Life looked the same on the outside, yet something inside him had shifted quietly.
He watched people play carrom, leaning against a wall, lost in his own thoughts. When a teammate asked why he looked "serious," he simply smiled it off.
But the truth was different:
He wasn't thinking about her—
but about the feeling she left behind.
The feeling of being shaken by memories you didn't call for.
He ordered chai, added extra milk because of his sensitive stomach, took a sip, and immediately remembered:
She hated chai.
The memory didn't hurt.
It simply… visited.
He let it pass through him gently.
Later, when his phone buzzed, his heart jumped for a second—but when he saw it wasn't her, he felt relief, not disappointment.
"I'll be ready only when life is ready. Not before."
He was healing.
Not by forgetting,
but by accepting.