All My Crushes Ignored Me — Until the One Who Came Back
Seven Years Later, She Slid Into My DMs — But I Wasn’t the Same Anymore."
By Arshad khanPublished 7 months ago • 3 min read
- 1. The DM That Shook My Stability
I’m 29 now. Life’s solid — decent job in Dubai, my own apartment, a gym routine I pretend to enjoy, and a golden retriever named Chai who thinks every human exists to throw his ball.
Then came that Instagram DM.
> "You're still the same… just more beautiful now."
I squinted at the name.
Meher Siddiqui.
And just like that, 2016 came crashing back — the girl I once adored, the girl who called me her “best friend” and then went to prom with someone else.
The DM was simple. But it unlocked a door I’d welded shut.
2. My Degree in Romantic Rejection
If rejection were a college major, I’d have graduated with honors.
Every crush in college was a new assignment. And every semester? A reminder that effort doesn't equal affection.
I wrote poetry for Neha.
> She replied: “So sweet, bro!”
Made an actual presentation for Ayesha on “Why We’d Make a Great Couple.”
> She used my slides… to teach her juniors.
And then — there was Meher.
Late-night texts. Inside jokes. Chai breaks between classes. Spotify playlists with hidden meanings. I felt like I’d finally found someone who saw me.
So I told her.
> “I think I’m falling for you.”
She paused. Smiled gently.
> “Arman, you’re my person… but not like that.”
The friend zone. Final level. No cheat codes.
3. Seven Years of Silence
After college, Meher and I didn’t fight. We didn’t block or unfollow. We just… stopped.
I moved on — physically, at least. New job, new city, new routines. I built myself from the heartbreak up. One gym session, one work promotion, one late-night playlist at a time.
Until she popped back in. Out of nowhere.
Her message carried a softness — like nothing had changed.
But I had.
4. Sarcasm on Ice
I typed and deleted three replies. Then finally:
> "Wow. Meher remembers me. Is Mercury in retrograde?"
She laughed in a voice note.
> “Saw your reel randomly. You look different… in a good way. Calmer.”
Her tone was playful, nostalgic — but it stirred something sharp.
Part of me wanted to ignore her.
The other part — the one still haunted by "what ifs" — whispered:
“You need closure, Arman.”
5. Coffee and Confessions
We met at a familiar café.
The café.
The one where we “studied” but mostly joked, flirted, and stole glances over laptops.
Meher looked different — older, more grounded. Her eyes still held that mischievous spark, but her posture said she’d been through life too.
After a few sips of chai and awkward small talk, she sighed.
> “I owe you an apology.”
> “For?”
“For not choosing you. You were genuine. The others were… noise.” - I stirred my coffee. Once, that confession would’ve made me leap into dreams.
Now? I just nodded.
> “It wasn’t your job to choose me. But it was mine to stop waiting.”
6. The Reintroduction
We talked more over the next few weeks. DMs turned into calls. Calls turned into dinners.
She wasn’t trying to impress me.
And I wasn’t trying to win her anymore.
For the first time, we were just two people — not the roles we used to play.
One evening, sitting in her car, she asked:
> “Do you think we could… start again?”
I paused. The old me would’ve said yes in a heartbeat.
But this version?
> “I don’t know. I’m not chasing anything anymore. But I’m willing to listen — without expectations.”
She smiled. It wasn’t enough for her.
But it was enough for me.
7. Replays and Realizations
Some moments felt like déjà vu.
Laughing over random memes. Arguing about the best chai spots. Playing music and driving around like time hadn’t passed.
But I wasn’t that lost kid anymore. I didn’t spiral into feelings with every glance. I didn’t imagine futures from fleeting gestures.
One night, Meher said:
> “You’re different. You don’t need me anymore, do you?”
I looked at her. Long and quiet.
> “I think I still care.
But I love myself more now.”
8. Closure Doesn't Always Announce Itself
Closure isn't a scene from a movie.
It doesn’t always involve shouting or slamming doors. Sometimes, it’s a smile on a quiet street, where you realize the ache is gone.
I forgave her. Not because she earned it, but because I did.
She once told me:
> “You’re still the same Arman… just stronger.”
She was right.
But I wasn’t stronger because she returned.
I was stronger because I stopped needing her to. - 9. A Polite Goodbye
Meher still sends me the occasional message.
A “Hi.”
A “Congrats.”
A heart on a story.
I respond with a single emoji — 🙂.
Not out of spite. But out of peace.
I’m not the backup plan.
Not the what if.
I’m no longer a side character in someone else’s arc.
I’m my own plot twist.
Epilogue: For Anyone Waiting on a Return
If someone you once loved comes back, here’s what I’ve learned:
Their return doesn’t make you whole.
Your healing already did that.
You weren’t invisible.
You were just visible at the wrong time.
And now?
You don’t need a perfect ending.
You just need your beginning — written by you, for you, without apology.
💬 Have you ever had someone return after rejecting you?
Tell your story in the comments.
Let’s talk closure, confidence, and comeback arcs.
About the Creator
Arshad khan
🌟 Welcome to my world of words, where pain turns into power and poetry breathes purpose.
I write to heal, to inspire, and to remind you that your story matters
My work is born from real experiences, broken friendships and silent nights
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