They met during the monsoon semester. Rain outside the window, poetry between them. Not the dramatic kind — but the quiet, meaningful glances only two souls meant for each other understand.

Aarav and Meera never said “I love you” loudly.

They didn’t need to.

Their connection wasn’t explosive. It was slow-burning — steady, warm, real. Aarav walked her to class with earbuds in, sharing half a playlist. Meera passed him chai during study breaks, smiling in that way that made him forget every reason he’d ever doubted love.

But in their world, love wasn’t enough.

Meera belonged to a traditional family where marriage was not just a union — it was a transaction of honor, reputation, and obedience. Aarav came from a world that believed in dreaming, in choosing. He thought that if two people loved deeply enough, everything else would fall into place.

He was wrong.

When Meera’s parents found out, the conversations stopped being about poetry and became about dowry, family expectations, and duty.

She didn’t argue.

She couldn’t.

That Night

The night before her engagement, Aarav couldn’t sleep. He wrote her a message — not to stop her, but to bleed out everything he hadn’t had the chance to say. He didn’t send it. He just hit "save."

Another guy will live the life I dreamed with you.
Another guy will wake up to your sleepy voice every morning, while I wake to the weight of your absence.
Another guy will hold your hand on cold nights — the same hand I once imagined holding forever.
Another guy will hear your stories, laugh at jokes I would've known by heart.
Another guy will be the reason behind your smiles — the kind I broke myself to protect.
Another guy will stand beside you in pictures, in memories — the same place I once pictured myself.
Another guy will wipe your tears. But I... I was always ready to catch them before they fell.
Another guy will walk beside you in crowded streets, knowing he's lucky — while I walk alone with your memory.
Another guy will hear you say “I love you” — and might take it for granted, never knowing how those words could’ve healed me.
Another guy will be your comfort.
While I was just a quiet chapter in your story.
Another guy will marry you, dance with you, build a life with you — the same life I built in my mind a thousand times.
And all I want… is for you to be loved — the way I couldn’t show.

Meanwhile...

Meera sat alone in her room. The mehndi still fresh, bangles clinking softly. She opened her diary and began to write.

But what about me?
Yes, you’re hurting... but what about the girl who dreamt of nothing else but waking up to you?
You miss my sleepy voice — I miss your laughter in the middle of my sentences.
Another guy may hold my hand now, but it feels wrong, Aarav. Because it isn’t you.
I smile in photos, but my heart isn’t in any of them. Because you were the reason behind every real smile I ever had.
You think I chose this? I didn’t. I surrendered.
To duty. To silence. To everything you begged me to fight.
But how do you fight a war alone, when you’re also the battlefield?
Another guy may walk beside me, but I still search for you in every crowd.
I say “I love you” now, but it sounds like someone else’s line. My heart only ever meant those words for you.
You weren’t a quiet chapter — you were the whole book I wasn’t allowed to finish.
Another guy may get my forever.
But you?
You were my only “always.”

She didn’t cry. Not because she wasn’t hurting, but because she had cried everything out long ago — in silent nights, on bathroom floors, into pillows that never asked questions.

She got up, adjusted her dupatta, and walked out of the room.

The Wedding

The wedding happened in the presence of hundreds — except for the one who mattered.

She sat through rituals, touched elders' feet, smiled for photos, and repeated words she didn’t feel. No one asked if she was happy.

In families like hers, happiness isn’t a question. It’s an expectation.

Rohan, her husband, was decent. Polite. He noticed her silence but didn’t ask questions either. He wasn’t a villain.

He just wasn’t Aarav.

A Year Later

She woke up beside a man she didn’t love, in a house that didn’t feel like home. She made tea, watered the plants, and stared from the balcony into nothing.

That’s when it hit her.
This was her life now.
She wasn’t waiting for Aarav to come back.
She wasn’t dreaming of a reunion.
She had simply… adapted.
Like so many others do.

She still had his number. Never blocked him. Never messaged either.

Sometimes, at 2 AM, she would open his chat and reread his last message:

“Are you okay?”

She never deleted it.

On the other end of that chat, Aarav still checked her display picture. Still noticed her last seen. Still typed and erased messages he’d never send.

He had moved cities. Took a job. Dated someone. But never felt that same warmth again. Not really.

Because when you lose the love of your life,

you don’t always find another.

You just… keep living.

Because this is how real love stories end sometimes, not with closure, not with drama, not even with hate, but with a quiet acceptance that life isn’t fair, and love isn’t always enough.

.    .    .