"A heartfelt short story about closure, choices, and the courage to stay silent. Sometimes, the best reply is none at all,"
It was 11:58 p.m. when my phone lit up.
I remember because I was halfway through an episode I wasn’t really watching.
The name on the screen froze me.
I remember because I was halfway through an episode I wasn’t really watching.
The name on the screen froze me.
After all these years — him.
Just one line.
Five simple words.
But my heart? It went straight into a freefall.
Suddenly, every memory I’d tucked away came rushing back — the laughter, the long drives, the plans that never happened. The goodbyes that never sounded final enough.
For a moment, I considered replying. I typed and deleted a dozen versions of “I’m good.”
Each one felt like opening a door I’d already locked for a reason.
So I put my phone face down.
And in that silence, I realized something: closure doesn’t always come wrapped in conversation. Sometimes, it comes when you finally choose peace over curiosity.
I didn’t reply that night.
Or the next morning.
Or ever.
And strangely, I didn’t feel guilty.
That unread message reminded me of how far I’d come — how I’d rebuilt myself without needing to be remembered.
Not replying wasn’t about bitterness.
It was about self-respect.
Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can send back… is nothing at all.
Just one line.
“Hey. Been thinking about you. How are you?”
Five simple words.
But my heart? It went straight into a freefall.
Suddenly, every memory I’d tucked away came rushing back — the laughter, the long drives, the plans that never happened. The goodbyes that never sounded final enough.
For a moment, I considered replying. I typed and deleted a dozen versions of “I’m good.”
Each one felt like opening a door I’d already locked for a reason.
So I put my phone face down.
And in that silence, I realized something: closure doesn’t always come wrapped in conversation. Sometimes, it comes when you finally choose peace over curiosity.
I didn’t reply that night.
Or the next morning.
Or ever.
And strangely, I didn’t feel guilty.
That unread message reminded me of how far I’d come — how I’d rebuilt myself without needing to be remembered.
Not replying wasn’t about bitterness.
It was about self-respect.
Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can send back… is nothing at all.