🌙 The Messages He Never Sent

🌙 The Messages He Never Sent

When Areeb moved to another country for work, everyone said the same thing:

“Long-distance never works.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Someone always changes.”

He pretended not to care.

But the night before his flight, when he and Hira sat on the hood of his car under a quiet sky, he finally admitted,

“I’m scared we’ll lose this.”

Hira smiled sadly.

“Then don’t lose it,” she said softly.

“Just don’t stop choosing me.”

He didn’t promise forever.

He just said,

“I’ll call you when I land.”

And for a while, he did.

🛰️ The Time Zones Between Them

At first, their distance felt like a movie.

Video calls.

Screenshots.

Good morning texts from one time zone, good night selfies from the other.

He sent her pictures of his new apartment, his office, the strange brand of cereal he tried.

She sent him photos of home, her mom’s cooking, the same street where they used to walk after Maghrib.

But slowly, life crept in.

His job became heavier. Late meetings. Early alarms.

Her family responsibilities grew. Chores, cousins, expectations.

The “How was your day?” messages turned shorter.

“Busy. Talk later?”

“Exhausted. Sleep now.”

Later didn’t always come.

Sleep came quickly.

They weren’t fighting.

They were fading.

And neither of them knew how to say,

“I miss you in a way that hurts.”

💬 The Messages He Typed But Never Sent

One night, after a long, frustrating week, Areeb opened their chat and typed:

“I feel like we’re becoming strangers.”

He stared at the screen for a long time.

Then he erased it.

Another time, after she forgot to tell him about a big family gathering, he typed:

“I hate that I’m not part of your life there anymore.”

He didn’t send it.

Instead, he wrote,

“Looks fun.”

He watched her status updates, her smiles in group photos, her jokes with friends.

He felt like he was standing outside a window, watching her life from the street.

He didn’t know that on her side, it looked exactly the same.

🌧 Her Side of the Distance

Hira stopped telling him the small things.

Not because she didn’t want to.

Because she didn’t want to bother him.

He always sounded tired.

Always “just finished a meeting” or “heading into work.”

She didn’t want to be “one more responsibility.”

So, she did what so many people do:

She shrank her needs.

She muted her feelings.

She convinced herself she was being “understanding.”

But inside, she wondered:

“If I disappeared from his day… would anything really change for him?”

She never asked.

She didn’t want to sound needy.

Didn’t want to sound insecure.

So instead, she stayed quiet.

📉 The Call That Felt Like Goodbye

After months of shorter messages and fewer calls, one evening they finally spoke properly.

The connection was weak.

Video kept freezing.

He looked tired.

She looked distant.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” she replied. “You?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Silence.

Not the comfortable kind.

The heavy kind.

She finally said, “Do you ever feel like… we’re forcing this?”

His heart dropped.

He wanted to scream, No, I feel like we’re not fighting for this enough.

But what came out was,

“What do you mean?”

She swallowed hard.

“We barely talk properly. You’re busy. I’m busy. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding on to an old version of us that doesn’t exist anymore.”

His chest tightened.

He could say, “That’s not true.”

He could say, “You’re overthinking.”

But deep down, he knew she wasn’t wrong.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said quietly.

“Then why does it feel like we’re halfway there?” she whispered.

The call cut for a moment.

It came back.

Their faces pixelated on the screen, like their relationship.

“I think we should… take a break,” she said finally.

The words hung there.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t beg. Didn’t say the dramatic things people say in movies.

He just went quiet.

Because sometimes, love isn’t lost in storms.

It’s lost in exhausted silence.

🕊 The Year Without Them

They didn’t block each other.

They didn’t fight.

They just… stopped.

No calls.

No check-ins.

No birthdays.

He threw himself into work.

She threw herself into everything else.

From the outside, they both looked fine.

But some nights, when he sat alone in his small apartment, he opened their old chat and scrolled.

The late-night jokes.

The voice notes.

The “call me when you see this.”

He found the unsent drafts still there.

“I feel like we’re becoming strangers.”

He read it again.

This time, he pressed send.

He knew she might not see it.

Or might ignore it.

Or might have changed her number.

He didn’t care.

He just needed the truth to exist somewhere outside his chest.

✈️ The Airport He Didn’t Expect to Cry In

A year later, he finally got leave to visit home.

He told no one except his parents.

He had no expectations.

He just wanted to breathe familiar air.

Drink chai in his own house.

Sleep without alarms.

When he landed and walked out of the airport, his phone buzzed.

Notification from…

Hira.

One message.

“I never became a stranger. I just got quieter.”

His heart stopped.

He stared at the screen, standing in the middle of people rushing toward taxis and families hugging.

He typed back:

“I’m here. In the city. For a few days.”

The three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

“Do you have time for coffee?” she sent.

He almost laughed.

Time was the only thing they never seemed to share properly.

“Yes,” he replied.

☕ The Conversation They Should’ve Had Before

They met at a small café they used to visit.

She walked in.

Same eyes.

Same way of fixing her scarf.

Same small, polite smile.

But something had changed.

Not in her looks.

In her energy.

She wasn’t the girl waiting for him.

She was a woman who had survived her own storms.

“You look different,” he said.

“So do you,” she replied.

They talked. Slowly. Honestly.

“I missed you,” he admitted.

“I missed you too,” she said. “But I didn’t miss… the way I felt in the end. Like my feelings were too heavy for your schedule.”

He nodded.

“I thought I was protecting you by not over-sharing my stress,” he said.

“I didn’t realize I was also shutting you out of my real life.”

She looked at him.

“I thought I was being understanding by not complaining,” she replied.

“I didn’t realize I was teaching you that I didn’t need emotional effort.”

They sat in silence.

Not like before.

This time, it was a silence full of understanding.

💛 The Choice They Made This Time

“So,” she asked softly, “what now?”

He thought for a while.

“I don’t want to go back to… whatever we were at the end,” he said.

“If we try again, I want it to be different. Intentional. Not just ‘holding on’ because of history.”

She nodded slowly.

“And if we don’t try again?” she asked.

He looked at her for a long time.

“Then at least,” he said, “I want you to know I never stopped loving you. I just… stopped knowing how to love you from far away.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“Can we learn?” she whispered.

He smiled — not like before.

Softer. Older. Humble.

“We can try,” he replied.

“But this time, not with just ‘I miss you’ messages…

With real effort. Real communication. Real honesty.”

🌤 Final Lesson

Long-distance didn’t break them.

Silence did.

Unsent messages did.

Unspoken fears did.

But honesty brought them back to the same table,

in the same city,

with new hearts.

Because sometimes—

Love doesn’t get a second chance.

But when it does…

It shouldn’t be treated like the first one. 💛