He never believed love needed to be loud.
For him, love was something quiet—something that stayed hidden behind polite smiles and unspoken boundaries. It was sitting across the dining table and pretending not to notice her laugh. It was hearing her footsteps in the hallway and knowing exactly who it was without looking up.
He was just an ordinary boy.
Middle-class. No shortcuts in life. No dramatic childhood. A father who counted every rupee before spending, a mother who woke up before sunrise, and a life built on "adjustment" rather than dreams.
Engineering was not a passion—it was survival.
And she?
She was everything he was not.
Bright. Confident. Effortlessly kind. The kind of girl teachers admired and strangers remembered. She was his best friend's younger sister, which automatically placed her beyond reach. A boundary he never crossed, never even tested.
She called him anna with a smile that felt harmless to everyone else.
To him, it felt like a quiet wound.
He watched her from a distance—never staring too long, never saying too much. He convinced himself that this was enough. That loving her silently was safer than risking everything.
Time moved forward, as it always does.
College ended. Friends scattered across cities. Dreams became resumes. The boy became a man carrying a degree and a thousand unsaid words.
On a random evening, while walking back from work, he saw a familiar face.
His best friend.
They spoke like time hadn't changed anything—about jobs, salaries, rented rooms, and how life felt heavier than expected. Laughter came easily. Nostalgia always did that.
Then, almost casually, he asked
"How's your sister?"
The world didn't stop.
But something inside him did.
His friend looked away, just for a second.
"She passed away… a few months ago."
The words entered his ears calmly.
They reached his heart like a collapse.
He didn't react. Not because he was strong—but because his body forgot how to move. He nodded. He said the expected words. He listened as his friend spoke, voice trembling yet proud.
"She was everything to me. My little sister… I was so proud of her. She got selected at Google. She said she prayed to God for only one thing—that I see her succeed before she leaves for the USA."
A pause.
"She wanted to visit the temple one last time. She was driving… a lorry came out of nowhere."
Spot dead.
The street noise continued. People walked past them. Life didn't pause for grief.
He said goodbye.
He walked home alone.
But his friend's voice followed him.
Echoing.
Repeating.
Breaking him.
That night, sleep never came.
And for the first time in his life, he asked himself a question he had avoided for years.
What if I had told her?