I didn't know then,
but Shreya had been sick from the very beginning.
Every time she disappeared, every time she stopped replying,
she was in the hospital; fighting quietly, never telling anyone.
When she called me that morning, saying "I love you,"
it wasn't because of excitement.
It was because her boyfriend had just broken up with her after finding out about her illness.
And maybe... she just needed someone who still saw her the same way.
After Vipassana, life had slowed down.
But the day I returned home, I grabbed my phone and tried calling her.
The line didn't connect. Again and again; no answer.
I sat on my bed, staring at the wall, and cried.
Cried because I didn't understand anything anymore.
Then the phone rang.
It was her.
Her voice was weak, but soft like the echo of a lullaby.
"I was with my parents," she said, "that's why I couldn't answer. Tomorrow we're leaving out of country. For the operation."
My chest tightened.
I didn't know what to say except, "You'll be okay, right?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then came a quiet sniffle.
"I hope so," she whispered. "Goodbye, Aryan... and... love you."
The line went dead.
I sat there, frozen; a statue made of heartbeat and silence.
The next day at school, I told everything to Beshal.
He just stood there, silent, eyes wide.
Then Smirty came running, holding her notebook.
"She's having the operation next week," she said, panting. "They said she'll come back after a month."
That whole day, I couldn't focus.
I stared at the window, at the clouds, at nothing.
My head was full of thoughts I couldn't stop;
what if she doesn't come back?
what if I never get to see her again?
Smirty stayed close those days.
She'd talk, joke, try to pull me out of my silence.
Sometimes she'd just sit beside me quietly; no words, just presence.
One afternoon, the class was empty.
I had fallen asleep with my head on the desk.
And then... I felt a hand softly resting on my hair.
Warm. Gentle. Familiar.
I lifted my head, half-asleep.
"Shreya...?" I whispered.
But it wasn't her.
It was Smirty.
She smiled, but there was something sad in her eyes.
I wanted to speak, to apologize; but no words came out.
Weeks passed.
Then one morning, Shreya returned.
Everyone was happy to see her; thinner, paler, but smiling.
She was different now.
She still loved me, I could feel it...
but it was like she'd learned to measure love carefully,
giving it only in small, careful doses
as if she was afraid too much of it might hurt again.
And Smirty
she never stopped trying to make me laugh.
Somehow, I started to like her too.
Not the same way, not with the same fire...
but something softer.
Still, when I closed my eyes at night,
it was Shreya's voice I heard;
saying "love you"
and disappearing into silence.