her heart finally spoke.

Soft. Gentle. Like a mother cradling a child too tired to ask for love.

"You loved him," her heart whispered.

"Not because he was perfect. But because, for a brief moment, he made you feel seen."

She closed her eyes.

"You loved him," it said again,

"Because somewhere in his chaos, you saw your own reflection."

But then it added something she wasn’t ready for — something honest:

"But he was never your home."

Naysa clenched her fists.

"But why did it feel like it?" she wanted to scream again.

And her heart replied, steady this time:

"Because you built that home out of hope. Out of things you thought could be. But he was always a traveler, darling. He never stayed anywhere too long. You loved someone passing through."

Tears rolled down again. Not in anger now. In understanding.

"You were never unlovable."

"You were just offering your infinity to someone who only had moments to give."

And then came the last truth — the one that didn’t sting, but stitched:

"He came to teach you how deep you can love. So that when someone comes to stay, you’ll recognize them. And you’ll no longer settle for someone who only visits your soul."

The ache didn’t vanish. But it softened.

She looked at the stars through her hostel window — the same stars she had once hoped they both were looking at together — and whispered back to her own heart:

“I’m listening now.”

And for the first time in months, she meant it.

It was 2:17 AM.

The hostel corridor was wrapped in darkness, only the faint hum of the water cooler broke the silence. Naysa sat on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, phone face-down beside her.

She hadn’t cried.

But she hadn’t blinked either — for what felt like hours.

A question kept repeating in her head like a cursed prayer:

> “Why couldn’t Apurv love me the way he loved her?”

Why her? Why not me?

Why didn’t I ever feel like enough?

The chats with Aarav had lessened in the last two days. Not because he did anything wrong, but because her heart kept comparing someone who stayed with someone who once left — and she hated herself for it.

That night, she turned her phone on, opened her notes app, and wrote:

---

“I feel like a second option in everyone’s story.

Even in the version where I give everything, I still lose.

I know I shouldn’t want him to love me anymore.

But tell me…

Why does it still ache like I lost a piece of my own name?”

---

She didn’t expect a reply.

She hadn’t even sent it.

But then, her phone buzzed.

> Aarav: “You awake?”

Naysa stared at it.

Another buzz.

> Aarav: “I know it’s random. But can I call? Just for two minutes. I’ll keep it light.”

She hesitated. Then tapped accept.

His voice came through, hushed, like he was outside.

> “Why do I feel like you’re drowning in a place no one else sees?”

She didn’t answer.

So he said more.

> “You know, sometimes people come into our life not to stay… but to show us something about ourselves. Apurv didn’t love you — not because you weren’t lovable. But because he wasn’t meant to teach you love. He was meant to teach you loss. Boundaries. Silence.”

Naysa felt her throat tighten.

> “But then what’s the point of letting someone in if they’ll leave?” she whispered.

> “Because not every character in your life is supposed to be permanent. Some are chapters. Some are sentences. But the ones who leave… they carve things in you. And the ones who stay… they love the version of you those scars helped create.”

She couldn’t speak. Her eyes blurred with tears she didn’t want to shed in front of anyone.

But Aarav’s voice stayed steady.

> “You don’t have to be loved by the one who broke you to feel whole. And maybe, one day, when you no longer ache for answers… you’ll realize how strong you were for asking them in the dark.”

A silence.

But it wasn’t hollow.

It was full.

And soft.

And healing.

> “Thank you,” she finally whispered.

> “Anytime,” he said. “Even if it’s 2:17 AM.”

And when the call ended, she didn’t feel okay.

But she felt seen.

Held — if only by a voice.

And that night, for the first time in weeks, she slept.

Not healed.

But a little less broken.

It was one of those impulsive decisions Aarav rarely made.

He had a surprise shift canceled. The weather was kind. And for once, he didn’t overthink it. He texted her “What if I come today?” but got no reply. Still, something in him said go. Maybe she’d smile. Maybe she'd be mad. Either way — he just wanted to see her.

So he walked through the hospital corridor, heart mildly racing, rehearsing what he'd say when he saw her. Maybe tease her for not replying. Maybe hand her the little packet of jalebi he’d picked up on the way — the ones she once said reminded her of home.

He reached her college gate.

And then he stopped.

There she was.

Standing under the neem tree near the entrance with a boy — someone from her batch maybe — laughing in that way that made her eyes light up before her lips even curved.

Aarav froze.

She hadn’t seen him yet.

She was too busy being herself.

And he—he stood there, suddenly unsure if he should’ve come at all.

Because what was he, really?

Not her boyfriend. Not her classmate. Not her daily message.

Just someone who listened. Who stayed when others left.

Someone who knew her wounds but never dared ask to be her cure.

She laughed again. This time louder. She hit the boy’s arm playfully, and he leaned closer as if to say something back.

Aarav looked away.

It wasn’t jealousy — not really.

It was that sharp ache of realizing you’re not needed in a moment you wanted to belong to.

He turned slowly. No calls. No texts. No drama.

Just silence.

Because what would he even say?

“I came to see you.”

“I brought your favorite sweet.”

“I wanted to be someone who could make you laugh like that.”

But he had no claim. No promises. No label.

So he walked away. Quietly.

Pocketing the sweets.

And the pain.

And as he left, he whispered under his breath — like a confession no one would hear:

“You don’t owe me anything. But I wish I was someone you waited for.”

Aarav was halfway through turning away, his steps already retreating into the comfort of silence, when her laughter suddenly faded into stillness. As if something tugged at her heart to look around.

And she did.

Eyes searching. And finding.

Him.

She blinked — once, twice — like making sure it wasn’t just a figment of her imagination. But it was him. Standing awkwardly near the gate with a crumpled paper bag in hand and an unreadable expression on his face.

And then, her lips parted into that smile. The one she didn’t offer lightly. The one that was half surprise, half softness.

“Aarav?” she called, her voice cutting through the noise of the campus chaos like a quiet kind of melody.

Her friends turned. She waved him over — genuinely, without hesitation. The same girl who used to overthink every interaction… just walked up to him like she always expected him to be there.

“You should’ve told me you were coming!” she said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the nervousness slipping into her voice despite the smile.

He was speechless.

But before he could form a reply, she gestured toward her friends.

“This is Aarav,” she said with a proud kind of familiarity. “My… friend.”

And for some reason, that word — friend — felt heavy and not enough all at once. Still, she said it like it meant something. Like he mattered.

Her batchmates nodded and gave polite smiles, but she was looking only at him.

“You brought something?” she asked, eyeing the paper bag he was now clutching like a lifeline.

“Oh—yeah… your favorite jalebi,” he muttered, and for a second, his gaze softened, like the sweetness in the packet wasn’t even close to the warmth in her smile.

Her eyes lit up. “You remembered…”

“I don’t forget things that matter,” he replied quietly.

She didn't say anything to that. Just stared, with an emotion even she couldn’t name.

And for the next few moments, the world shrunk.

The laughter of friends. The buzz of campus. The tension in his chest.

All dissolved.

All that remained was her smile — the one she gave only to him. The one that told him he wasn’t too late.

Not yet.

Dear Diary,

I don’t know how to begin this. Maybe because I didn’t expect today to feel like this.

I saw him. Again. But not like the past — not like the days when I waited and hoped and felt like I didn’t exist in his world. No. Today he came. Quietly. Unexpectedly. Like he always does.

And yet… this time, I noticed.

He was just standing there. Awkward. Still. As if he didn’t know whether he should walk away or walk closer.

But he came for me.

He stood there with that stupid paper bag and that soft look that he tries so hard to hide — and for the first time in a long time, my heart didn’t shatter when I looked at him.

It steadied.

It smiled.

I don’t know what it meant — what this means. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. But when I introduced him to my friends… something in me settled. As if saying it out loud — “this is Aarav” — somehow made sense. Even if we’re nothing. Even if we’re just two people with unspoken things floating between us.

He remembered my favorite mithai.

He remembered.

When no one remembers anything about me — not my birthday, not my favorite color, not my silences — he did.

And no, I didn’t cry. Not like before. Today, I came back to my room with this glow on my face and that ache in my heart that didn’t feel like pain. It felt like… hope.

But I’m scared, Diary.

Because I’ve lived long enough in heartbreak to know how easy it is to mistake someone’s kindness for something deeper. And I don’t want to fall again into a story that only I am writing.

But if you ask me… would I do this again?

Would I smile like that again?

Would I say his name again with that softness?

Yes.

Even if it breaks me later.

Because for a moment today… he was real. He showed up. For me. And that’s more than I ever expected.

Love,

Naysa

Naysa hadn’t planned it. Or maybe she had, somewhere in her subconscious where logic didn’t get to make the decisions. It was a quiet Thursday morning. The kind of morning where the sun felt too soft and the heart too loud. She had woken up with an ache in her chest — not the heavy, crying kind of ache, but a tender one. The one that whispered, "Go. Just go see him."

So she did.

Without telling her roommate, without overthinking, she packed her bag and caught the 6:45 AM bus that left from outside her hostel gate. She stared out of the window the entire way, trees rushing past like they were in a hurry to get somewhere, unlike her — she was slowing down inside. Slowing down for something that felt real.

When she reached the gates of his college, she hesitated. Only for a second. Then typed the one word she knew would say everything:

"Outside."

There were no butterflies, no dramatic pauses. Just quiet certainty.

His response came in seconds. A confused, “What?” followed quickly by, “YOU'RE HERE??”

She didn’t reply.

She just waited.

A few minutes later, he appeared — breathless, in a white shirt slightly wrinkled from lectures, eyes wide with disbelief and something more... something tender. As if he’d imagined this moment before and still didn’t believe it was happening.

“You really came,” he said, stopping a few steps away from her, like afraid the moment would vanish if he got too close.

“I wanted to see your world,” she replied, quietly. Honestly.

He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t need to. Aarav just extended his hand — not literally, but in the way he opened up to her, in the way he started walking and she followed without asking where they were going.

He showed her everything. The dusty corridors that smelt like chalk and forgotten dreams. The canteen where he always complained about the food. The library where he barely studied but loved to sit in silence. The corner behind the admin block where he and his friends would sneak in stolen moments of laughter and pointless debates.

And then, the teasing began.

His friends — loud, playful, as unfiltered as ever — spotted them.

“Oye Aarav, kya scene hai?”

“Tu toh keh raha tha single hai!”

“Aaj toh smile cheek se utar hi nahi rahi!”

Naysa flushed red. Her instinct was to look away, pretend like it didn’t bother her. But before she could say anything, Aarav turned to them and smiled — not shy, not dismissive. A proud smile. One that told her she wasn’t a secret.

“She’s someone I don’t want to lose,” he said, casually. As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Naysa froze.

It wasn’t a confession. It wasn’t a label. But it was real. And real, in her world, had always been rare.

They sat later under a gulmohar tree near the edge of the campus. The breeze carried fragments of conversations and dry leaves. Aarav handed her a juice box.

“You really made my day,” he said.

She smiled and took it, knowing she would probably keep the empty box somewhere safe — just to remember.

“What’s it like?” she asked.

“What?”

“Being here. Being you, in this space.”

Aarav looked around for a moment, then leaned back. “Chaotic. Loud. But sometimes, in the middle of everything, there’s this strange stillness. Like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.”

She nodded. “I get it. You make it look easier than it probably is.”

He looked at her and said nothing for a while. Then, “You coming here… felt like something I didn’t know I was waiting for.”

They talked more — about his professors, the way he wanted to specialize in surgery, how he admired one senior doctor who operated with such calm that it felt like poetry. How he wanted that grace, that stillness.

The air around them had changed.

Not the weather — that was still warm and breezy — but something quieter, something invisible. After his words — “She’s someone I don’t want to lose” — an unfamiliar stillness settled between them.

They weren’t holding hands. They weren’t leaning into each other like those obvious love stories. No. They sat side by side on a cracked bench outside his college library, legs almost touching, not quite, sipping juice boxes like children in a world far too old for their tenderness.

Naysa looked around at his campus — it wasn’t extraordinary. Just red-bricked buildings, scattered students, laughter echoing from corners, and bikes resting against broken fences. But to her, it felt like walking through the pages of a book he had written with his everyday life. His world — unfiltered, a little chaotic, but honest.

And she had been let in.

“Do you always let your friends tease you like that?” she asked, finally breaking the silence, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

He looked at her, not with the smug charm he usually wore, but something quieter. “Only when I don’t want to correct them.”

She blinked. “You didn’t deny anything.”

“I didn’t want to.”

There it was again — the almost confession. The thread that danced between them but never quite tied into anything concrete. Aarav had always been a storm hidden behind calm eyes, someone who didn’t show too much but said enough to keep her wondering for hours.

“You always speak like there’s meaning behind every word,” she murmured.

“Maybe there is.”

A group of juniors passed by, and Aarav casually shifted, slightly shielding her from view. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t make a show. But the gesture — so small, so instinctive — made her throat ache.

“Want to see the terrace?” he asked suddenly.

They climbed three floors, laughing about how the lift never worked. When they reached the top, the city spread before them like a postcard — uneven rooftops, trees in awkward places, birds dancing in circles above the chaos.

“It’s loud, but it’s mine,” he said.

“It’s beautiful,” she replied.

He turned to her. “You look… peaceful here.”

She laughed. “That’s rare.”

“Why?” he asked, almost too softly.

She hesitated. Then answered, voice barely above a whisper. “Because most days I carry a storm inside me. And people… they either ignore it or blame me for raining too much.”

Aarav didn’t try to fix it. He just listened. And maybe that’s what she had been needing all this time.

“Do you know how badly I want to be okay?” she confessed. “Like… not pretend-okay. But actually okay. Wake up without the ache, without remembering the people who left, without checking who didn’t reply or who forgot my birthday.”

He didn’t speak for a long time.

Then, finally, “You don’t have to be okay for everyone.”

She turned to look at him. “But for someone?”

“For yourself.”

Silence again. But this time it was comforting. Like the kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

They stayed like that until sunset painted the sky in soft oranges and purples.

---

Later That Night

Back in her hostel, Naysa lay on her bed, arms crossed behind her head, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers.

Her roommate raised an eyebrow. “You’re glowing again.”

“I am not,” Naysa said, hiding a shy smile.

“Oh please. Tell me everything.”

And she did. Every moment. Every teasing. Every word he said. Every second of that walk, that terrace, that silence. She didn’t exaggerate. She didn’t need to.

It was real enough.

“So what now?” her roommate asked. “Are you guys like… dating?”

Naysa paused. The word felt too fragile, too shallow for what she felt.

“No,” she said. “We’re just… something.”