If Only You Knew

The rain tapped gently against the window of Room 214, where Ayaan sat alone, staring at a letter he had never dared to send.

It had been five years since his life had changed. Five years since everything he thought was permanent crumbled. He was once a confident engineering student, full of ambition and fire, with a tight-knit group of friends and a plan to change the world. But then came the accident — the kind that turns vibrant dreams into haunting memories.

Ayaan’s car skidded on a rainy night, hitting the divider and flipping twice before resting upside down. He survived. His best friend, Zaid, did not.

The guilt was unforgiving. Everyone told Ayaan it wasn’t his fault — that the brakes failed. But none of it mattered. What mattered was that he was driving. And Zaid’s parents, his own second family, could barely look at him afterward.

So he vanished — from his university, from his social circles, and from himself.

Chapter One: The Weight of Silence

In the years that followed, Ayaan became a ghost in his own life. He moved to another city, changed his number, and deleted all social media. He took up freelance graphic design to survive, refusing any long-term commitments.

The only remnant of his past was the bundle of unsent letters — addressed to Zaid, to his parents, to the version of himself that still smiled.

“If only you knew how much I miss you,” one letter read.

“If only you knew how much I hate myself,” another said.

Chapter Two: The Spark

One afternoon, while working in a café, Ayaan saw a girl struggling with her laptop. The screen was frozen, and she looked on the verge of tears. Something in her reminded him of his younger sister.

“Do you need help?” he asked, surprising even himself.

She looked up. “Yes, please. I have an assignment due in an hour and it’s… just frozen.”

Ayaan fixed it in minutes. She exhaled with relief. “You’re a lifesaver! I’m Maheen, by the way.”

“Ayaan.”

Over the next few weeks, Maheen and Ayaan bumped into each other frequently at the café. She was studying psychology, passionate and vibrant — the kind of person who could bring sunshine into the dullest corners of life.

She noticed Ayaan’s withdrawn nature and slowly, gently, pulled him out.

“You're hiding a storm behind that silence,” she once said.

He didn’t respond. But that night, he wrote another letter:

“If only you knew how close someone’s kindness can bring a person back to life.”

Chapter Three: The Unraveling

One evening, Maheen showed him a project she was working on — a documentary on grief and guilt. Ayaan froze.

“What made you pick this topic?” he asked.

“I lost my cousin in a drowning accident. He was only 16. His best friend was with him but couldn’t save him. That boy stopped speaking for almost a year. I just wish he knew that we never blamed him.”

The words hit Ayaan like a train.

“What if he does blame himself?” he asked carefully.

“Then I’d tell him that healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means forgiving yourself, even if it takes time.”

That night, Ayaan cried for the first time in years. Silent, shaking sobs. He finally opened the old box of letters and began reading them — aloud.

Chapter Four: The Letter

Encouraged by Maheen’s gentle wisdom, Ayaan decided to do something he never thought he could — visit Zaid’s family.

He wrote a final letter:

"Dear Uncle, Aunty,

If only you knew how sorry I am. I was too afraid to face you — not because of what you’d say, but because of what I’d feel.

Zaid wasn’t just my best friend. He was my brother. We laughed, dreamed, and planned a future.

That night… I should’ve been the one. And I’ve spent every day since wishing I could trade places.

But I’ve come to learn something:

Pain, when hidden, rots the soul. But when shared, it begins to heal.

I’m ready to face you — not to ask for forgiveness, but to give voice to everything I’ve buried.

If only you knew… how much I’ve missed you all.

– Ayaan"

Chapter Five: The Return

He took a bus to his hometown. The familiar streets were like ghosts — reminding him of cricket matches, laughter, college dreams, and the road he lost himself on.

Standing outside Zaid’s house, he hesitated.

Aunty opened the door. Her eyes widened, then filled with tears. Before he could speak, she pulled him into an embrace.

“You came home,” she whispered.

Ayaan cried into her shoulder.

Uncle joined them quietly. He didn’t say anything — just placed a hand on Ayaan’s back. In silence, a long-buried bond began to mend.

Later, over chai, they talked. About Zaid. About memories. About regrets. And about healing.

Chapter Six: The Message

When Ayaan returned to the city, he met Maheen.

“I went back,” he said.

She smiled. “I knew you would.”He handed her the letter. “Thank you for giving me the courage.”She read it, and her eyes glistened. “This letter… can help more people.”

And so, they started a small blog together — Letters Never Sent. A platform for people to share unsent letters to lost loved ones, to guilt, to the past.The first post?

“If Only You Knew — by Ayaan.”

Moral of the Story:

Pain doesn’t vanish when buried — it grows. But when shared with compassion, it transforms into healing. Guilt cannot be undone, but it can be understood. And understanding is the first step toward peace.