Dubai at night was a galaxy laid flat a sprawl of light, ambition, and glass. From the 45th floor balcony of the Burj view suite, Aryan could see the city pulse beneath him, a rhythmic glow of taillights and neon. He held a tumbler of single malt in his hand, the ice nearly melted. Another deal closed, another contract signed. On paper, he was winning. In the silence, he felt nothing at all.
His phone buzzed on the marble ledge beside him. A soft, persistent glow. He glanced down at a notification from a photo app he rarely opened.
"Memory from 8 years ago."
He almost swiped it away. But his thumb hovered, then tapped.
The screen filled with a picture that time had softened at the edges but left sharp in his heart. Him and Anaya. That café near campus, the one with the mismatched chairs and the smell of roasted coffee and rain. She was mid laugh, head tilted back, eyes crinkled. He was looking at her, not at the camera, a half smile on his face that spoke of a hope not yet broken.
The photo was a ghost, and it pulled him back without permission.
Rain streaked the café window, drawing lazy paths on the glass. Anaya sat across from him, her hands wrapped around a chipped mug of tea that had gone cold. The air between them was thick with everything unsaid.
"Aryan… you are my 'almost.' Do you know what that means?"
His voice, younger, softer, replied: "It means I'm not enough."
She shook her head, eyes soft but firm. "No. It means you're everything I should want. Kind, brilliant, steady… you feel like home to me."
A pause. The sound of rain grew louder.
"But home isn't where my heart wants to stay. My heart doesn't race when you enter the room… and you deserve someone whose does."
He remembered the way his throat tightened. "I could make you happy. We could"
"Sometimes two people can love each other and still not be right," she said gently, but her words landed like stones. "I love you… but I'm not in love with you. And love… sometimes love just isn't enough."
He looked away, jaw clenched against the sting. "So that's it?"
Her hand reached across the table but stopped short of touching his. "You are my 'almost,' Aryan. Just not my 'forever.' And you deserve a forever."
The present rushed back in the hum of Dubai's skyline, the cool desert wind on the balcony. Aryan took a slow sip of his whiskey, the burn doing little to warm the hollow inside.
Before he could slip further into the past, his phone buzzed again this time a call. Rishi.
He answered. "Yeah."
"You standing out there pretending to be Batman again?" Rishi's voice was a familiar anchor warm, teasing, rooted in reality.
Aryan almost smiled. "Just getting some air. Deal's done."
"I know. The emails are already flying. You coming back inside? The investors are asking about the Singapore expansion."
"Give me five."
"Take ten. I'll cover you."
Aryan ended the call but didn't move. He stared at the photo one more time before locking his phone. Almost. The word clung to him like a shadow.
When he walked back into the suite, the atmosphere shifted from lonely stillness to polished energy. The wide open living area was all sleek lines and muted tones, with floor to ceiling windows framing the city like living art. A few key investors and partners mingled, their conversations a low hum of numbers and strategy.
Rishi stood near the bar, scrolling through a tablet. He looked up as Aryan approached, his sharp eyes missing nothing. "You good?"
"Always."
"Liar." Rishi handed him a fresh glass of water. "But I'll let it slide. For now."
They moved to a quieter corner, away from the crowd. Rishi was Aryan's oldest friend sharp where Aryan was steady, outgoing where Aryan was reserved. They'd built their tech-finance consultancy from a college dorm idea into a firm with offices in three countries. Rishi handled the charisma and connections; Aryan handled the vision and the details.
"The Singapore pitch is solid," Rishi said, shifting smoothly into business. "But they're asking about scalability. I told them we'd send models by Tuesday."
Aryan nodded. "I'll review the projections tonight."
"You will not. You'll sleep. The projections can wait till tomorrow." Rishi gave him a look that brooked no argument. "Anyway, enough shop talk. I've been stuck in spreadsheets all day. Tell me something interesting."
Aryan shrugged. "Not much to tell."
"What about that photo notification? The one that just came up on our shared album? The café one."
Aryan shot him a look. "You still have those alerts on?"
"Of course. Someone has to remember your life for you." Rishi's tone was light, but his gaze was knowing. "Anaya, right?"
Aryan didn't answer, which was answer enough.
Rishi sighed softly. "You still carrying that?"
"It's not about carrying. It just… comes back sometimes."
"I know." Rishi leaned against the window frame. "You know what I remember from around that time? Not the heartbreak the college bus. First week of senior year."
Aryan felt the memory surface a welcome distraction. "The broken-down bus?"
"Yes! Monsoon rain, bus dies in the middle of nowhere, all of us stuck for three hours. You, me, Varun, and what's his name the guy who kept singing old Bollywood songs to keep morale up."
A faint smile touched Aryan's lips. "Rohit. He butchered every song."
"And you," Rishi pointed at him, grinning, "took out your economics notes and tried to study under the bus's emergency light."
"Exams were coming."
"It was pouring! We were stranded! And you're highlighting textbook passages about fiscal policy." Rishi shook his head, chuckling. "That's when I knew you were either going to be a billionaire or completely insane."
"Turns out it's both," Aryan said dryly.
They laughed, and for a moment, the weight lifted. That was Rishi's gift he could steer Aryan out of his own head without ever making him feel pushed.
"Seriously though," Rishi said after a pause, his tone softening. "That time on the bus… you were different after Anaya. Quieter. More focused on work, less on… everything else."
"Work was easier."
"Work is always easier." Rishi held his gaze. "But you're not a spreadsheet, Aryan. You're allowed to have a heart."
Before Aryan could deflect, Rishi's phone chimed. He glanced at it, then back at Aryan. "That's my cue I have to smooth-talk the French investors. You going to be okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Good. Then I'll see you at breakfast." Rishi turned to leave, then paused, as if remembering something. "Oh, by the way… I heard from an old college friend today."
Aryan raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"
"You'll never guess who's moving to Dubai next month." Rishi's smile was casual, but his eyes held a flicker of something knowing.
Before Aryan could ask, Rishi was already weaving back into the crowd, leaving the words hanging in the air like an unfinished sentence.
Aryan stood by the window, Dubai's glittering skyline holding his gaze but not his focus. Who's moving to Dubai?
The question tapped softly at the back of his mind, joining the echo of almost.
He finished his water, the ice long melted.
Some memories were ghosts.
Some questions were anchors.
And some nights, the past didn't just whisper it leaned in, breath warm, waiting to be heard again.