For a few days, everything almost felt… normal.Dhruve went to work, met Anya for coffee, even laughed — really laughed — for the first time in years. He didn't notice it at first, but his coworkers did. The man who used to sit alone during lunch now joined conversations. His smile looked awkward, hesitant, like a muscle learning movement again.
But life has a cruel sense of timing. Just when you start to believe peace might last, the universe whispers, "Don't get too comfortable."
It started with a notification.
Late one night, Dhruve was lying on the couch, scrolling through old photos of random travel places he swore he'd visit one day. His phone buzzed — an unknown number.
He almost ignored it. Then curiosity got the better of him.
Unknown:Dhruve, it's me.
He froze. His fingers tightened around the phone. The name wasn't there, but he didn't need it. He could feel her voice bleeding through the text.
Priya.
A sudden chill went down his spine.For a few seconds, he didn't breathe.
Then, slowly, he typed back:Dhruve:What do you want?
The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.Priya:I just wanted to talk. Please. It's important.
He exhaled through gritted teeth. "Of course it's important," he muttered. "It always is when you want something."
He locked his phone, tossed it on the table, and got up to pace. His chest felt tight. He thought he was done — done feeling anything for her. But there it was again: that mess of anger, nostalgia, confusion.
He didn't reply. Not that night.
But the next morning, her message was still sitting there, like a wound that refused to scab over.
Priya:I saw what's been written online. They're twisting everything. Please… just hear me out.
He read it five times, each word pulling him closer to something he didn't want to revisit.
"Twisting everything?" he whispered bitterly. "You mean, showing the truth?"
He started typing a reply, then stopped. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again. Finally, he shoved the phone in his pocket and walked out of the house.
That day, Anya noticed something was off the moment she saw him."You look like someone buried you under a pile of thoughts," she said.
He tried to smile. "Something like that."
"Work?"
He hesitated. "Old ghost."
Her expression softened immediately. "Priya?"
He looked away. "She texted me."
Anya didn't say anything for a while. Just sipped her coffee slowly, eyes distant. Then, quietly: "Are you going to answer her?"
"I don't know," Dhruve said. "Part of me wants to block her. Another part wants to know why she's reaching out now."
"That's how it starts again," Anya said. Her voice wasn't angry — just tired. "They come back, pretending it's closure. But really, it's just control."
He looked up sharply. "You think that's what this is?"
She met his gaze. "You already know it is."
The conversation ended there, but her words stayed with him all day.
That night, he finally replied.
Dhruve:Say what you need to say.
Her reply came instantly.Priya:Can we meet? Please. Just once. I don't want to fight. I just need to explain.
He stared at that last word — explain.Explain what? The betrayal? The lies? The way she'd smiled at another man the same way she used to smile at him?
He clenched his jaw.Dhruve:No. Whatever you want to explain, say it here.
There was a pause. Then a single message came through.Priya:I'm sorry.
He laughed — sharp, humorless. "You're sorry," he muttered to himself. "Three years late and suddenly you grow a conscience."
He tossed the phone aside again, but the damage was done. The peace he'd built with so much effort was cracking.
The next day, he and Anya met again. She noticed it immediately — the dullness in his eyes, the way he avoided her gaze.
"She reached out again, didn't she?"
He nodded.
"What did she say?"
Dhruve hesitated. "She said sorry."
Anya leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "And what did you say?"
"Nothing."
She gave a sad smile. "Sometimes silence is the cruelest answer."
He frowned. "You think I'm being cruel?"
"No," she said. "I think you're still in love."
Her words hit him like a slap. "I'm not," he said, too quickly.
Anya just sighed. "Maybe not with her. But with who she used to be."
Dhruve didn't reply. Because maybe… she was right.
That night, he sat alone again — the city quiet, the air heavy.He stared at his phone, her last message glowing faintly on the screen.I'm sorry.
Two words.Simple.Empty.But still powerful enough to pull him back toward the edge.
He whispered, "Damn it, Priya. Why now?"
Then, as if the universe was mocking him, another message popped up.Priya:Please, Dhruve. Can we meet tomorrow? Just once. For closure.
He didn't answer. But his thumb hovered over the reply button longer than it should have.
Somewhere deep down, he already knew — closure wasn't what she wanted.It never was.
And maybe, he thought bitterly, he wasn't looking for closure either.Maybe he just wanted to see the ghost one last time.