The message sat unfinished on her screen.
Three words.
"I miss you."
Simple. Honest. Dangerous.
Her thumb hovered over the send button while memories replayed like old films in her mind. The late-night conversations. The inside jokes no one else understood. The promises that once felt permanent.
A year had passed since they stopped talking.
A year of pretending she was okay.
A year of convincing herself that some chapters were meant to stay closed.
Yet here she was, staring at those three words.
"I miss you."
The truth was, she missed more than a person.
She missed who she used to be.
She missed laughing without forcing it.
She missed believing that some people stay.
The cursor blinked.
Waiting.
As if the universe itself wanted an answer.
Her heart whispered, Send it.
Her pride whispered, Don't.
For a moment, she imagined the possibilities.
Maybe he would reply.
Maybe he would apologize.
Maybe they would start again.
Or maybe...
Maybe the silence would hurt more than the goodbye ever did.
She took a deep breath.
Then slowly deleted the words.
One letter at a time.
Not because she no longer cared.
Not because the memories were gone.
But because she finally understood something that took her a year to learn:
Not every feeling needs to become a message.
Not every goodbye needs another conversation.
And not every unfinished story deserves another chapter.
She placed her phone face down and looked out the window.
The message was gone.
The feeling remained.
But for the first time, it no longer controlled her.
Some texts are never sent.
And sometimes, that's how healing begins.
Image is AI generated ✨
