The Last Message

The drawer was jammed, refusing to open completely. I tugged harder, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Coughing, I reached inside, my fingers brushing against something cold and metallic.

An old phone.

I frowned, turning it over in my hands. It was an older model, one I hadn't used in years. The edges were chipped, the screen covered in faint scratches. But as I stared at it, memories rushed back—of late-night conversations, whispered laughter, and a love that once felt unbreakable.

Arman.

His name sat at the edge of my thoughts, distant yet sharp. I hadn't thought about him in a long time—or maybe I had, but just didn’t let myself.

Curious, I plugged the phone into a charger. The screen flickered to life, its dim glow illuminating the past. My fingers navigated through old messages, familiar names appearing one by one. But then—

A draft.

A message never sent.

I clicked on it, my breath catching as I saw his name at the top. Arman.

"Maya, if you’re reading this… I guess I never found the courage to press send. But I need you to know the truth. That night when I left, it wasn’t because I wanted to. It was because I thought you deserved better. I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you go. But every single day, I regretted it. I loved you, Maya. I still do. And if there’s even the smallest chance that you still think of me… please, find me."

My vision blurred. The date on the message was from five years ago. The night he disappeared. The night I had waited for him at the station, watching every train leave, believing he had forgotten me.

But he hadn’t.

He had loved me all along.

I felt a sharp ache in my chest, a mix of longing and regret. What if I had seen this message back then? Would things have been different? Would I have chased after him instead of assuming the worst?

My hands trembled as I reached for my other phone. I hesitated. Did I even have his number anymore?

I searched through my contacts. Arman. His name was still there, untouched by time.

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the call button. What if he had moved on? What if I was too late?

But what if I wasn’t?

Taking a deep breath, I pressed the button.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Then—

"Maya?"

His voice. Older, deeper, but still undeniably his.

Tears spilled over as I clutched the phone tighter. "Arman… I found your message."

Silence. Then a sharp inhale. "You did?"

"I never knew," I whispered. "I thought you just left. I thought you—"

"I never wanted to," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it was the worst mistake of my life."

I wiped at my tears, laughing softly. "We wasted so much time."

"I know," he said. "But… maybe it’s not too late?"

Hope fluttered in my chest. Could we really turn back time? Or at least, start again?

"I don’t know," I admitted, smiling through my tears. "But I’d like to find out."

A pause. Then—

"Where are you right now?"

I glanced at the old phone in my hand, at the message that had once been lost. But not anymore.

"Home," I said. "Waiting for you."

The sound of his breath hitching on the other end was all I needed to hear.

"I’m on my way, Maya."

And just like that, the past and the present finally collided—this time, with a second chance.

Some love stories don’t need words. Just the courage to press ‘send.’