The Message I Never Sent

>> WRITTEN BY PROFESSOR KHAN

1. Alone in the Glow

The apartment was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones and makes the air feel heavy. The only sound was the soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of old pipes in the walls. I sat on the edge of my bed, the warmth from the blanket barely touching the cold that lived inside me.

My phone screen lit up the dark. Her name sat there—untouched for five months. I hadn’t deleted it. I couldn’t bring myself to.

I typed the words again.

> “I miss you. Can we talk?”

Then I erased them. Again. And again.

Outside, the rain began to fall, tapping gently against the window like a memory trying to be remembered. It was the kind of night meant for answers—or regrets.

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2. Five Months of Silence

They say time heals everything. But time also erodes. It doesn’t always fix. Sometimes it just teaches you how to carry the pain more quietly.

For me, time had done neither. Each day since we stopped talking had been a tug-of-war between pride and longing. Some mornings I woke up with the urge to reach out. Other nights I fell asleep angry, stubborn, and certain I was right.

But in truth, there had been no grand fight. No betrayal. Just a slow unraveling. Missed calls. Misread intentions. Misunderstood silences. Two people waiting for the other to say, “I’m sorry.”

But no one did. And now here I was, five months later, still haunted by the words I never said.

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3. The Message That Almost Was

I stared at my screen again, thumb hovering above the “Send” button. It was just a text. Just a few words. But words can carry more weight than silence. Sometimes, they carry entire years.

I imagined the possible outcomes. Would she smile? Would she cry? Would she even read it? What if she had moved on? Found someone else? Blocked my number?

Or maybe—just maybe—she was staring at her own screen too, wondering the same things.

A car splashed through the puddle outside. I jumped slightly, startled. My thumb hit backspace again. My heart was already exhausted.

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4. Ghosts in My Inbox

I opened our old thread.

Her messages were still there. Tiny pieces of a time when we felt invincible. Photos from our weekend trips, screenshots of memes, “good morning” texts that once felt like morning coffee—essential and comforting.

Now they were ghosts. Echoes.

Scrolling through them was like walking through a museum of us—laughs, tears, plans that never happened. I laughed once, out loud, at something she wrote months ago about a bad haircut I had. And then, unexpectedly, I cried.

The kind of tears that don’t ask permission. That come from somewhere deeper than memory.

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5. Memories That Don’t Fade

The rain turned heavier. Thunder rolled across the sky like an old ache. I looked up at the ceiling, trying to blink away the sting in my eyes.

We had met during a power outage at a coffee shop. I spilled my drink on her, panicked, and she cursed. I apologized, flustered. She smirked. And somehow, that clumsy beginning led to long walks under city lights, shared playlists, soft laughter in the dark, and whispered dreams beneath blankets and stars.

We weren’t perfect. But we mattered. Even if no one else understood it, we did.

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6. The Decision

It was 2:14 a.m. now.

The storm had become steady. The kind that seemed like it would last all night.

I took a deep breath. My fingers trembled. I typed one final message.

> “I still think about you. Every day. I’m sorry I waited this long.”

I stared at it for what felt like hours.

And then—I did something I never thought I would.

I pressed “Send.”

I felt like I had thrown a bottle into the ocean. No guarantee it would reach her. But it was out of me now. Released.

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7. One Minute Later

Nothing.

Two minutes. Still nothing.

My heart beat louder than the rain outside. I locked my phone and dropped it beside me on the bed. My chest felt tight. My thoughts raced—what if I’d made a mistake?

But something had shifted. For the first time in months, I felt… lighter. Not because I expected a reply. But because I had let go of the fear.

I had said what needed to be said. Even if it arrived too late.

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8. When Silence Speaks Back

At 2:37 a.m., my phone lit up.

I didn’t want to hope. But I did.

> “I thought you'd never text.”

Just seven words.

But those seven words cracked something wide open. A dam I didn’t know was still holding back.

The silence had ended. The door was ajar. Maybe we couldn’t fix everything. But maybe we could start again—from where it all paused.

And sometimes, that’s all we need.