600 Summers...

Part 1

Ever felt like your whole body is screaming to stay, but you still have to walk away? Like every breath hurts, every step feels like betrayal? I did. I felt it in my chest, in my stomach, in the way my hands shook when I let go. We weren’t lovers. We weren’t anything, really. Just two people who met randomly, and somehow still felt like everything. He wasn’t mine. But he felt like home. Like something I’d been searching for without knowing it. And when he looked at me, it was like the world paused—just for a second—and I could finally breathe. That kind of connection doesn’t come often. Maybe never again. And still, I had to walk away. Not because I wanted to. But because staying meant slowly falling apart.

Walking away felt like walking away from something my soul had been waiting for hundreds of years. Like he was my destination, the place I was meant to arrive at after lifetimes of searching. And I turned around just before the finish line. I left him standing there, and with every step I took, it felt like I was tearing away from something ancient and sacred. It felt like dying. Quietly. Without anyone noticing. Like bleeding from the inside while smiling on the outside. I just turned around and left, carrying the weight of everything we could’ve been. And I don’t know if he felt it too. But I did. I still do.

I’m Meera. And I swear, I didn’t know I was in for the worst heartbreak!

Everyone thinks my heartbreak began and ended with Madhav. They saw the breakup, the quiet withdrawal, the way I stopped laughing at lunch and started leaving early. They think they know the story. But they don’t. Because the real pain—the one that still claws at me in the middle of the night—isn’t about him. It’s about someone no one knows. Someone I never spoke about. Not once. Not to anyone.

This story isn’t about Madhav. It’s about a man whose name lives only in my silence. A connection so deep, so sudden, it felt like my soul had been waiting for him across lifetimes. He wasn’t mine. Not officially. Not romantically. But he felt like destiny. Like the final page of a book I didn’t know I’d been writing. And I walked away. I turned around just before the finish line, knowing I’d never reach it again. I buried him in the quietest part of my heart. Locked the door. Threw away the key. No one will ever find him there. Not in my words. Not in my stories. He’s my secret. My ache. The truth I carry like a wound stitched shut with silence. And when I die, he’ll go with me—untouched, unnamed, but never unloved.

This story started with Madhav. Madhav, my ex-boyfriend. Who knew heartbreak could echo like this—through my chest, my throat, my entire body. It wasn’t just a fight. It was the slow collapse of something I thought was solid. It started with a stupid joke he made in front of our colleagues. Something small, maybe, to someone else. But to me, it hit a nerve I’d buried deep. I laughed, because what else could I do? But inside, I felt myself shrinking. That moment cracked something fragile between us, something already worn thin by weeks of quiet tension and unspoken resentment. We argued. Loudly. Sharply. And then came the silence—the kind that doesn’t feel peaceful, but final. I knew I had to leave. And it felt like ripping myself apart. Because he wasn’t just my boyfriend. He was the first person who ever looked at me and didn’t flinch. Who chose me, fully, without hesitation. That kind of love had always felt like a distant dream. And suddenly, I was walking away from it. Not because I wanted to. But because I had to. And it hurt. It hurt so much I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think straight. I felt like I was abandoning the only place I’d ever felt safe. And the worst part? We worked together. Every day. Every meeting. Every shared space. My colleagues knew. They saw the shift. The tension. The way I avoided his eyes. I felt like I was living under a spotlight, with every glance and whisper reminding me of what I’d lost. I wanted to vanish. I wanted to scream in the middle of the office just to break the unbearable quiet. But I didn’t. I kept showing up. I kept pretending. Even when my heart felt like it was breaking a little more with every passing day.

I finally made the decision to leave the company. Facing him every day, carrying the weight of everything unsaid and the quiet humiliation that lingered between us, became too heavy to bear. I thought I loved him. Maybe I did. But lately, I’ve started questioning myself—was it truly love? Or was it the comfort of being chosen, of feeling seen, at a time when everyone else, even my own family, had turned away from me emotionally?

Yes, I was that person—always the backup plan, never the first choice. People saw me, but they never really looked. I was good, I knew that. I looked good, I was kind, I tried. But somehow, it was never enough to be someone’s priority. There was always someone brighter, louder, more obvious. And maybe that’s why Madhav felt like a miracle. My first boyfriend at twenty-five—an age where most girls I knew were already married or planning their second honeymoon. In India, that age carries weight. Expectations. Pressure. You’re supposed to be settled, secure, chosen. But I was just scared. Scared of marrying someone I wasn’t sure about. Scared of being alone. Scared of being wrong. And now, I don’t even know what I loved about us. Was it him? Or was it the feeling of finally being picked? Of not being invisible for once? Maybe I loved the idea of love more than I loved Madhav. Maybe I was just grateful that someone saw me when I was drowning in silence.

I started preparing for interviews. One after another. Seven rejections carved into me like reminders of everything I wasn’t. And then came the eighth. I cleared it. Just like that. The toughest company, the most brutal process—and somehow, I made it through. I didn’t celebrate. I just sat there, staring at the offer letter, wondering how something so difficult felt… almost easy. Maybe it was luck,

….Or maybe, unknowingly, I was stepping into a chapter that my soul had waited lifetimes for. Someone lost long ago was going to be found. Someone my soul already knew, even if I didn’t. And I had no idea what was coming…..