The promised day ended yesterday. The seven days of silence were over.
But the silence itself continued.
No message. No call.
I had held on to a small hope that she would at least text me when it ended. Facing the reality now felt unbearable.
“Maybe I am dense. Maybe I am a fool.”
I had lost count of how many times I repeated that to myself.
Why didn’t I text her? Why didn’t I call?
The answer was simple. I was afraid. Afraid to face the bad dreams that had been haunting me lately, afraid they were already turning into reality.
“Well, I at least need to end this.”
I picked up my phone, deciding to text her. Not call. Just a message.
Before I could type anything, my phone rang in my hand.
A message from her.
I had waited for this for so long.
I opened the chat.
“Can we meet at the café near my house at 3 today?”
My heart sank.
That was it. No how are you. No call. Just a text.
I wanted to ask her why. Where I had gone wrong. But I saved those questions for later.
“Okay,” I replied.
It was already past two.
I hurried out of the house.
I locked the door behind me and stepped outside. The afternoon sun felt harsher than it should have, like it was exposing something I was trying hard to keep hidden.
The drive felt shorter than usual. Or maybe I just did not remember most of it.
Her message replayed in my head again and again.
Can we meet at the café near my house at 3 today?
Nothing more. Nothing less.
Every traffic signal felt personal, slowing me down when my mind was already racing ahead. My hands stayed tight on the steering wheel, my foot restless on the pedal.
What did she want to say?
An apology?
An explanation?
Or just an ending spoken out loud?
I imagined her sitting across from me, calm, composed, already prepared with answers I did not know if I was ready to hear. I imagined her smile again, and immediately wished I had not.
I told myself not to expect anything. Expectations were dangerous. They were what had broken me before.
Still, hope crept in quietly, unwelcome but stubborn.
What if the picture meant nothing?
What if there was a simple explanation?
What if I had been wrong all along?
Then the other thoughts followed, heavier and sharper.
What if this was her way of saying goodbye?
What if she had already moved on, and this meeting was just closure for her?
My chest tightened as I turned into her street. Everything here felt too familiar. Too close. The houses, the trees, even the road felt like they were watching me hesitate.
I slowed the car and spotted the café ahead.
I parked a little farther than usual and stayed inside the car for a moment. The engine hummed softly while my heart refused to settle.
I checked the time.
2:58.
I wiped my palms on my jeans and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
Just talk, I told myself.
Just listen.
I stepped out of the car and walked toward the café, each step heavier than the last, carrying questions I did not know how to ask and answers I was not sure I wanted.
By the time I reached the door, my confusion had turned quiet.
And that scared me more than anything else.
I entered the café, and soft music floated around me. My eyes scanned the room for her. Seven days had passed, but for me, it felt like an eternity.
“Hey, Abhi! Over here!”
The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t hers. I turned and saw Alia waving at me.
Alia. Mira’s childhood friend. Mira introduced me to her not too long ago.
But why was she here? Where was Mira?
I walked toward her, hoping Mira would be sitting beside her, smiling playfully. Instead, there was a man with Alia. Not Mira. A familiar yet unfamiliar man.
It had to be the same man from the picture Liam had shown me.
Confusion must have been written all over my face because they gestured for me to sit.
“Hey,” Alia said, forcing a smile.
“Hey,” I replied, still searching for Mira.
Now that I was closer, I noticed her eyes. Swollen and red, as if she had been crying for hours.
“I… I had to contact you yesterday,” Alia began, her voice tight. “But I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”
Why couldn’t she contact me? Why was she apologizing? My thoughts spun faster with each word.
“Why are you apologizing? Where is Mira?” I asked, my voice rising slightly.
Their faces darkened at my question, and my chest sank. My mind spun with more questions than answers.
“Alia, where is she?” I asked again, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Abhi, listen. You need to calmly listen to me,” Alia said, her voice cracking as tears threatened to fall.
Calm? How could I be calm? Where was Mira?
“She’s been sick for a long time,” Alia said, swallowing hard. “Since childhood. She had a disease eating her from the inside.”
Her words hit me like a punch. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I just listened.
“Her parents tried everything. They had lost all hope. But last year, a treatment started showing signs of recovery.” She paused, and the man beside her poured her a glass of water. She took a sip and continued.
“She never attended proper school. I was her friend because I lived next door. Still, she was always full of hope, always ready to face life with a smile.”
“But six months ago, it returned. Even though her health didn’t deteriorate dramatically, the pain was breaking her. Doctors estimated she might have only three or four years left.”
I wanted to stop her, to ask what she was talking about, but the words refused to come.
“Everyone was losing hope, even Mira herself—for the first time, she felt despair. I couldn’t bear to see her like that, so I took her out, showed her small joys in what time she had left.” Alia looked straight at me.
“I made her a Tinder account once, though I regretted it. I knew no one there would truly care for her. But then she met you. I am grateful. I will always be thankful she met you.”
“What?” I whispered. My mind couldn’t process everything she had said.
“After meeting you,” Alia continued, her voice softening, “she was on cloud nine. She forgot her worries. She smiled again. Full of hope.”
“Alia, please… tell me where she is. Please,” I pleaded, my heart sinking deeper with each passing second.
Alia’s tears finally fell. The man beside her moved to console her, then turned to me.
“Hello, I’m Rishi,” he said quietly. “My father is Mira’s family doctor, and I help look after her as well.”
““Hello, I’m Rishi,” he said quietly. “My father is Mira’s family doctor, and I help look after her as well.”
“Huh… Rishi?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Can you… can you tell me what’s happening?”
Rishi took a deep breath, his eyes not leaving mine. “There was a surgery,” he began slowly, “a treatment that could have cured Mira… or at least given her a normal life. But it was risky. Very risky. The doctors warned that she might not survive it.”
My stomach twisted. “Surgery? What do you mean?”
“She knew the risk,” Alia said, her voice breaking. “She didn’t want to spend only two or three years… she wanted a full life. A full life with you. She wanted to live fully, not just survive.”
I felt my hands shake. My heart beat faster, and my chest tightened. “W-what happened?”
Rishi’s face was grave. “Yesterday… the surgery failed. We lost her.”
The words felt like a hand squeezing my heart, then letting it fall into a bottomless pit.
“Lost… her?” My voice barely came out. My knees went weak. I could not move. I could not breathe. I wanted to scream.
Alia covered her face with her hands and cried openly. Rishi’s hand rested on her shoulder. I felt numb, as if the world had gone silent, leaving only the sound of my own shattered heartbeat.
“She… she wanted to see you again,” Rishi said softly, “to be with you, to live the life she dreamed of. She always smile talking about you.”
I sank into my chair, my mind refusing to make sense of the words. The hope I had clung to for seven days had just been ripped away.
“Here.” Alia slid something across the table toward me.
I lifted my head slowly, my eyes barely focusing. In her hands was an envelope.
“She asked me to give this to you… in case she couldn’t make it,” Alia said, pushing the envelope closer. She retracted her hands, wiping at the tears that had already streaked her face.
I wasn’t crying yet. I was frozen, numb, still in shock.
I picked up the envelope and tore it open as fast as I could. My hands trembled.
I unfolded the paper and began to read.
“Hey Abhi, If you are reading this, I guess I couldn’t keep my promise, sorry.”
The first line hit me harder than anything I had felt before. My tears, long held back, finally broke free, streaming down my face uncontrollably.
---------------------------------Letter---------------------------------------
Hey Abhi,
If you are reading this, I guess I couldn’t keep my promise, sorry.
I wanted so badly to see you again, to hold your hand, to smile with you like we always dreamed. I wanted a full life, not just the few years that were left to me. That is why I chose to take the risk. I wanted to fight for the life I wanted. I wanted to live fully, with you.
I know this is sudden. I know this will hurt. But please don’t be angry, and please don’t blame yourself. This was never your fault. Every moment we shared, every smile, every laugh, it was real. It was mine. And I will carry it with me, always.
You know, when we first met, you were always on my mind. Even the most ordinary days became easier for me. Alia once described love to me during one of our late-night talks, and I thought that with how little time I had left, I might never truly know that feeling.
But now I do.
I know what love is. And I know how deeply I loved you.
I wanted to tell you so many things in person, but now I only have these words on paper. I wanted to tell you that I loved you more than anything. That I was happy because of you. That I was grateful to you for being the best part of my life, for making me forget the pain, even if only for a while.
You might wonder why I challenged you with that silly promise.
The truth is, I was preparing myself for the surgery. And the day you proposed to me was the day I finally made up my mind. I didn’t want to promise you a half life. I wanted to promise you me, not as a burden, but as someone who could stand beside you fully.
When I was a child, my parents supported me through everything. But as my health worsened, I saw hope fade from their faces. I saw pity in their eyes, even though they tried to hide it. I couldn’t bear the thought of you ever looking at me that way.
I wanted you to remember me as the smiling Mira you fell in love with.
That is why I created that selfish challenge.
When I met you at the café, every part of me wanted to run to you and hug you. I’m sorry for being selfish till the very end. I guess this letter is proof that luck never really stayed on my side.
Please forgive me for leaving like this. For not being there to see your face one last time. Remember me not in sadness, but in all the laughter and happiness we shared.
Live fully, Abhi. Love deeply. Even if it isn’t with me.
I wanted a lifetime with you. Even if I couldn’t have it, even if this letter is all I leave behind, know that I chose every second of our time together. And it was enough.
And now, for the answer you were waiting for.
I will marry you.
I will marry you in every life.
I love you more than words can hold.
This life ends here for me. But I hope our next one is kinder. One where we meet again, fall in love again, and this time, grow old together.
Until then, goodbye.
Always yours,
Mira
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