She took my breath away

We met in our first year of college, way back in 1992. She was the smartest, most brilliant, and beautiful girl I had ever seen. Quiet, composed, and a bit of a mystery. She had many admirers but very few friends. It was like she’d built a wall around her—and not many people made it past.

But somehow, we just clicked. Maybe because I was an introvert too.

We parted ways after college. Life took us in different directions. This was before mobile phones, WhatsApp, or social media—back when staying in touch took real effort. And we didn’t make that effort.

Over the years, we bumped into each other a few times—always by chance, and always in the strangest of situations.

Fifteen years ago, a college friend had a serious accident. I rushed to the hospital—and there she was. I didn’t even know she was close to him. The meeting was awkward. We hadn’t seen each other in so long.

Then, a few years later, when my dad was critically ill, she showed up again. I don’t know how she knew. But she was there. For the last few days of his life, she stayed by my side. She was my strength when I didn’t have any.

That time brought us closer. Stirred old emotions. We began speaking more often—on the phone, over messages—but we never managed to meet again. I tried. She always had a reason. Always just out of reach.

Today, after four long years, she finally agreed to meet.

I’ve been chronically ill for a while now. I never told her. I didn’t want pity. But I needed to see her. One last time. The doctors say I don’t have much time left.

And today, she came.

She sat beside me, held my hand, and smiled. I asked her why it took so long. Why now?

She looked at me gently, and said:

“Because every time I come, someone has to go.”