The second wave of COVID hit like a sudden storm, forcing college administrations into quick decisions. Students were told to leave the hostels within 48 hours. Diya's flight was the next morning. Her bags were only half-packed, and her mind wasn't packed at all. She knew she had to leave, but part of her still felt like she was waiting for something—or someone.
Maddy had texted her the night before. "Can I see you before you leave? Just once."
When she stepped out that rainy morning, hoodie thrown over her head, she found him waiting by the tree near the college entrance. He looked pale, sick—his sniffles and damp clothes gave him away. But he was still there.
"You're really leaving," he said, voice quiet.
She nodded, hugging herself tighter. "Yeah. Flight in four hours. Haven't finished packing."
"You'll manage," he said. "You always do."
He looked like he wanted to say something more. Something that had been sitting heavy in his chest for days. But then—her phone rang.
It was Harsh.
"Diya, where are you?" he asked, concerned. "You've got barely two hours. Finish packing. Don't risk missing your flight."
In that moment—rushed, disoriented—Diya turned to Maddy. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"
Without waiting for a reply, she rushed off. She didn't even look back.
Maddy stood frozen.
Rainwater mixed with the tears he didn't bother hiding. He had come out sick, drenched, all because he wanted—needed—just one honest goodbye. Just a moment where maybe she would choose him, even briefly. But she didn't. She left. And it wasn't the fact that she left—it was how quickly she did it. Like he didn't matter.
His knees gave way, and he sat down on the wet pavement, hands on his face, trying to breathe through the ache in his chest.
Five minutes later, Diya came rushing back, guilt heavy in her heart. She'd dropped everything—the bag, the phone—something had tugged at her heart and pulled her back. Maybe she'd forgotten to say something, or maybe she just couldn't leave like that.
But when she got to the tree… he was gone.
She looked around, eyes searching the misty morning, but all she found was the empty spot where he had stood—where they had stood together just minutes ago.
And she realized they had missed each other.
Just like always.
By seconds. By words unsaid. By timing that never quite aligned.