True Love Never Deletes from Heart

The phone buzzed once, lighting up the dim room with a soft glow. Aarav glanced at it, expecting a work notification. But the number on the screen stopped him cold.

No name.

Just a number—unsaved, but instantly familiar.

He stared at it for a moment, the weight of years pressing down on his chest, before tapping to read the message.

"Do you ever think of me?"

That was all it said. Simple. Quiet. Devastating.

He read it again.

And again.

His breath caught in his throat. His fingers trembled slightly, like they remembered something his heart never forgot.

Three years had passed since Meera had disappeared from his life. No argument. No betrayal. Just a message, typed carefully like she was walking away in silence:

“I’m sorry. I have to go. Please don’t try to find me.”

And he hadn’t. Not because he didn’t want to, but because something in her words told him it wasn’t his choice to make. Maybe she was protecting him. Maybe she was protecting herself. He would never know.

But even as the calendar pages turned and seasons passed, Aarav never deleted her number.

He never deleted her photos either.

He pulled open his gallery, scrolling to the folder titled “Us.” It was buried now, pushed down by newer memories, but never erased. He had opened it fewer and fewer times over the years. Still, it remained—untouched, like a museum exhibit of something sacred.

Their first selfie at the bookstore, both smiling over the same copy of The Little Prince.

A candid shot of her laughing mid-sentence, hair wild in the wind.

A short video—her voice saying softly, “If I ever disappear, just know it’s not because I stopped loving you.”

He had forgotten that one.

His chest tightened. Was this what she meant all those years ago? That leaving wasn’t truly her choice?

Aarav locked his phone and stood up. The apartment felt suddenly too small. Too quiet. Too full of memories that were louder than the silence.

He walked aimlessly through the streets of the city, his feet carrying him forward while his mind drifted back.

He ended up at the old tea stall they used to visit on rainy evenings. The place hadn’t changed. Same rusty bench. Same smell of ginger and cardamom.

The tea vendor recognized him.

“Long time,” the old man said. “Haven’t seen her around either.”

Aarav just smiled faintly and nodded.

“Your usual?”

He nodded again.

As he sipped the hot tea, warmth spread through his fingers. He closed his eyes, letting the memory of her voice wash over him like music from a distant room.

She used to say love wasn’t about forever. It was about how deeply it lives in you while it’s there—and after it’s gone.

He walked home slowly as the sky turned to dusk. The city lights flickered on, one by one, like stars trying to remember how to shine.

Back inside, he sat on the edge of the bed and opened her message again.

Do you ever think of me?

He typed a reply. Then deleted it. Typed again. Paused.

Finally, he wrote:

Always. I just didn’t know if I was allowed to.

Sent.

He waited. Seconds passed. Then a minute. Then the three little dots appeared—she was typing.

His heart pounded.

I thought about messaging you a hundred times. But I was scared.

Scared I hurt you beyond repair. Scared you'd moved on.

Then:

I didn’t want to leave. I had to. Family, pressure... things I couldn’t control. But I never stopped loving you.

Tears pricked at his eyes—not from pain, but from the release of something long held back.

I miss you every single day, she added. I don’t expect anything. I just needed you to know.

He stared at the screen for a long time.

Then he replied:

You were never erased from my life, Meera. Not even for a moment. Not from memory. Not from heart.

She didn’t respond right away. But he wasn’t anxious this time.

He leaned back, letting the stillness fill the room.

It wasn’t about going back to how things were. It wasn’t about fixing the past.

It was about the truth that some love—real love—never leaves.

It may go silent. It may sleep beneath years of distraction and distance.

But it doesn’t die.

Because true love isn’t stored in phones or photos or saved messages.

It’s stored in the parts of us we don’t show the world. In the quiet moments. In the warmth that returns with a memory, uninvited but welcome.

And sometimes, it waits.

Until one message lights up the darkness.