Glimpse of a forgotten forever

...“Sometimes we don’t need a full conversation....

...Just one glance is enough to shake the whole heart.”...

he day had started like any other. Mumbai traffic. Loud horns. The smell of wet earth from last night’s drizzle still clinging to the air.

Shreya buttoned her kurta slowly, not because she was late but because she didn’t want to go.

It was one of those days.

Where her heart felt heavier than usual. Where every song reminded her of something she didn’t want to feel.

She tied her hair in a messy bun, wiped off her smudged kajal, and whispered to her reflection, "You're okay."

But some wounds stay even when no one can see them.

She reached the venue of the interior expo and forced a smile. People walked around with fake confidence and polished resumes. It wasn’t her scene, but she had learned to survive in places she didn’t belong. That’s what adulthood taught her.

She made her way through the crowd, holding her diary close to her chest.

And then—she saw him.

Just for a second. A back profile. A walk she knew by heart.

Blue shirt. Tall frame. Hair a little messy — just like it always used to be.

Shaurya.

Her throat dried up. Her feet froze.

It couldn’t be.

It’s been what? 7… 8 years?

He had moved cities. Changed numbers. Life had happened.

But something in her gut twisted.

She dropped her diary without realising. Her hand reached out, but she couldn’t call out his name. The name that had once been a song to her.

He disappeared into the crowd before she could even blink.

Shreya blinked back tears. Not now. Not in public. Not after all these years.

A volunteer tapped her arm. “Ma’am, your diary.”

She took it silently, nodded, and walked towards the sitting area.

But her heart had already gone somewhere else — somewhere in the past.

(Flashback)

They were 12.

It was raining. Not heavy, but soft, warm rain. The kind that smelt like muddy mangoes and monsoon memories.

Shaurya had held out an umbrella for her.

“Tu gir jaayegi, pagal hai kya?”

She had giggled. “Mujhe baarish mein bheegna pasand hai.”

He had rolled his eyes. “Tujhe sab weird cheezein pasand hain.”

And yet, he had closed the umbrella and walked beside her. Getting drenched — just because she liked it.

They never said “I love you.”

They never needed to.

It was in those small moments.

A stolen chocolate. A hidden birthday card. Him standing at her gate every morning with messy hair and sleepy eyes, just to walk her to school.

Those things spoke louder.

______________________________________________

Back in the present, she sat in silence.

Was it really him?

Or just a memory her heart created to feel warm for a minute?

She opened her diary and scribbled something.

> “Maybe some people never really leave. Maybe we carry them in our eyes so deeply, that the world starts showing us shadows of them… even when they’re not there.”

She didn’t know she was crying until the page got a little wet.

Elsewhere, Shaurya stepped out of a stall, straightening his collar.

He wasn’t fond of such events. But his manager insisted. “Networking is important,” they’d said.

He’d rather sit at a roadside chai tapri and talk about life.

He passed by a stall where someone said, “Excuse me, Shreya ma’am?”

His head tilted slightly. That name.

He hadn’t heard it in years — not out loud, at least.

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t turn.

He just walked on, unaware of how close he had come to the only person he ever looked for in a crowd.

That night, Mumbai rain returned.

Shreya sat near her window, phone in hand, scrolling through old photos.

And then she found it.

The last photo they had taken. She had just turned 16. He had gifted her a tiny handmade card with a crumpled “You’ll do amazing things” scribbled inside.

No hearts. No promises.

But her teenage heart had taken that scribble and turned it into forever.

She stared at it now, wondering if he even remembered that moment.

Probably not.

But she had.

Every word. Every silence.

Every "almost" that they never got to become.

Miles away, Shaurya unlocked his phone. A message from Maa.

> “Beta, remember Shreya? Our old neighbor’s daughter? Her uncle’s family has moved into your building, 5th floor. Small world!”

He stared at it.

That name again. His heartbeat slowed.

He looked outside the hotel window rain streaking down the glass like tears that never made it to the cheek.