Meera never believed in sudden connections. She had always been the quiet girl in college, lost in her books, unnoticed in the crowd. Until that one day.
It was the annual fest, full of laughter, music, and colorful lights, when she first saw him. Aryan. The star of the college—confident, charming, surrounded by people. He wasn’t her type, and yet… the moment their eyes met, she felt something she couldn’t explain, a strange flutter in her chest.
Days passed, but Aryan started noticing her too. A silent smile in the corridor, a casual “hi” in the library, small talks that slowly grew into long walks between classes. For the first time, Meera’s heart raced for someone, and she didn’t even know why.
One rainy evening, they were walking under an umbrella, the city lights reflecting in puddles on the road. Aryan leaned closer and whispered, “You know what’s strange? It feels like I’ve known you forever.”
Meera laughed nervously. “Forever? We hardly talk.”
He stopped walking, looked deep into her eyes, and said softly, “Not in this life, maybe.”
She didn’t understand then, but those words would haunt her soon. There was a depth in his gaze that spoke of untold stories, of secrets hidden in time.
Their friendship blossomed into love slowly, naturally. They would sneak out for late-night coffee, write notes for each other, and dream about a future together in hushed whispers. Meera had finally found the love she thought only existed in novels. She felt alive, cherished, and seen.
But everything changed one cold winter night.
Aryan didn’t come to college for a week. No messages. No calls. Meera panicked, her mind spinning with fear. When she asked his friends, one of them said cautiously, “Meera… Aryan met with a serious accident.”
Her heart stopped. Without thinking, she rushed to the hospital. But the staff looked confused. “There’s no patient here by that name,” they said.
Desperate and trembling, she ran to his house. An old lady opened the door. When Meera asked about Aryan, the lady froze, her hands shaking. With trembling lips she said, “Child… Aryan… he died in an accident five years ago.”
Meera’s world collapsed around her. “No… I saw him… I loved him… we were together!” she whispered, her voice breaking.
The old lady guided her inside and pointed to a photo frame. Aryan was in it—smiling, exactly as she remembered him. “This is my son,” the lady whispered. “He never came back.”
Meera couldn’t breathe. Every memory flashed before her eyes—the late-night coffees, the notes he had slipped into her bag, the promises they had shared. Was it real, or had she imagined it all?
Tears rolled down her face as she checked her phone. Every chat, every photo—gone. Only one message remained, dated five years ago:
“If love is true, it never dies. Not even with me.”
Her chest ached, yet a strange warmth spread through her heart. She had fallen in love… with someone who had never truly lived in her world.
Days turned into weeks. She returned to the library, the streets they had walked together, hoping for a sign. And sometimes, just sometimes, she thought she felt him nearby—a gentle breeze, a whisper of his laugh, a shadow crossing her path.
In her heart, she understood the truth. Aryan never really left her. Some loves are not bound by life or death. They exist beyond time, beyond memory, as if destiny itself had carved a place for them.
And Meera, finally, smiled through her tears. She knew that their story—though incomplete in the eyes of the world—would live forever in her heart.
