Today was one of those exhausting days—work piling up, deadlines crashing in, and my head just wouldn’t stop buzzing.
“God, I need to sleep,” I muttered to myself.
I was on a bus in Vishal, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, loud voices, and the endless honking of traffic. It felt like the entire population of the planet had boarded this one bus. I hated it.
I closed my eyes for a second and imagined something else—someplace quiet. A house tucked away in the mountains, surrounded by forest. I could almost see myself sitting on a wooden balcony, sipping coffee in total silence. No noise, no people. Just peace.
Yeah… that would be perfect.
Back to reality. The honking brought me right back. I pulled out my phone and started scrolling through Instagram reels. Then I opened WhatsApp and saw a flood of group messages. I’ve been added to so many groups—"School Memories", "Family Time", "Friends Forever", "Desi Masala", "Business Talks"... I don’t even know who adds me to these. I never reply. Maybe people think I’m weird.
And maybe they’re right. I’ve always been an introvert. I live in my own bubble. It's not that I hate people—I just don’t know what to say most of the time.
I put on my earphones and played some music. Music is the one thing that always gets me. I can’t explain it, but it feels like therapy. Some songs make me feel alive—others make me sad, even if I don’t know why. I’ve never been into love songs. They just feel… hollow to me. Maybe I just can’t relate.
Eventually, I started drifting off.
A nudge woke me up.
“Your stop,” said the bus conductor.
I blinked, still half-asleep. There were so many people in the bus, yet somehow, he remembered where I got down. That surprised me. I take this route every day, but still… to be noticed like that?
I got off the bus and walked home.
My room greeted me like an old friend. It was messy—clothes everywhere, dishes in the sink—but to me, it was heaven.
I took a quick shower and made dinner. Well… just two packs of Maggi. I don’t know how, but it took me almost 10 minutes to get it done. Was it me, or was the stove just being slow?
I lay in bed, scrolling through my phone like I always did—mindlessly, just trying to distract myself from the emptiness. That’s when it buzzed. A message from Alan.
Alan… the only real friend I’ve ever had. Though we’ve never met in person, it never felt like we needed to. We met online ages ago—started with a strange “hi” that could’ve gone nowhere. But somehow, it didn’t. Somehow, we just clicked.
It’s funny how the best friendships often begin like glitches in the system. I told him everything. The things I never had the courage to tell anyone else. And he always listened. Always believed me. Sometimes I even joked that he felt like an AI—so calm, so precise with his words, always replying with something that made me feel seen. Like maybe I wasn’t completely insane.
But he’s real. Real in the ways that matter. He makes music—honest stuff, not the plastic, autotuned noise you hear everywhere. His songs felt like they came from someplace deep. Somewhere full of ache.
And then there was her voice—the woman singing in his tracks. That voice... haunting and soft and impossibly beautiful. I never asked who she was. I didn’t want to ruin the mystery.
I opened his message.
Alan: hey
I smiled a little and typed back.
Me: *hey :) *
Alan: i made a new track you gotta hear it
Me: of course, man send it over
Alan: ...it’s a love song
Me: 😳 wait, really?
Alan: yeah i know you don’t really do love songs but it’d mean a lot if you listened you don’t have to tho
Me: nah don’t worry i’ll give it a shot
Alan: thanks man 🙏
Seconds later, the notification popped up.
For a moment, I thought about lying. Just telling him I listened, even if I didn’t. But something about the way he sounded—I couldn’t fake it.
So I turned off the lights, got under the blanket, plugged in my earphones, and hit play.
The song started slow—just a soft melody and his voice. And... It was beautiful. Way better than I expected. It felt real. Honest.
I don’t remember when, but I fell asleep while listening.
The next morning, I woke up late. 8 a.m.
Panic mode. I jumped out of bed, rushed through a shower, brushed my teeth, threw on whatever clothes I could find, and ran out.
I didn’t have time for the bus. I booked a shared taxi. I was halfway into the ride when I realized—I’d forgotten my phone.
I thought about turning back, but I had no time.
The taxi stopped to pick up another passenger. That’s when she stepped in.
Everything slowed down.
She was... stunning. Not in a flashy, makeup-heavy way. Just… effortlessly beautiful. Long hair. Calm eyes. A small nose, soft lips. No lipstick, no drama—just natural.
She sat next to me and smiled softly.
For a second, I didn’t know how to react.
What’s going on here?
Then I heard her confirm her OTP to the driver.
Of course. It’s a shared ride.
Still, it felt strange. I always take the bus. I never miss it. But today I did. And now this? It felt like a weird coincidence.
The taxi continued moving through traffic. I was still anxious about being late. I glanced at her again. She was talking to someone over the phone, calmly, encouraging them. Her voice was soft, comforting. Like a warm breeze in the middle of chaos.
Something about her just… stayed with me.The car slowed down and pulled into a small coffee shop on the side of the road.
She turned to the driver, smiled, and got out.
I watched her walk through the glass door and disappear inside. The door closed behind her.
I don’t know why, but I kept looking.
She was gone. But my eyes stayed fixed on the door for a while—like I was waiting for something. Or maybe just hoping.
A few minutes later, the cab pulled up near my office.
“Sir, we reached your location,” the driver said.
I nodded and opened the door to get out. That’s when I saw it.
A small box lying on the seat next to me.
It was elegant—black velvet, soft to touch. I picked it up, curious.
It looked expensive. I opened it.
A diamond ring.
My heart skipped a beat.
I froze for a second, staring at it.
Wait… is this hers?
It had to be. She was the only one who got in after me. And I didn’t carry anything with me today.
I stepped out of the car, still holding the box. The cab drove away.
Now I was standing outside my office, completely confused.
Part of me wanted to go straight inside, give it to the receptionist or security and tell them to call the police. Maybe someone could track down the owner.
But then another thought hit me.
What if it’s hers? What if she doesn’t even know she dropped it?
And if it is hers… this might be the only way I’ll ever see her again.
I looked at the box again.
My brain was in two places. Logic said: “Go to work. Do the right thing. Let someone else handle it.”
But my heart whispered: “Go find her. This could mean something.”
I stood there for a moment, caught in the middle of a decision I didn’t expect to make this morning.
Do I go inside and forget all this?
Or… do I go back to the coffee shop?
In my mind, going to the office would be just like any other day. But if I went to her—maybe, just maybe—today would be different. So I chose her.
I took a taxi. I remembered that café—I pass it every day on the bus, always thinking how nice it would be to stop there and grab a coffee. But I never did. Today, I was finally going.
The car started moving, but soon we were stuck in traffic. Oddly, I didn’t mind. The noise, the honking, the distant murmur of people—it felt oddly comforting. Maybe I was just too excited. Or nervous. I’d never felt this way before.
When the car pulled up to the café, I stepped out, heart pounding. I looked around—and then I saw her.
She was sitting alone, reading a book, unaware of the world around her. The sight of her made the moment feel unreal. Like time had slowed down just for me.
I started walking toward her. Then I stopped.
My heart was racing. My hands were trembling. I felt frozen—like fear and hope were pulling me in opposite directions. For a second, I turned toward the cashier. I thought maybe I could just hand over the thing I brought for her—something small, something honest—and ask them to pass it on. Or maybe I’d give it to the writer sitting nearby, hoping they'd understand and help.
But then... I couldn’t do it.
This was my moment. I came all this way for her. So I took a deep breath, turned around, and walked toward her—my heart louder than the city traffic behind me.
I took all the confidence I had left in me—and walked toward her.
“Excuse me, madam,” I said.
She turned to look at me.
And then—it hit me.
Those eyes. Just those eyes. Looking at me again.
In that split second, it felt like the whole world slowed down. My heart started pounding faster, heavier. It was almost unbearable.
She looked a little confused. “Yes?” she said.
I held out the small box. For a second, she froze. Then she started searching her bag, clearly puzzled. When she found the ring missing, her eyes widened.
“Oh! My ring! I didn’t even notice it was gone. Thank you so, so much!”
God—her smile. That face. That happiness—it was killing me in the most beautiful way.
I handed it to her. She took it carefully, then looked at me again, this time softer.
“Where did you find it?” she asked.
“In the taxi,” I replied.
She smiled. “Ahh… that’s why your face looked familiar!”
And then… she raised her hand for a handshake.
Oh God. Kill me now.
My hand was trembling. I was sure she noticed. Her face showed a bit of confusion—but also kindness.
I gave her my hand. And wow. Her hand—too soft, too cold—like a chilled water pillow. I didn’t want to let go.
And then she said it:
“Would you like to have a coffee?”
My mind spun. What do I do now? Run away? Pretend I didn’t hear? Or… actually sit?
She moved to a nearby table, pulled a chair beside her, and smiled. “Come, sit.”
This—this was the first time I was going to sit with a girl.
I was completely, hopelessly full of nerves.
Slowly, I sat in the chair across from her.
She looked at me and asked, “Would you like a coffee or something else?”
Nervously, I replied, “Coffee…”
She smiled and waved the waiter over, saying, “One coffee for him, please.”
I stared at her—how did she do that so easily? So full of energy, so effortlessly alive.
Then she turned to me and said, “I’m Lexi.”
Oh God. Those brown eyes—they were still shining. It felt like they could see right through me. For a second, I forgot my own name.
“I’m… Alex,” I said.
“Nice to meet you, Alex,” she said warmly.
I smiled. Slowly, we began talking. At first, it was a little awkward, but soon, we found a rhythm. I had always thought I couldn’t talk much with people—but today, I was talking too much. And what amazed me was—she listened. She listened to every word like it mattered. And when she smiled in between… It was like rain falling in a desert.I noticed everything—how she gently tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing a delicate earring that sparkled in the light. The way her cheeks formed little dimples every time she smiled… How could anyone be that effortlessly beautiful?
We laughed. We shared little things about our lives. She saw me like a person, not like a ghost everyone else seemed to ignore, someone who was never really accepted in this world.
She mentioned the ring—it wasn’t hers, it was her friend’s. Her best friend’s wedding was this Sunday, and the ring was part of that story. I could see how much she cared just by the way she spoke about it.
I talked about everything about me. I don’t know why, but I felt like I dropped every bit of sadness, loneliness, and stress out of my heart. Now, I feel like I was born again. I looked at her—she was still listening, looking at me with curiosity, like she was seeing someone like me for the first time, as if I was some rare thing in their world.
By now, it felt like we weren’t strangers anymore. We were… friends. Or maybe something more.
After a while, we stepped out of the café together.
She turned to me and said, “It was really nice meeting you, Alex.”
I smiled back and said, “Yeah, you too.”
She gave me that smile again—the kind of smile that says goodbye, but somehow, I wished it never had to mean that.
I smiled back. But inside, I was praying—please, God, don’t let this be goodbye. Not yet.
I wanted to ask for her number, her address, but I couldn’t say anything. I was too afraid. So, I said, “Bye, we can meet sometimes.”
She smiled—maybe she didn’t expect that from me. She said bye with a smile that looked like she was trying hard to hold it together.
I turned to walk away.
Then suddenly, her voice stopped me.
“Hey, if you’re free… would you help me with some shopping?”
I turned around, almost too quickly, my heart pounding.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound cool. “I’m free.”
Even if I lost my job today, I wouldn’t care. Not if it meant spending more time with her.
We started walking together, talking, laughing—like we’d known each other for years, not just a few hours.
We reached the shopping mall. We tried on different outfits. I’m not really good at picking clothes. I usually buy everything online—same colors, same styles. Black, dark blue, maybe green. I never try anything new.
But she picked clothes for me. And somehow, they all looked… right. I never thought anything other than black would suit me. But the colors she chose—they made me feel brighter. Like maybe I’d been hiding behind the same shades for too long.
Then something happened.
She stepped out of the trial room wearing a black saree.
And in that moment, my heart did something I didn’t understand—it started beating faster, like it wanted to break free from my chest. I had never felt this before.
She looked like something that had fallen from the sky. Not just beautiful—something beyond it. Like she was too precious for this world.
She looked at me and asked, “How do I look?”
And I swear—I needed a second just to breathe.
“You look beautiful,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.
But in my head, I wanted to shout it. I wanted to scream, “You look unbelievable!” But I couldn’t. I just smiled. She smiled back and went to change. I stood there, trying to tell my heart to calm down.
Eventually, we ended up picking outfits for each other.
After that, we decided to have lunch together. We walked into a famous biryani restaurant. The truth is—I don’t like biryani much. But when she ordered two plates with that big smile and said, “This is my favorite,” I didn’t say a word. I just smiled. I didn’t want to ruin her joy.
When the biryani arrived, something strange happened. The smell—it was different. Something about it felt… warm. Familiar. I closed my eyes and just let it sink in.
Suddenly, her voice brought me back.
“Smells good, right?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Let’s eat,” she said, smiling.
And we did. It was probably the best biryani I’ve ever had. Or maybe it was her company that made everything taste better. We ate, we talked, we laughed. My stomach felt full—but more than that, my heart did too.
After lunch, we stepped out onto the street.
She suddenly pointed at a poster stuck to a wall. It was for a new exhibition in town.
Her eyes lit up. “Let’s go!” she said, like a kid begging her parents for a toy.
And looking at her face—cuter than a newborn baby—how could I say no?
We went. The place was bigger than I imagined.
I had visited a place like this once when I was seven. I remember standing at the entrance, too scared to go inside. I just watched everything from a distance.
But today was different.
With her by my side, I did everything. We rode every ride. We played every game. We laughed like crazy. I didn’t even know places like this could be so fun, so full of life. Maybe, just maybe… with her, even hell would feel like heaven.
When I was with her, it felt like another world.Like time had slowed down. Like nothing else mattered.I don’t know what this feeling is. Maybe it’s love. Or maybe something even deeper.But whatever it is—it’s real.And I’ve never felt it for anyone else before.
We were walking slowly toward her home, the evening sky painted in soft amber. The air was still, holding its breath—until, suddenly, as if the heavens couldn’t hold back any longer, the rain came pouring down.
It was wild. Unexpectedly. Beautiful.
We burst into laughter and ran for shelter, ducking under the closed shutters of a small shop. The world around us blurred as raindrops drummed on the pavement and soaked our clothes. My shirt clung to my skin, and her hair—dark, wet, wild—framed her face like an unfinished masterpiece.
She looked up, letting the rain kiss her cheeks.
“Rain in the middle of summer?” she whispered with wonder, her eyes wide, her voice soft like a song. “What a surprise.”
And then she laughed—a full, open-hearted laugh that made my chest ache. Not from pain, but from something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Something like joy.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Raindrops traced the curve of her lips. Her eyelashes sparkled with water. Her smile was the kind that could silence every storm inside me.
And then—she turned to me.
Her eyes locked onto mine, glowing like melted chocolate in the dim light.
“Are you ready?” she asked, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.
“For what?” I asked, blinking.
She didn’t answer. She just stepped out into the rain, slow and graceful, like she was stepping onto a stage. Her arms opened wide as she tilted her head back, twirling with childlike joy, like she was dancing with the sky itself.
“Come on!” she called out, her voice floating over the sound of the rain.
For a second, I hesitated. But then I realized something—I would follow her anywhere. Even if it meant getting drenched. Even if it meant losing control. Because in that moment, losing myself felt like finding something I didn’t know I was missing.
I ran out after her.
We danced. We spun around in circles. We laughed louder than the thunder. The rain soaked us, but we didn’t care. There were no rules in that moment. No past, no future—just two people dancing in the rain, like the world had paused just for us.
And as I looked at her, I thought—
If heaven exists, it might look like this. And feel like her.
When the rain finally softened to a gentle drizzle, we walked in silence through the shimmering, empty streets toward her house. The world felt slower, like it didn’t want the moment to end either.
Suddenly, her foot slipped on the wet pavement—just a sudden, startled gasp and a stumble. Instinctively, I reached out and caught her hand, steadying her before she could fall.
And in that second, something inside me cracked open.
Her fingers gripped mine tightly for a moment. Warm. Real. Fragile.
And my heart whispered—Don’t ever let go. Please… just hold on.
But then, slowly, she pulled her hand back. “Thank you,” she said softly, eyes lowered. A blush crept onto her cheeks. That shy, unspoken warmth twisted something deep in me—it felt like my insides melted and stirred, like soft ice cream folding in summer heat.
We kept walking, until we reached her gate.
And then… We stopped.
The rain had ended, but the silence between us was louder than any storm.
We stood there, both drenched and quiet, neither of us ready to break the fragile stillness. The air between us was heavy—not just with water, but with everything unsaid.
Inside, I was screaming. Say it. Tell her this was the best day of your life. Tell her how she made the world feel different. Tell her you don’t want to go.
But my lips stayed shut. Like a coward. Like someone afraid of breaking something beautiful.
I looked at her. Her eyes weren’t sparkling like before—they were soft, uncertain, almost searching. Maybe she was hoping I’d say something too. Maybe she didn’t want the moment to end any more than I did.
And yet… we said nothing.
Then, with a smile that looked like it hurt her to wear, she whispered, “Bye…”
A small word. But it sounded like a goodbye forever.
I opened my mouth—stop her, say something, anything—but all that came out was a hollow echo.
“Bye…”
She turned. Walked in. Closed the gate gently behind her.
And just like that, the world fell quiet. Not peaceful—but hollow. Like something had gone missing. Something I never really had, but already couldn’t imagine living without.I stood there for a moment. Soaking. Still.And then—I turned and walked away.But with every step, it felt like I was leaving a piece of myself behind.At her gate.
In the rain.
With her.
I started walking back home, but this time… everything felt different. Wrong. The streets that once felt alive now seemed quiet, distant. And when I finally reached my room—the same room that once felt like heaven—it now felt like hell.
I was restless. Angry. Mostly at myself.
Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let her walk away?
I picked up my phone and texted Alan—told him everything. Every little thing that happened that day. The laughter, the rain, the look in her eyes, the goodbye that shattered me. I even told him how beautiful his new song was—that it was the most powerful one he’s ever written.
He saw the message. But he didn’t reply.
Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Maybe some things are just too heavy for words.
But I couldn’t sit with it. I made a promise to myself that night—Tomorrow, I’ll go to her. I’ll tell her everything. No more running, no more silence. I had to let her know.
I put his music on repeat, the one that haunted me now, and slowly, I drifted to sleep.
Beep. Beep. Beep. The alarm pulled me from a dream I couldn’t remember.
I woke up and got ready. Wore the shirt she had chosen for me the day before. It felt like armor and memory all at once. I was nervous. No, terrified. My heart was racing like it had its own plan to escape from my chest.
When I reached her gate, I almost turned back. My legs trembled, and every part of me screamed to run—but I remembered the promise I made to myself in the quiet of the night. So I took a deep breath, opened the gate, and pressed the bell.
A woman I didn’t recognize answered the door. For a second, I froze. “I’m looking for Lexi,” I said.
She paused. “Are you Alex?”
I nodded.
She gave me a gentle smile. “Come in.”
I stepped inside, the walls filled with photographs—posters, lyrics, and framed art. All from Alan. My best friend. She’s a fan? I thought.
But then she returned with a small box in her hand. My heart began to pound. I opened it gently.
Inside… Was the ring I returned to her . And a first edition cassette of Alan’s song. Only, it didn’t say Alan. It said:
“Written & Sung by Lexi Alan.”
The room began to spin. My breath caught in my throat.
Before I could speak, the woman explained, her voice soft but heavy.
“She fell in love with you… from the first time you both started chatting. You thought you were chatting with a guy. She knew that. But she loved those conversations—she loved the way you saw the world, the way you made her laugh. So she never corrected you. Not at first. And the songs? Every one of them… they were about you.”
Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t breathe.
“She left this morning for the U.S. I don't know where exactly she is and She said she’d never come back,” she continued. “She wanted to tell you yesterday. She thought maybe, you'd feel the same. But when you don't say anything… she assumed you didn’t love her back.”
By the time she finished, I was crying. Not silent tears—but a broken flood I couldn’t hold back. My chest felt crushed, like the weight of an entire world was sitting on it.
I didn’t say a word. I just ran.
I didn’t know where. I didn’t care. I ran through streets I couldn’t see, falling to the ground more than once, but I kept going. Not just running from her house—but from myself.
I called Lexi. Again and again. No answer. I messaged her. Nothing.
And then, I stopped. At a bar. A place I’d never been. I ordered drink after drink—I don’t even remember how many. I’ve never smoked. Never drank. Not once in my life.
But that night… I did.
Because the pain was louder than my promises. Because the silence was too much to bear.
Somehow, I ended up back in my room. I don’t even know who brought me home. I just lay there, the world spinning, her name echoing in my mind like a ghost. Lexi…
And all I could do was break. Again and again.
I don’t even know when I fell asleep. But in my dream, she was there—standing at the same gate where I lost her. I saw her, and I just ran. I wanted to tell her everything—how much I love her, how sorry I am for not saying it when I had the chance. She was right there, not too far, but no matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t reach her. It felt like something was holding me back. I just wanted to hug her, to hold her close and never let go. And finally, I got close enough… I reached out to hug her—and right then, the alarm rang.
This time, I couldn’t even move. My body felt heavy, like I had been crushed from the inside. I sat there on my bed, staring at the wall, with her songs playing on loop. The woman was right, all the songs were about me . I cried. Again. I don’t even know how long. I tried to text her, so many times. I kept checking if she saw it, but nothing. No reply. No "seen." Nothing.
It felt like I lost her all over again. Like everything I felt yesterday was just a dream I was never meant to have. That moment at the gate, the laughter, the rain—all of it. Gone. It was like I was back in the same place I was before she came into my life. Same room. Same silence. Same loneliness.
And it hit me harder than anything before—I didn’t just lose a girl. I lost my only friend. I lost the one person who made me feel alive. And for a second, I felt like I didn’t want to be here anymore. Like I just wanted to disappear. Go somewhere far. Somewhere no one knows me. Somewhere I don’t have to carry this pain.
Sitting in that room was making it worse. Every corner, every sound—it hurts. I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my jacket and walked out, not knowing where to go. I just needed to move. To breathe.
A taxi rolled up beside me. I almost didn’t notice. But then I looked—and my breath caught in my throat.
It was the same car. The same one we took that day.
Of course, I knew she wasn’t inside. I’m not that delusional. But when your heart is breaking—even over something that barely began—you start clinging to anything that feels like a sign. Even a shadow of what once felt real.
I got in. The driver gave me a glance. I didn’t speak. Just turned my face to the window and watched the city blur past, like I didn’t belong to it anymore. Like I was just passing through a world that had moved on without me.
Then the car stopped. Someone else was getting in.
The door creaked open.
For a moment, I stopped breathing. Please... let it be her. Let life, just once, surprise me.
But it wasn’t her. Just a stranger, lost in his own world, headphones in, eyes blank.
Something inside me cracked a little more. I turned my head away, pressing my forehead against the glass to hide the sting in my eyes. Outside the window, I saw the exhibition where we laughed and played .I asked the driver to stop.
I stepped out. And just stood there. I didn’t move. I felt like that scared little boy I used to be—seven years old and afraid of the world. That’s what this place felt like without her now. Big. Cold. Empty.
I couldn’t go in. I just stared at it from a distance. Like always. Like I’ve done my whole life—watching things I want from too far away.
Eventually, I walked to the café. The same one where we once sat, talking like time didn’t exist.
Everything looked exactly the same. Same warm lighting. Same faint smell of roasted beans and old wood. Same corner table.
But this time, the chair across from me was empty.
Of course it was. She wasn’t here. But still, my heart searched the room like it hadn’t caught up yet. Like it still believed in miracles.
I ordered the same coffee. One cup.
Just one. Because that’s all that’s left now.
Just me.
I held the mug tight between my hands, like maybe it could warm something inside me. But it didn’t. It just sat there, a quiet reminder of what I didn’t have anymore.
I stared out the window, watching strangers pass by. None of them looked sad. None of them looked like they had just lost something invisible but heavy. And I wondered if I was the only one mourning something that never really even happened.
That’s the truth no one tells you.
I don’t think I ever really had her. Not in the way I wanted to. But she had me. Completely. And now... now I’m just the one left behind.
And then life, like it always does, reminded me exactly who I am.
Alone. Again. Always.
