The Unfinished Letter.

h Mira sat by the window, her fingers tracing the creases of an old, yellowed envelope. The ink had worn off a bit, but the name on it remained clear: Ayan Rahman. Her heart tightened as she held the letter that never arrived at its destination.

Ten years had passed since she had seen Ayan last. They were college roommates and best of friends, two peas in their little world of shared books, endless discussions, and dreams about the future. But life did have a curious way of disconnecting people.

It happened in their final year. Ayan had been given an opportunity to study abroad, and Mira, while glad for him, could not ignore the numb ache in her heart. She had struggled for weeks about whether or not to tell him how she felt. Then, one evening, she sat in her tiny dorm room and poured her heart out in a letter.

"Ayan, I don't know how to say this, so I'm writing it. You are my best friend, but somewhere along the way, you were something more. Maybe I'm too late, maybe it doesn't matter anymore, but I had to tell you—I love you. I don't want anything, I just wanted you to know."

She had stamped the letter, intending to hand it over to him when he left. But at the airport, when she spotted him standing there with his bag, eagerness and apprehension etched on his face, something stopped her once more. He was already on his way, chasing his dreams. Who was she to hold him back? So she left the letter wedged in her coat pocket, stifling her emotions with a strained smile.

And that was all. Ayan left, promising to stay in contact, but as months passed into years, their exchanges lessened. They slowly dissolved into nothing but occasional birthday wishes and Facebook status updates.

Now, ten years later, Mira was sitting in her peaceful apartment, staring at the letter that never got opened. The city outside was alive and kicking, but in her mind, a storm raged on. Was she mistaken? Should she have warned him?

A knock at the door brought her back to reality. She wasn't looking for anyone. Sighing, she set down the letter and went to open the door.

And there he was.

Ayan.

For a second, neither of them spoke. He was different—older, his rosy face now lined with years. But his eyes… they remained the same. Warm, familiar.

“Mira,” he finally said, his voice tinged with something unspoken.

She blinked, trying to make sense of this unexpected moment. “Ayan? What are you—?”

“I came back,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips. “For good.”

Her heart pounded. “After all these years?”

He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about the past. About you.” His gaze flickered around the apartment, landing on the old letter on the table. “What’s that?”

Mira stood rigid. She had left it out on the table. She hadn't even had time to react, he had already crossed the room, picking up the envelope in curiosity.

Identification lit his features. "This is for me."

She gulped. "It's. a letter. Old. From college."

He turned it over in his palms, then stared at her. "Can I read it?"

A rush of doubt washed over her, but she nodded.

As he unfolded the paper and read her letter, Mira inhaled. She saw the transition on his face—the shock, the realization. Then, something else. Something more.

When he finally looked at her, there was kindness in his gaze that squeezed her heart. "Mira… why didn't you give me this then?"

She exhaled unevenly. "You were leaving. I didn't want to hold you back."

He moved closer. "You wouldn't have."

Unspoken emotion hung around them, heavy in its silence. Then he smiled—gently, almost yearningly. "I wish I had known."

Mira's lips opened, but she didn't speak before he shoved his hand deep into his jacket pocket and extracted a folded paper sheet. He extended it.

Confused, she unfolded it.

"Mira, I don't know how to say this, so I'm writing it instead. You're my best friend, but somewhere along the way, you were something more… "

Her breath caught as she read his message—almost identical to hers.

"I wrote it the night before I left," Ayan admitted. "But I never gave it to you."

A slow, disbelieving smile spread across her face. "You. felt the same?

He nodded, and a flicker of regret played in his eyes. "I still do."

The weight of lost years pushed down on them, but for that moment none of it meant anything. Because sometimes life provides second chances.

And this time, Mira wasn't about to let it slip away.