The Last Letter

They had met during college, two souls unknowingly circling the same orbit until fate finally brought them together. Meera, with her infectious laughter and books always tucked under her arms, and Arjun, the quiet artist who captured her smile a hundred times in his sketches before even speaking to her.

Their love wasn’t loud. It was found in shared silences, in long walks by the lake, in exchanged glances across classrooms. While others posted their love on social media, Arjun and Meera built theirs in secret corners of the world, safe and fragile.

For three years, they were inseparable. Meera became the muse of Arjun’s art, and he, the keeper of all her dreams. They would talk for hours about life, ambitions, and traveling the world together someday.

But love, no matter how pure, often meets the harsh reality of life.

Meera got a scholarship—one she had dreamed of for years—to study in London. It was everything she had worked for. The day she told Arjun, her hands trembled, and her voice cracked.

“I don’t want to leave you,” she said, tears threatening to fall.

“You have to go,” he whispered, hiding his pain behind a brave smile. “This is your dream, Meera. I’ll wait.”

They promised to stay in touch, to write letters, to call every day. For a while, they did. The distance only made their love stronger. Arjun would send her hand-drawn postcards, and Meera would record voice notes of her day just to feel closer.

But slowly, things began to change. The time difference, the busy schedules, new people, and new experiences—everything started to pull them apart. Arjun could feel her drifting. Her replies became shorter, her calls less frequent.

One day, after weeks of silence, a letter arrived.

“Dear Arjun,

I don’t know how to write this without breaking both our hearts. You were the most beautiful part of my life, and you always will be. But I’ve changed, Arjun. This new world, the people, the opportunities—they’ve shown me a different side of myself. I’m no longer the same Meera you fell in love with.

I think it’s unfair to keep you waiting for someone who may never return the same.

I will always love you, but sometimes love is not enough.

Please don’t hate me.

Meera.”

That night, Arjun didn’t cry. He sat silently, staring at the letter for hours. The world around him moved on, but something inside him stopped.

Years passed.

Arjun never loved again. He poured his heartbreak into his art, becoming a well-known painter. People admired his melancholic style, unaware that every stroke of his brush carried her memory.

One day, at an exhibition in Delhi, a woman approached him. Her eyes were familiar, her smile slightly older, but it was her. Meera.

They talked like strangers who once shared a past. No anger, no regrets—just silence filled with all the words they couldn’t say.

As she left, Meera placed something in his hand—a small envelope.

Later, alone in his hotel room, Arjun opened it.

“I still keep the first drawing you made of me.

Sometimes I wonder what our life would’ve been like if I had stayed.

I hope you’re happy, Arjun.

You deserved the whole world.”

Tears finally fell.

Love, he realized, doesn’t always end with hate or bitterness. Sometimes it just lingers—like an old song, like a familiar scent, like a letter that arrives too late.