The Last Evening of the Year

Months passed.

The city kept moving,
crowds, traffic, people talking, life happening everywhere.

But inside him, nothing really changed.

Every morning began the same way:

Wake up.
Check messages.
See nothing. Pretend it didn't matter.

And every night ended the same way:

Open her chat.
Type a few words.
Erase them. Lock the phone like it never happened.

That small pull in his chest,
that urge to talk to her,
never left.

He told himself he had made peace with her answer, “I don’t feel the same, we’ll be good friends.”

So he stopped texting. He didn’t want to be the reason for her sighs, the unwanted pings on her phone.

But what he couldn’t stop was the thought of her. Every morning. Every night.

The urge to message her became part of his existence, like the ticking of a clock in an empty room.

Until one evening, the last evening of the year,

the city buzzing with noise and crowds and countdowns 

that meant nothing to him…

His phone buzzed.
A single word.

Her: Hi.

His heart skipped. He stared at the screen, smiling before he even typed a word.

Him: Heyyyyyyyyy!

He couldn’t hide the excitement soaked in those extra letters.

She replied-

How are youu?

Him: Very good! And you?

Her: Yeah... good.
A small pause again. But this pause didn’t ache, it waited.

Then —

Can we meet?

He read it thrice, like one reads a miracle to confirm it’s real.

Him: Yahh for sure! Where and when?

Her: Today. Hyderabad.

They chose a metro station.

He reached first.

When he saw her — truly saw her — it felt like seeing a memory step out of a dream into real light for the first time in six years.

She stood there, white chudidhar flowing softly in the wind, hair brushing her shoulders, eyes searching gently — the same eyes that once carried his universe, now looking at him again.

For a moment, life froze. The station noise melted away. The crowd blurred.
Only the sound of his breath and her presence remained.

Two minutes of silence. Only eyes talking, remembering, forgiving.

She smiled first.

“Hi.”

His lips curved before he even realized.

“Heyy… after so many days… I’m seeing you.”

He laughed softly.

“I don’t know if someone can destroy a person just by their presence… but you make it feel possible.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Shut up.”
But even her small smile said what the words refused to.

They stood there — two people pretending time hadn’t changed them.

An hour slipped by like a sigh. Then they rode to ISKCON temple,

Inside the temple,
she sat in the hall,
eyes closed, hands resting softly on her lap.

The bhajan echoed gently.

He had come here many times before.

But tonight -
he didn’t look at God.

He looked at her.

Each time she opened her eyes, he looked away,

Each time she closed them..... he stared.

He didn’t know if what he felt was devotion or love - maybe they were the same thing all along.

He whispered silently, Thank you... for writing this day in my story.

When she turned and asked, “Shall we leave?”

the words broke his trance gently.

It was already 11:30pm when they found a small cafe.

Two cappuccinos. One small cake. Midnight slowly breathing down.

They watched the clock tick toward twelve, that invisible moment when the world renews itself.

“Happy New Year,” she said softly.
“Happy New Year,” he returned, smiling deeper than he meant to.

He looked at her, “I know… I confessed my feelings before and made things hard. This year, I promise I won’t do that again. I respect everything you said. But still… I want you to be by my side, always.”

She didn’t hesitate.

“I’ll be by your side. Always.” she said.

And it wasn’t dramatic.

It was calm.
Certain.
Warm.

They left the cafe, and found a quiet bench under a tree on an empty street.

The night around them felt gentle, 
like the city had stepped aside just for them.

They talked.

Not like strangers meeting again.

But like two souls
who had spent months holding words back
and finally let them breathe.

Hours melted into conversation.

By the time they looked up,
it was almost 4 a.m.

She looked at her phone and smiled faintly.
“You know… I have an exam this morning.”

His first instinct was simple.

“Did you study?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “But on the way to college, I thought… I wanted to meet you. So I came.”

He nodded, pretending not to melt. “Then I’ll drop you.”

She repeated gently,

“Just leave me at the bus stop.”

He shook his head. “I want to be with you a little longer. I’ll drop you at your college.”

She hesitated.

Then went quiet.

On the road,
he kept stealing glances through the mirror -
noticing every small expression she wore.

Halfway down the road, she spoke softly,

“You know… I also really liked you. But I couldn’t tell if it was love or friendship. You were always there for me. And I missed you. So this time, I wanted to confess… I love you, Aarav.”

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. His eyes blurred, but he didn’t stop riding.

She leaned forward, resting her head on his back, and in that simple act, he found every answer he had ever prayed for.

He whispered under his breath, 
“I love you too… for eternity.”

By morning, the road turned into her college gate. The city had awoken, birds singing, sky clear, morning new.

She got down from the bike, holding his hand briefly before she left. “Bye. Take care. I’ll message you.”

He smiled, heart full, voice soft. “All the best for your exam. Bye.”

And maybe that was love -
not what stays,
but what returns
even after the world says it shouldn’t.

Because in truth, none of it had happened.

He was still in his room -
midnight light flickering through the window,
a cold cup of coffee beside him,
and his phone silent as always.

He leaned back, sighed lightly, a smile tracing his lips.

He thought how beautiful it would be if it happened,
but it won’t.

So he opened his notes app
and began to type: