It started with a train ride.
Aanya was late for her college entrance interview in Delhi. She barely caught the train from Lucknow, hair messy, bag unzipped, books sticking out. She found a seat next to a quiet boy reading a novel, earphones in, lost in his world. His name, she would later find out, was Ved.
He noticed her only when she dropped her ID card. He picked it up, handed it over, and said with a little smile, “Hope they don’t judge you by your handwriting.”
She laughed. That was their first sentence.
The ride was six hours long. They didn’t talk much. But it was enough — enough for something small to begin. A flicker. An interest. A pause in time.
They got down, walked out of the station, and went separate ways. No numbers exchanged. Just a goodbye and a smile that lingered.
Aanya got into the university. So did Ved.
It took her two weeks to spot him again — in the library, scribbling notes, headphones in, same quiet energy. This time, she walked up to him.
“You again,” she said.
He looked up, surprised. “You again.”
From there, something simple and beautiful started. Study sessions, coffee breaks, walks after class. They weren’t officially “together,” but everyone assumed they were.
Aanya was loud, creative, full of strange ideas. Ved was calm, focused, always thinking. He listened when she spoke, even when she didn’t make sense. She made him laugh in ways no one else did.
But what Ved didn’t know was that Aanya had a habit.
Every time she wanted to say something she was too scared to speak out loud — she’d write it down in a letter.
Letters she never sent.
They were full of things like:
- “I think I’m falling for you, but I don’t know if you feel the same.”
- “You looked at me today like I was just your friend. That hurt.”
- “Sometimes I wish you’d stop me when I walk away.”
She wrote over 40 letters in three years. Folded them neatly. Kept them in a red box under her bed. No one knew.
In their final year, Ved got a job offer — London. He told her on a random Thursday.
“I leave next month,” he said, as if it was just another event. “I’m happy. Nervous. You know.”
Aanya smiled, nodded. She didn’t cry in front of him. She waited till he left.
That night, she wrote the hardest letter of all:
“I love you. I’ve loved you since the train ride. But I’m not brave enough to say it, and you’re not looking close enough to see it.”
She didn’t give it to him. Like all the others, it stayed in the red box.
Ved left.
Time passed. They texted less and less. Eventually, silence filled the space where late-night calls used to live. He got busy. She got quieter.
Years later, Aanya published her first book. A small poetry collection called “A Free Bird.”
The last poem was about a train ride. A lost ID. A boy with earphones. And a love story that never got its ending.
What Aanya didn’t expect was for Ved to walk into her book launch.
He had flown from London for work. Saw a poster with her name. Walked in without thinking.
When she saw him, everything stopped.
They stood face to face. No crowd. No noise. Just years of unsaid words hanging between them.
He held up the book, opened to the last page.
“You loved me?” he asked, voice soft.
She took a deep breath. “I did. I think part of me still does.”
Ved pulled out a letter from his pocket — old, folded, and worn out.
It was the final letter from her red box.
“I found this,” he said, “in a used bookstore in Lucknow. Someone had donated your drafts. I bought the whole stack.”
She laughed, tears in her eyes. “That’s so you. Quiet. Slow. But just in time.”
They didn’t rush. No grand kiss. No big drama.
Just a second chance — built on words finally spoken.
💬 Message to Readers
We all write letters in our hearts — things we wish we’d said to someone who mattered. But not every letter has to stay unsent.
Speak when it matters. Say what you feel. Because even if the world is full of noise, some things are worth saying out loud.
कालः गच्छति, अवसरः न प्रत्यागच्छति। कुर्वीत यत्नं अद्य एव!!
K
“धैर्यं हि मानवानां भूषणं, संकटे दीप इव प्रकाशते!!” – K
कर्तव्यं यः स्वधर्मे नित्यं करोति, स सिद्धिम् अनिवार्यं प्राप्नोति!!
K
