And suddenly, just like an unexpected summer rain, he appeared. For a moment—just a brief moment—her heart clenched. Like a still pond disturbed by a sudden thrown stone, stirring up everything settled at the bottom. This moment felt like a chapter from Half-Written Goodbyes.
Some moments in life leave a strange ache, the kind we always try to avoid. Facing them takes courage—courage we don’t want to acknowledge. Deep down, we wish those moments never arrived. Yet, at the same time, there’s a tiny voice whispering, Should I face it once and put an end to it? A helpless attempt at borrowed strength. Maybe this is what they call conflict. It reminds me of the themes explored in Half-Written Goodbyes.
The world is round. The world is small. That’s why unexpected people, at unexpected places, at the most unexpected times… show up. And they do. Time arrives softly, on tiptoe, much like the sentiments in Half-Written Goodbyes. To take revenge? Or to set us free?
Half-Written Goodbyes: The Pain of Unfinished Stories
A wound that seemed healed, now snagged by a loose thread, tearing open, bleeding again. Maybe, just maybe, this is how wounds truly heal. A storm of thoughts travelled miles in seconds. The moment she saw him, anger, love, jealousy—every emotion awakened.
Eyes met! A moment stolen!
A hesitant glance… Should she acknowledge him or not?
That same old pause—to be or not to be—as if nothing had changed.
Should I take the first step? Should I be the one to understand?
Yet again, the same old clause.
Felt like grabbing his collar—asking him—
“Why? You were the one who left.”
“Then why the guilt today?”
Those old embrace the promises of forever.
The daily laughter, the popcorn movie nights.
You, the one who once caught my every wish before it could hit the ground.
And now, you—the one avoiding my gaze.
Which one is the real you?
Who are you, really?
Lost in my search, lost in your world.
Two hands slipping away, yet trying again to hold on.
Two souls helplessly grasping for us—again.
The ties we once broke so ruthlessly…
“Can we weave them back again?”
“Can we become us once more—without losing you and me?”
She stood there, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. He—just like the unseasonal rain—came, poured a few bittersweet drops into her lap, and left.
Her eyes sparkled, but he looked burdened. As he turned away, she wanted to reach out, to stop him, to grab his hand and demand, “How did you live all these days without me?”
“Did you ever forget me, even once?”
She wanted to ask—“Are you leaving me behind again?”
Or were they going to fight another silly battle, only to lose themselves in an embrace again?
“Come, let’s rebuild everything from scratch.”
The trance broke. She came back to her senses. He had already walked away. Once again, the same unfinished story! Once again, he left halfway through!
Love,
Shweta