The Confession that Brought My Heart Back to Life.

Time heals all wounds, they say. And I've learned that isn't quite true. Some wounds don't heal—those are the ones that linger like scars you can't stop feeling, pain in silence. Mine has always been her.

The Beginning We Never Started

We collided in our final year at uni. She was intelligent, level-headed, the type of girl who embraced with such warmth where she went. I was ambitious, restless, already imagining my departure into a bigger world. We clashed through a process that felt both ordinary and enchanting: group work, late nights in the library, takeaway cups of coffee stacked like trophies on our table.

Amongst the giggles, the circuitous strolls back to the dorms, and the silences we never spoke of, I started to fall in love with her. And I reckon she fell in love with me as well, although neither of us ever uttered the words. Maybe we feared breaking the magic. Maybe we figured timing trumped honesty.

Then the job abroad. A chance I couldn't let slip away. A ticket from everything that was familiar to the life I wanted. She was bound by duties of her own—family commitments that held her fast. We parted with good manners, the kind you give when your heart is breaking and you're trying to be courageous.

That was five years ago.

I promised I'd leave her. I did leave her. I tried. There were women. Some good relationships, some bad ones. None of them, though, ever quite fit. I'd catch myself comparing, even though I knew I shouldn't. How she laughed. How she cocked her head when she was thinking. Nobody ever quite filled out the picture of her that still resided in the back of my head.

For years, I had said nothing. I convinced myself it was best. What could possibly happen from opening old gates again? Life had moved on. We had moved on—or so I had thought.

Then last night happened.

The Message That Changed Everything

It was late, past midnight, and I couldn't sleep. My mind strayed, as it always did, back to her. And for reasons I couldn't fathom, I finally pulled out my phone and texted the line I had rehearsed a thousand times but never had the guts to send:

"Do you ever think about us?"

I sent it before I could undo. The second later was torture. My chest squeezed, palms sweating. What if she didn't respond? What if she'd forgotten me? What if she'd moved on and my message was a selfish intrusion?

Minutes passed. My heart thundered. Then my phone beeped.

"Every day."

Two words. And all the years of silence crumbled. My fingers shook as I read them over and over. Relief, remorse, happiness, yearning—everything came flooding back at once.

We talked. For hours. About everything and nothing. She told me that she had never forgotten me. She admitted that every relationship she'd ever tried would end with her pitting the man against me. I confessed that not telling her how I truly felt when I left was my biggest regret. We revisited the old times—our favourite bench on campus, the finals week playlist, the rain walk home where we laughed until our breathing was hard.

And then the harder realities. The loneliness. The missed chances. The grief of recognising we could've been something real, had we been braver. There were moments in that conversation where I wanted to book a flight plane right away, just to lay eyes on her again, to hold her hand and inform her I was done running.

Our Confessions

But rather, as the earliest light of morning filtered through my window blinds, I posted her one last message:

"Perhaps some loves don't fade. Perhaps they simply wait."

She didn't reply after that. At least, not so far. But I don't think she had to. Those words hung in the silence between us, heavy with possibility.

And now, as I write these words, I have no notion what lies ahead. Maybe nothing is different. Maybe this was merely a moment—a replaying of the way it once was, comforting but fleeting. Or maybe it was the beginning of something we should have begun years ago.

Maybe Love Just Waits

What I do know is that she's still the one. The one to whom I compare everyone. The one by which I gauge love. The one to whom I never lost allegiance.

And maybe, deep within, I never did forget about her. Because certain loves do not fade. Certain loves linger. And maybe ours has been waiting for all of this time.