October 17th.
Arjun woke early. Not because he had to - it was a Sunday - but because his body still remembered the date. Their anniversary. Six years ago, Shruthi had worn a pale blue saree that matched the sky, and he had promised her the world.
Today, the sky was grey.
He made filter coffee - extra strong, just how she liked it - and placed two cups on the table. Habit. Hope. Heartache.
By noon, the silence rang louder than usual.
No message.
No call.
Not even a scheduled "Happy Anniversary."
Arjun stared at his phone for an hour, then typed:
"Six years. I still remember the way you looked that morning. Hope your day's going okay."
He didn't send it.
Instead, he placed their wedding photo face-down and went out for a long walk, the one they used to take every evening.
Across the ocean, Shruthi was on her fifth Zoom call for the day, eyes red from too much screen time and too little sleep. She had remembered - at 6 AM, while brushing her teeth.
"Anniversary."
"Call Arjun."
"After work."
But work didn't stop. And the calls kept piling. And somewhere between the Excel sheets and client briefs, the day slipped by.
By the time she opened WhatsApp, it was past midnight in India. No messages from him.
She typed:
"I'm sorry. I got caught up. Happy Anniversary, Arjun. I didn't forget. Just…"
She deleted it.
She didn't know how to say what she felt - the guilt, the exhaustion, the ache of missing someone you still love, but don't know how to reach anymore.
She hugged her blanket and stared at the ceiling.
"Please don't give up on us."