I Wish I Could Tell Her

Years later, one Sunday afternoon, it's raining harshly. I'm sitting in a coffee shop with my laptop, fully concentrated on the words. I see a medium-figured woman come and stand in front of my table. I give her a look.

"You're here?" I'm totally surprised as I stand up from my chair. An accidental meeting after three and a half years, still, she looks beautiful. Maybe more than before.

Her eyes are shining as they always do, still attracting, constantly gazing at me. She hugs me without saying anything. Three and a half years have passed without that hug, and it still feels the same as it did the first time.

She sits in the opposite chair. "How are you?"

I start stumbling. "I'm... I'm go... good. How are you?"

She smiles at that. "I'm good too. Why did you hide it from me all these years?"

A sudden question after three and a half years doesn't make sense. I pass a confused look to her. "Hide...?"

"You loved me the whole time we were in college," she says. I avoid eye contact with her. "You did everything to make me realize except just tell me once, directly."

"We were supposed to be best friends..."

"Are we?" She stops me midway. "Now at least you can accept the truth, just for yourself. I'm not alive, but still I feel your love."

"How?"

"Because love is immortal," she replies. "Three years ago was the perfect time, but you didn't take that step. And now... now you keep recalling me in each frame of your life. Does it make sense?"

"No, it doesn't," I reply. "It breaks me every time I stand in front of your grave, just regretting the moment of not telling you and letting you go."

"It doesn't matter now," she adds. "It's too late to love."

"No... it's not." Tears roll down from my eyes. "I loved you when you were with me without letting you know, and now when you're not with me, it empowers me to love you more. You're still alive in my heart."

She smiles, and love drops from her eyes in the form of tears. "You regret?"

"Yeah... a lot," I reply. "I wish I could've told you."

"That you loved me?"

"Yeah... maybe more than that," I reply.

Suddenly someone passes beside my table, and her body hits my elbow, breaking my concentration. "Sorry," she says and walks out.

I stop writing. No one is sitting in the front chair. I take out my wallet and look at the only photo of Rashmika I have. She still talks to me, that smiling face. I kiss the photo.

I smile at her and start writing the story of my life: I Wish I Could Tell Her.