The cursor blinked on Chaitali’s screen, taunting her to move on, to delete the email, or respond to it. But she couldn’t. She sat motionless at her desk, bathed in the faint glow of the computer, her mind flooded with memories. The third email—the most intimate yet—had arrived late last night, just after midnight. Now, in the stillness of her quiet apartment, Chaitali wrestled with the emotions it had awakened in her.

She re-read the email for what must have been the tenth time, her eyes tracing each word, each sentence that felt like a whisper from the past.

---

Subject: No Words Needed

Chaitali,

Do you remember that night? The one where words became unnecessary. I think about it more often than I should. The way we sat together, saying nothing at all, yet saying everything. The quiet between us was never awkward. It was full—full of understanding, of trust, of love.

That night, in your apartment, the rain poured down outside. We watched the city through the foggy glass, and you leaned your head on my shoulder. I can still feel the weight of it, the softness of your hair against my cheek. You weren’t wearing anything fancy—just a simple white dress. But to me, you were breathtaking.

It wasn’t about what we said, but how we felt. Do you remember how my fingers brushed against yours? How we didn’t need to speak to know what was next? You looked at me, your eyes full of something I couldn’t quite name then. But I know now—it was love, wasn’t it?

That night was ours. We weren’t in a rush. There was no urgency, no desire to break the silence. We simply were, in that moment, lost in each other.

I think that’s when I realized what we had was rare, something others spend their whole lives searching for. I don’t know why I let it slip through my fingers. Maybe I was too afraid. Maybe I thought I needed something else, something more.

But now, I know. It was you, always you.

- Yours only...

---

Chaitali closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. It had been years since she thought about that night, the night Mitul had just described with such tenderness, such detail that it was as if he had carried every moment, every glance, every breath with him all these years.

The rain. She could hear it again, just as it had been then, a soft patter against the windows of her old apartment, the one they used to spend so much time in together. It was before everything had become so complicated, before the arguments, before the ego battles, before the breakup. Back when their love felt invincible.

Chaitali remembered the feel of his hand, warm and steady as it grazed hers. She remembered the way he looked at her, as if she were the only person who mattered in the world. In that small apartment, amidst the gentle hum of the city and the rhythmic sound of the rain, they had found something pure—something neither of them could explain in words.

That night hadn’t been about passion or desires. It had been about something far deeper. It was as if, for the first time, they truly saw each other, not just as lovers but as people. They didn’t need to fill the air with words or declarations of love. Their silence had been enough.

The weight of her head on his shoulder had felt like the most natural thing in the world. She remembered the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the warmth radiating from his body, the scent of his cologne mixing with the freshness of the rain-soaked air. They had sat like that for what seemed like hours, their fingers barely touching, but their souls intertwined in a way that neither of them could deny.

When he had finally turned to her, his eyes searching hers for something, she had felt it too. The unspoken understanding that their relationship had shifted, that it was no longer just a fleeting romance but something much more. Something lasting. Something permanent.

But permanence, as she had learned, was fragile.

Her chest tightened as she thought about what had happened afterward—how everything had begun to fall apart. The pressures of their careers, their ambitions, their own stubbornness had driven a wedge between them. That night had been a promise, but one they both failed to keep.

Mitul had wanted more than what their relationship could offer him at the time. His ambitions were grand, and Chaitali, though supportive, had her own dreams. They had tried to make it work, but eventually, their love had become another casualty of time and circumstance.

She sighed deeply, leaning back in her chair, the weight of the years pressing down on her. The email had stirred something in her that she had buried long ago. She had moved on—or at least, she thought she had. But here it was, all of it, rushing back to her with just a few lines of text on a screen.

---

Chaitali stood up and walked over to the window, pushing it open to let the cool breeze in. It was late afternoon now, and the sun was starting to set, casting an orange glow over the city. She had always loved this time of day—the in-between, the liminal space between day and night. It felt like a metaphor for her life now, stuck between the past and the present, unsure of what the future held.

She thought about Mitul, wondering where he was, what he was doing, what had prompted him to start sending her these emails after all these years. She hadn’t heard from him since their breakup. He had disappeared from her life without a trace, and now, here he was, reaching out to her through the cold distance of cyberspace.

A part of her wanted to respond, to ask him why now, why after all this time. But another part of her was scared. Scared that responding would reopen old wounds, scared that it would lead to more heartbreak.

Yet, the tenderness in his words, the way he had remembered that night so vividly—it tugged at her heart in a way she wasn’t prepared for. She had tried to forget him, tried to bury the memories of their time together. But he had always been there, lingering in the back of her mind, in the quiet moments when she was alone.

The truth was, she had never really stopped loving him.

---

She walked back to her desk and sat down, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. The words were there, just beneath the surface, but she couldn’t bring herself to type them. Instead, she closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes once again.

The rain had started to fall outside, a soft drizzle that reminded her of that night. She could almost hear the faint sound of Mitul’s breathing beside her, feel the warmth of his hand as it grazed hers. The memories were so vivid, so real, that it was as if he was there with her now, in this quiet room, in this moment of stillness.

She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, wondering what her next move should be. Should she respond to his emails? Should she confront the feelings that had been stirred up inside her? Or should she let it go, as she had done so many years ago, and move on with her life?

But something told her that this time, it wouldn’t be so easy. Mitul had come back into her life for a reason, and she couldn’t ignore the pull she felt towards him. The emails were more than just a trip down memory lane. They were a lifeline, a connection to a past that still held a piece of her heart.

---

The night Mitul had written about—the night they had shared in silence, in the soft glow of the city lights and the rhythm of the falling rain—had been a turning point for them. It had been the moment they both realized that their love was real, that it wasn’t just a fleeting infatuation but something deeper, something worth fighting for.

And yet, they hadn’t fought hard enough. Or maybe they had fought too hard, against each other, against the very thing that had brought them together in the first place.

Chaitali sighed and stood up again, pacing the room. She couldn’t sit still, not with all these emotions swirling inside her. She walked to the bookshelf and pulled out an old photo album, one she hadn’t opened in years. She flipped through the pages, each photograph a snapshot of a different time in her life, a different version of herself.

There was one photo, near the back of the album, that caught her eye. It was of her and Mitul, taken during a weekend getaway to a small hill station. They were standing on a balcony, the mountains stretching out behind them, both of them laughing at something she couldn’t quite remember now. But the happiness on their faces was unmistakable. It was a moment frozen in time, a moment when everything had seemed so simple, so perfect.

She traced her fingers over the photo, her heart aching with the weight of what had been lost.

---

The rain outside had picked up now, the soft drizzle turning into a steady downpour. Chaitali stood by the window once again, watching the raindrops race down the glass. She wondered where Mitul was, if he was somewhere watching the rain too, thinking about her, about that night they had shared.

She had always loved the rain. It was soothing, a reminder that the world was constantly renewing itself, washing away the old to make way for the new. But tonight, the rain felt different. It wasn’t just a backdrop to her memories—it was a soundtrack to her longing, to the unspoken words between.

---

Chaitali sat at her desk, eyes strained from staring at the screen for too long. The soft hum of her laptop was the only sound in the room, and the clock on the wall ticked quietly. She rubbed her temples and closed her eyes for a moment, trying to shake the lingering exhaustion. Just a short break, she told herself.

She leaned back in her chair.

“Chaitali, you need a break.”

The voice was so familiar that she didn’t even flinch. She turned to see Mitul standing beside her, arms crossed, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

She furrowed her brow, confused. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you, as always.” He shrugged, walking over to the couch across the room and sitting down casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “You’re overworking again. I told you this would happen.”

Chaitali rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile forming on her lips. “And when have I ever listened to you?”

Mitul chuckled, his laugh light and familiar. “Never. But you should. Seriously, when’s the last time you went for exercise?”

She looked down at her desk, trying to remember, but her mind was foggy. “I don’t know... a few days ago, maybe?”

“A few days?” Mitul leaned forward, his tone softening. “You need to take care of yourself. You can’t keep burning yourself out like this.”

His concern, his steady presence, brought an odd warmth to her chest. It felt good to hear his voice again, to see him sitting there, teasing her like old times. She missed this — missed him.

“I know, I just... there’s so much to do,” she mumbled, suddenly feeling small under his gaze.

Mitul leaned back, watching her closely, his expression unreadable. “You always say that. But it’s not the work, is it?”

Chaitali frowned, his words hitting a little too close. She didn’t respond, her thoughts starting to swirl. It was like he could still read her, even now.

He sighed, getting up from the couch and walking over to her. “Take a break, okay?” he said softly, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “You’ll feel better.”

She looked up at him, heart skipping. There was something so... real about this. His hand lingered near her cheek, the warmth of his presence wrapping around her like a familiar blanket.

But then, just as she was about to speak, something shifted. The room, the light, even Mitul’s face—it all seemed to flicker.

Chaitali blinked, the fog lifting from her mind. She wasn’t at the desk anymore. She was in bed, her room quiet, the light of early morning barely filtering in through the curtains.

It was a dream.

Her heart sank as the realization hit. It was just a dream. Mitul wasn’t there. He hadn’t been for a long time.

She lay back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling, the warmth of his voice still echoing in her ears.