The Words We Never Said

The rain tapped lightly against the café window, a soft rhythm that matched the unease in Ayan’s heart. He stirred his coffee absentmindedly, staring at the steam rising from the cup. Across from him, Mira sat in silence, her fingers curled around the rim of her own untouched drink.

It had been six years since they last saw each other.

Six years since that final argument.

Six years since they had walked away without looking back.

And yet, here they were—two familiar strangers, sitting across from each other, pretending the past didn’t weigh down on them like an anchor.

Mira cleared her throat. “So… how have you been?”

Ayan smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Good. Work keeps me busy.”

She nodded. “That’s good.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with the weight of everything left unsaid.

Ayan glanced at her, really looking at her for the first time in years. Time had softened some edges, but her eyes—the deep brown eyes that once held all his dreams—still carried the same quiet sadness.

“You cut your hair,” he said, his voice softer now.

Mira blinked before reaching up to touch the short strands. “Yeah. A change felt… necessary.”

Ayan nodded, understanding more than she realized. He had changed too. Not just on the outside, but deep within—the kind of change that comes from learning to live with what-ifs.

They had loved each other once. Fiercely. Passionately.

But love alone hadn’t been enough.

The fights had come—over missed calls, over unspoken expectations, over dreams that didn’t align. Until one night, the words had turned sharper, the silences longer, and the love that once felt unbreakable had cracked under the weight of reality.

Mira traced the rim of her cup. “I used to come here a lot after we… you know. It reminded me of you.”

Ayan felt something tighten in his chest. “I did too.”

She looked up, surprise flickering across her face.

“I thought about calling you,” he admitted. “So many times.”

Mira’s lips parted slightly, as if caught between surprise and something deeper—regret, maybe. “Why didn’t you?”

Ayan exhaled. “Because I thought you had moved on. That maybe it was better this way.”

She let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. “And I thought you didn’t want to hear from me.”

The truth settled between them, bittersweet and painful.

The years had passed, but their love hadn’t failed because they stopped caring. It had failed because of the words they never said, the feelings they never voiced, the assumptions that built walls between them.

Mira took a deep breath. “I should’ve told you how much I loved you before things fell apart.”

Ayan swallowed hard. “And I should’ve fought harder for us.”

She gave him a sad smile. “But we didn’t.”

He looked down at his coffee, the bitter taste suddenly making sense. “No, we didn’t.”

A long pause.

Mira sighed. “Maybe we were never meant to be.”

Ayan wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her that fate didn’t decide everything, that they could have made it if they had just spoken, just tried a little harder.

But instead, he simply said, “Maybe.”

The rain outside had slowed, leaving behind the scent of something fresh, something new.

Mira stood, adjusting her coat. “It was good seeing you again, Ayan.”

He nodded, standing as well. “You too.”

She hesitated, as if waiting for something. Ayan felt it too—that pull, that last chance to say the words they never did.

But some things were better left unsaid.

She gave him a final smile before turning towards the door. He watched her go, his heart whispering the words his lips never did.

"I still love you."

But by then, she was already gone.