The Bridge Between Us

The city skyline shimmered in the distance, its golden lights reflecting on the river below. The bridge stood quiet under the soft glow of the streetlamps, carrying the weight of a thousand untold stories.

And among them was ours.

I stood at the railing, hands gripping the cold metal as I let the wind carry memories back to me.

This was our place.

For years, we had met here on this very night—no matter what happened, no matter where we were. It was a promise, a tradition that belonged to just us. But then, life happened. Distance grew. Silence settled. And the bridge that once connected us became nothing more than a reminder of what we lost.

And yet, tonight, something had pulled me back.

A familiar presence stirred the air behind me. My breath caught.

I turned around slowly, and there she was.

Meera.

Her dark hair swayed with the evening breeze, and for a moment, she looked just as she did the last time we stood here—except her eyes held the weight of time.

"You came," she said softly.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "So did you."

A small, almost sad smile played on her lips. "I wasn’t sure if you’d remember."

"How could I forget?" I murmured.

She took a step closer, and the space between us shrank, yet the years we had spent apart stretched endlessly.

"It’s been a long time, Ayan," she whispered.

"Yeah," I said, exhaling. "Too long."

We stood in silence, both of us watching the city move around us, as if the world had kept going while we had been frozen in time.

"Why did we stop meeting here?" I finally asked.

Meera let out a breath, looking down at the river. "Life got in the way. Or maybe… we let it."

I nodded. "Maybe."

She turned to face me, her gaze searching mine. "Do you ever think about what could have been?"

"Every day," I admitted.

Her lips parted slightly, as if my answer had caught her off guard. But wasn’t that the truth? Hadn’t we both spent years pretending to move on while still being tied to this bridge, to the promises we once made?

"I waited for you that last year," I said. "I stood right here, hoping you’d come."

"I wanted to," she said, her voice breaking. "But I was scared. Scared that if I saw you again, I wouldn’t be able to walk away."

"And was walking away the right choice?"

Tears welled in her eyes, and I knew the answer before she even spoke.

"I don’t know," she whispered. "But I missed you, Ayan. Every single day."

A sharp ache twisted in my chest. "Then why didn’t you ever call?"

She wiped at her eyes, shaking her head. "Because I thought you had moved on. I thought it would be easier to let go than to hold on to something we might never have again."

I stepped closer, the space between us barely there now. "And now? What do you think now?"

Meera looked up at me, and for the first time that night, I saw it—the love we had buried under time, distance, and fear. It had never faded.

The city lights flickered in her eyes as she spoke the words I had waited years to hear.

"I think I don’t want to walk away this time."

Relief crashed over me, raw and real. I reached for her hand, fingers hesitating before finally lacing through hers.

The bridge had always been our meeting place. But tonight, it wasn’t just a place—it was a choice.

And this time, we were choosing each other.

The wind carried the sound of the river below, of the city moving forward. But we stood still, together, as if time had finally given us back what we lost.

Because some stories don’t end.

Some just wait for the right moment to begin again.