When a relationship ends, we often seek closure. We want the other person to look into our eyes, apologize for the hurt, and close that door for us. But in reality, closure doesn’t come in grand gestures. It arrives in the form of a text, a call — something brief and indifferent — leaving us broken and wondering what went wrong, and since when.
A year had passed since our last conversation, but I decided to reach out. I sent him the address of our meeting place — a shoreline that held so many memories. I dressed in my prettiest attire. As I sat by the shore, waves lapping at my feet, I waited.
Half an hour later, a motorcycle roared to a stop nearby. My heart raced as I turned to see him — just as handsome as ever, ageless, almost like a vampire glowing under the sun. He walked toward me, and all the love I had buried surged back, overwhelming me.
I’ve loved you. I still love you. Maybe I always will. But my lips only managed a smile and a simple, “Hi.”
“You look pretty today,” he said, his smile warm but laced with something unspoken.
“I always do,” I replied.
I gestured toward a bench in front of us. “Let’s sit and talk.”
We sat — me at the left edge, him at the right — leaving a chasm of space between us. A silent reminder of how far apart we had drifted.
“So, how have you been?” he asked.
“Better. And you?”
“I’m good.”
“I didn’t think you’d come.”
“I had to,” he sighed.
“So… have you gotten married?”
“No, not yet. You?”
I forced a smile. “You know I’m too young to get married.”
Inside, a storm brewed. Why hasn’t he married yet? Wasn’t that the reason he left? I wanted to ask, but I felt unworthy of the question. I wasn’t here for answers — I was here to close this chapter, to bury it once and for all.
“I texted you because I’m moving away. And I want to return something that belongs to you.” I slipped the ring off my finger — the one he had given me on my first birthday with him. Five years it had stayed with me. Even after he left. But now, it was time.
He pushed it back toward me. “No, it’s yours. Keep it.”
“It was ours, not mine. A token of our love. And now that love is gone. It doesn’t make sense to keep it.”
He took the ring and stared at it. I stared at the imprint it had left on my finger.
This was it. The end of something that had once been beautiful. I stood, my heart heavy, and said, “Thank you for these years. I hope you stay healthy and happy. Goodbye.”
As I turned to walk away, tears slipped down my cheeks. This was the first and last time I would cry for him, for us. I didn’t look back. I left behind our memories, our laughter, and a piece of my heart.
What he did next, how long he stayed there — I don’t know. I only know that I walked away from him and from the part of him I had carried for so long.
Sometimes, letting go is the best option. What’s meant for you will always find its way back, and the one who truly wants to stay will find reasons to stay. The rest are just excuses.
Whatever missed you was never meant for you. Whatever is meant for you will come — soft, certain, and healing.
Will I ever love again? I don’t know.
But I will never close the door to love.
