The notification glowed on Aryan's screen for three hours before he opened it.
Three hours of pretending to be busy. Three hours of making coffee he didn't drink, scrolling through emails he didn't read, staring at the Dubai skyline until the lights blurred into gold streaks against the purple dusk. Three hours of his mind racing through every possible version of what Meera could have said.
What if she's married?
What if she says "Who's this?"
What if she's changed completely?
What if she hasn't changed at all?
Finally, at 9:17 PM, with the city glittering below like a scattered jewel box, he tapped the screen.
Her message was brief, but each word felt weighted:
"I was wondering when I'd hear from you. Yes, let's meet. I have something to tell you."
Aryan read it four times.
I have something to tell you.
Not "I'd love to catch up" or "How have you been?"
Something to tell him. Not ask. Tell.
His reply took twenty minutes to compose a paragraph trimmed to three lines:
"Okay. When and where?"
Sent.
Then immediately: "And it's good to hear from you, Meera."
Her response came in five minutes:
"Tomorrow. 4 PM. The glass café at Dubai Mall the one overlooking the fountains. You remember I always liked watching water."
He did remember. She'd once told him water reminded her of time always moving, never coming back the same way.
"I remember. See you then."
"Bring your patience," she wrote back. "This might take a while."
FLASHBACK 1: COLLEGE FESTIVAL
The Diwali festival on campus was all fairy lights and noise. Aryan stood near the snack stalls, watching Anaya dance with a group of friends, her laughter bright under the colored lanterns. Rishi nudged him. "Just go talk to her."
"I will."
"You've been saying that for weeks."
Before he could move, Meera appeared beside them, holding two cups of spiced chai. She handed one to Aryan. "You look like you're planning a business merger, not enjoying a festival."
He accepted the cup. "Just thinking."
"About?"
He nodded toward the dance area. Meera followed his gaze, her smile softening. "Anaya's having fun."
"Yeah."
They stood in silence for a moment, watching Anaya spin under the lights, her dupatta flowing like liquid gold. Then Meera said quietly, "She's lucky, you know. To have someone watch her like that."
Aryan glanced at her, but she was already looking away, sipping her chai.
He didn't ask what she meant.
She didn't explain.
A few minutes later, Anaya spotted them and waved them over. Aryan went. Meera stayed behind, finishing her chai alone, her eyes following him as he joined the dance, as he smiled at Anaya, as he leaned in to hear her over the music.
Meera finished her chai, tossed the cup, and walked away without looking back.
THE DAY OF THE MEETING
Rishi called at noon. "You're seeing her today."
"How do you know?"
"You text like someone's died. Only one person makes you that tense." Rishi paused. "She told me she has something to say to you."
"You spoke to her?"
"She called last night. Wanted to make sure you were… okay."
"And what did you say?"
"I said you're always okay. Even when you're not." Rishi's voice softened. "Just listen, Aryan. Don't overthink it. It's just coffee, not a contract."
But it wasn't just coffee. It was eight years. It was every unsaid word, every glance he'd stored away, every what if that had haunted his quiet moments.
FLASHBACK 2: THE LIBRARY NIGHT
Finals week. The library was open till 2 AM, filled with the rustle of pages and the faint smell of anxiety and coffee. Aryan and Anaya had claimed a corner table, books spread between them like a paper fortress.
Around midnight, Anaya fell asleep, her head resting on an open economics textbook. Aryan watched her for a moment the way her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks, the peaceful rise and fall of her shoulders. Carefully, he draped his jacket over her.
His hand brushed hers, and instead of pulling away, he let his fingers rest over hers. Just for a moment. Just to feel connected to someone in the quiet, tired dark.
He didn't see Meera standing by the philosophy shelves, a book in her hand, watching.
He didn't see her eyes widen slightly, then drop.
He didn't see her turn and walk softly toward the exit, returning the book unread.
The next day, when he mentioned the library, Meera just said, "I left early. Had a headache."
Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
He didn't ask why.
DUBAI MALL – 3:50 PM
Aryan arrived early. He always did a habit born of control, of never wanting to be the one rushing in, flustered. The glass café was half-empty, all clean lines and soft lighting, with a stunning view of the fountains and the Burj Khalifa beyond.
He ordered black coffee and took a seat facing the entrance.
His phone buzzed a calendar reminder: "Meeting with Meera 4 PM."
As if he could forget.
At 4:02 PM, she walked in.
And she wasn't alone.
A man was with her tall, dressed in smart casual wear, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back as he held the door open for her. He was saying something, and Meera laughed, the sound familiar yet distant, like a song heard from another room.
Aryan's breath caught.
Rohan.
He knew without being told. The ease between them, the way her body leaned slightly toward his, the quiet intimacy of shared space.
Meera scanned the café, her eyes finding Aryan's.
She smiled warm, but with a hint of nervousness.
She said something to Rohan, who nodded and smiled toward Aryan.
They walked over together.
For a suspended moment, Aryan felt the past and present collide the girl from his memories now a woman walking toward him with another man, in a city that belonged to none of their yesterdays.
"Aryan," Meera said, her voice soft. "It's really you."
He stood, his coffee forgotten.
"Hi, Meera."
She turned slightly. "This is Rohan."
Rohan extended a hand. "Good to finally meet you. Meera's told me a lot."
Aryan shook it, his grip firm, his mind racing. Finally? Told him what?
"Shall we sit?" Meera's eyes held Aryan's, as if trying to silently explain, to apologize, to prepare him.
They sat.
Rohan excused himself after a few minutes a work call he had to take.
"I'll be outside," he said, touching Meera's shoulder gently before walking away.
Silence settled between them, filled with the ghost of eight years, of library glances, of festival lights, of every moment they'd almost been something more.
Meera stirred her tea, not meeting his eyes at first.
Then she looked up, and Aryan saw it the same kindness, the same intelligence, but also a new weight, a story waiting to be told.
"Aryan," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "There's something you need to know about Anaya. About us. About… back then."
He waited, his heart a drum in the quiet café.
And as she opened her mouth to continue, his phone buzzed on the table.
He glanced down.
Notification: 1 New Message – Anaya.
The preview read:
"Aryan, meet me at the old café near Burj. I have to tell you something about Meera… and about the choice I made years ago."
He looked up.
Meera's eyes were on his phone, then on his face.
She knew.
"You should answer her," she said softly. "Some conversations can't wait eight years."
Aryan stared at her, then at the message, then at the fountains outside beginning their dance water arcing into the air, beautiful, temporary, destined to fall.
Caught between the woman he once loved and the woman he never knew loved him, between a past calling and a present unraveling, he realized:
Some truths don't set you free.
They just show you how long you've been living in the dark.