The Unfinished Page

The photo frame refused to leave my mind. Even after I had pushed it back behind dusty files in the storeroom, its image clung to me like stubborn perfume. His smile clung to me.

That night, I tossed and turned, the ceiling fan humming above like an impatient reminder of my sleeplessness. Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was that frozen moment: me with pigtails, hugging him tight, his laughter filling the frame as if the world had belonged to us alone.

Aditya.

It had been years, and still his name had a way of making my heart stutter. Not because I wanted it to. But because it still carried all the weight of the promises we once made, the ones that now lay shattered.

I rolled onto my side, staring at the diary I had abandoned earlier. Its cover was worn from years of scribbling, the edges soft, the spine almost bending with my secrets. The page I’d left unfinished peeked at me like a half-opened door.

I sat up, pulled it closer, and read what I had written last.

“I wanted to write about him today - about Aditya. Just his name makes my heart stumble a little. But maybe I’ll keep that for later…”

My pen hovered above the paper, trembling slightly between my fingers. Should I finish it? But what could I write that hadn’t already been written in the back of my mind a hundred times? That I hated him? That I missed him? That I couldn’t decide which one hurt more?

Instead, I forced myself to write something else.

“Today, something big happened. I got the internship. Horizon Media, investment banking division. My first real step into the world I’ve always dreamed of. I should be happy. I am happy. But the truth is… the first person I wanted to tell isn’t here anymore.”

I dropped the pen, my chest heavy. The words glared back at me, ink still fresh, almost accusing me of what I hadn’t said.

On impulse, I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up in the darkness, and my heart jumped as if it already knew where my fingers wanted to go. I scrolled down the contacts until it stopped at the name I hadn’t dared to touch in years.

Adi :)

It was still saved that way. Not “Aditya.” Not erased. Just… Adi, with that silly smiley face he had once typed into my phone himself.

My thumb hovered over the call button. One click, and I could hear his voice again. One call, and I could tell him everything, like I used to.

But then reality struck like ice water.

He wasn’t that boy anymore. And I wasn’t the girl who believed in “always” and “forever.”

I let the phone fall back onto the bed and slammed the diary shut.

The unfinished page would have to wait. Again.

The next morning, I woke up with sore eyes and a heavier head. Ma was already bustling in the kitchen, humming some old tune as the smell of parathas filled the house. Papa sat in his usual spot at the dining table, reading the newspaper like the world’s news depended on him personally.

“Avni, beta, breakfast!” Ma called out.

I dragged myself to the table, forcing a smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning, princess,” Papa said without looking up, adjusting his glasses. “Sleep well?”

“Hmm.” I nodded, avoiding his gaze. He would know instantly if I lied, and I didn’t want his questions right now.

“Eat properly,” Ma fussed, piling an extra paratha onto my plate. “You’ll need the energy for your interview prep.”

Papa chuckled, peeking over the edge of his newspaper. “Don’t stuff her too much, Naina. She’ll fall asleep on her notes instead of studying.”

Ma shot him a glare, and I laughed softly. Their banter was my everyday comfort. And yet, even in this warmth, I felt a quiet emptiness gnawing at me. Because years ago, Aditya would’ve been sitting right here too, stealing bites from my plate and earning Ma’s scolding.

Now there was just silence where his laughter used to be.

I buried myself in preparation later that day, highlighting notes until the ink stained my fingertips, repeating answers under my breath. Still, no matter how hard I tried to focus, my mind kept slipping.

And that’s when it happened again, the memories returned, uninvited.

Flashback - Years Ago

“Aditya! Where were you yesterday?” I had demanded, my twelve-year-old self standing in our building courtyard, arms crossed, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

He blinked at me, caught off guard, a cricket bat slung casually over his shoulder. “Uh… I was at the ground. Playing with Aman and the guys.”

“You didn’t tell me?” My voice wavered, and the tears spilled before I could stop them. “You always tell me everything.”

“It was just a game, Avni.” He frowned, confused. “Why are you crying?”

“Because you didn’t tell me!” I snapped, stamping my foot. “You promised. You said I’d be the first person to know. Always.”

His face softened, guilt flickering in his eyes. He shuffled closer and dug into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled Dairy Milk.

“Sorry. Here, I bought this for you.”

I sniffled, glaring at it. “You think I’m that easy to bribe?”

He grinned, mischievous. “Yeah. Because you love me too much to stay mad.”

“I don’t!” I shouted, but my words betrayed me. I was already reaching for the chocolate.

Aditya laughed, and then his tone turned gentle, more serious than I expected. “No more secrets, okay? From now on, you’ll be the first one I tell. Always.”

I stared at him, believing every word. Back then, it had felt like a promise carved into stone.

Present

I snapped back, the memory still sharp, still stinging. That was us. That was what we were. Two kids who couldn’t stand to keep secrets from each other.

And now? Now we walked past each other like strangers.

I pressed my hands to my eyes, trying to push the ache away. “You promised, Adi,” I whispered into the empty room. “You promised I’d always be the first one.”

The words echoed inside me, heavier than any exam, any interview question, any challenge life could throw my way. Because nothing hurt more than realizing the promises you built your world on were the first ones to break.

Dinner that evening was cheerful, at least on the surface. Papa told some terrible joke that Ma pretended not to laugh at, though I saw her hiding her smile. I joined in, laughed even, but inside I felt the same hollow pull.

Because I kept thinking about how, once upon a time, Aditya had been part of all this. How his voice used to fill these spaces. How he used to be my world and how that world had collapsed without warning.

Later that night, I opened my diary again. The same unfinished page stared back at me. I picked up my pen, hesitated, then wrote three words before I could stop myself.

“I miss him.”

The ink bled slightly into the paper, as if the words themselves refused to stay neat and contained. I stared at them, heart pounding, and then slammed the diary shut.

But shutting it didn’t shut out the truth.

The following evening, while gathering my notes from the living room, I overheard Papa on the phone. His tone was calm, casual even. But the words hit me like a storm.

“Yes, of course. Aditya’s returning soon. The family will be glad.”

The pen slipped from my hand. The diary on the table fell shut with a soft thud.

My breath caught my pulse quickened. For three years, I had trained myself not to think about what it would be like if he came back. And now, suddenly, it wasn’t a “what if” anymore. It was real.

Aditya was coming back.

And the unfinished page in my diary suddenly felt heavier than all the words I had ever written.

So what do you guys think? Aditya is coming back… finally! Any guesses on where he’s been and what he’ll be like now? I’d love to hear your thoughts. Don’t forget to like and comment — your support keeps me going!