Some people never truly become part of your life. They simply become part of your story.
There was a girl I had admired since Class Six. I never confessed it, not even to myself. She was just the quiet reason I looked forward to ordinary school days.
By the time I reached Class Nine, I finally gathered enough courage to see her properly. In my mind, I was confident. I thought I was smart enough to make it look easy.
Life had other plans.
I still remember changing my daily route to school just to catch a glimpse of her. The first time I saw her, I became so nervous that I almost fell off my rickshaw while trying to get down. She looked startled, probably wondering why this awkward boy had suddenly appeared in front of her.
That evening, after her school ended, I somehow managed to speak to her. She took my phone number, and we began talking through SMS—the old-fashioned way, when every message carried a little excitement.
Then, without warning, she disappeared.
It felt strange how someone I barely knew could leave such an emptiness behind. I couldn’t focus on anything. Soon, the SSC exams arrived, life moved on, and I entered college.
Then one day, out of nowhere, I received a message.
“Hey… it’s me. Remember?”
I thought it was someone playing a prank until she sent me her picture. Suddenly, it felt as if luck had found my number again.
We talked for hours every day and every night. It felt effortless.
And then…
She disappeared again.
The following year, she returned once more. During Eid, we finally met. She gave me Eidi in the most unique way, something I still smile about whenever I remember it.
But before that memory could become something more, she quietly told me she liked someone else.
It felt as though the sky had cracked open above me.
Once again, we drifted apart.
Time passed. Then, somehow, life brought us together for one last chapter.
This time, we dated.
Only for three months.
Yet those three months remain the happiest three months of my twenty-four years.
For a brief moment, everything felt right.
Until it didn’t.
She chose to go back to her ex.
I didn’t argue. I didn’t beg. I simply wished her well and walked away.
That day, I made a promise to myself:
Enough.
No love is worth losing your self-respect. No affection is worth convincing someone to choose you.
Years later, while watching Love Next Door, all those forgotten memories quietly returned.
I realized something unexpected.
Not every person is meant to stay.
Some are simply meant to remind us that we were once capable of loving with everything we had.
Maybe she wasn’t someone I was
meant to have.
Maybe she was simply someone worth remembering.
And sometimes, that is enough.
