It was my first international trip, and I’d arrived early.
I strolled into the shopping area taking a slow sip from my coffee mug… and froze.
Was that—Neelam?
The same cascade of curls, the tall, slender frame, and those dimpled cheeks!
How long has it been? Exactly two years, three months, and four days since we parted ways.
I remembered our last conversation vividly. She’d gone to her village after our exams, intending to prepare for the CAT. Her call had caught me off guard—I’d sensed something was wrong. The tremble in her voice, the sobs she couldn’t quite stifle.
“DDDDev, please listen,” she had said. “Don’t ever call me again. Or try to find me. This relationship is over. I’m changing my phone number, my email IDs… I’m leaving the village too.”
Her crying made my own breath catch.
“Neelu… wait. What’s going on? Is something wrong? Whatever it is, we can—” She had hung up.
I never heard from her again. She even severed ties with our mutual friends. I was shattered. I didn’t even attempt the CAT.
I did try to move on: downloaded apps, and went on awkward coffee dates. Nothing worked. Neelam had taken root in every inch of my mind—and refused to let go.
Eventually, I pulled myself out of the slump, completed my MBA at a local college, landed a decent job, and here I was—headed to the U.S. on an onsite assignment.
So what now? Do I walk over and greet her casually? Or hide and spare her discomfort?
She was walking toward me. Panicking, I turned away, facing the departure screens.
Then came a tap on my shoulder.
“Dev?” she asked, her voice soft, unsure.
I turned. Her eye held the same quiet love that mirrored my own.
She bought herself a cup of tea and sat across from me, stirring sugar with a deliberateness that matched the tremor in her voice.
“My mother had stage four cancer,” she began. “She wanted to see me settled before she passed. I didn’t have the courage to tell her about you—you were too young, too full of dreams. I didn’t want you to give them up for me.”
She looked down at her cup, then back up.
“I found a remote job, took care of her, tried to date… but it never felt right. No one came close to you. I deleted all your contacts, but I’ve been thinking about you every day. Last month, my mom passed away. And now—this training came up. I didn’t expect to find you here. But maybe—just maybe—it’s fate.”
Her voice cracked under the weight of memory and meaning.
I reached for her hand. The warmth of our fingers locking said more than anything words ever could.
Eventually, her boarding call came. She waved as she made her way to the gate, vanishing into the flow of travellers.
I stood still, watching her disappear. I didn’t know when or if I’d see her again.
But one thing was certain—this time, we’d be together forever. Till death did us part.
The announcement at her gate pierced the quiet hum of the terminal:
“This is the last and final boarding call for passengers booked on flight AI 171 to London from Ahmedabad.”
