It was a conversation they had never expected to have, but
one that had lingered in the back of their minds for years. The kind of
conversation you avoided, thinking if you didn’t talk about it, maybe it
wouldn’t happen. But there they were, sitting on the worn bench beneath the
ancient oak tree, the one they always came to when life felt heavy.
Aarav leaned back, staring up at the dappled sunlight
breaking through the canopy of leaves. His best friend, Meera, sat beside him,
quiet for a change, her usual laughter subdued. They had been through
everything together—the fights, the celebrations, the heartbreaks, the dreams.
In a world that constantly shifted, they had been each other's constants.
"I need to tell you something," Meera said softly,
breaking the silence. Aarav turned his head to look at her, sensing the gravity
in her voice. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were serious, shadowed
by something deeper.
"If I die first, promise me you'll come see me on my
birthday," she said, her words deliberate, careful.
Aarav blinked, caught off guard. "Why are we talking
about this? You're not going anywhere, Meera. We're going to grow old and
cranky together, remember?" He tried to laugh it off, but the look in
her eyes made the smile falter on his lips.
She smiled, but it was a soft, sad smile, the kind that knew
more than it was letting on. "I know. I’m not planning on dying any
time soon. But life… it’s unpredictable. And I need to know that you’ll do this
for me."
Aarav swallowed, the weight of her words sinking in. "Why
your birthday?" he asked quietly, feeling the chill of an unseen
reality creeping into their sacred space.
Meera shrugged, but there was meaning in her eyes. "It’s
the day I came into the world. It’s always been a day of new beginnings for me,
a reminder that I'm here for a reason. If I’m gone, I don’t want you to come
out of duty or sadness. I want you to celebrate with me, just like we always
do. Even if I’m not there physically… come and remind me I’m not
forgotten."
Aarav’s chest tightened as he considered her request. Meera
was the kind of person who celebrated life, even in its most fragile moments.
It made sense that she would want her memory honored in the same way. But the
thought of losing her, of not having her next to him, felt unbearable.
"You’re not dying," he said again, more
firmly this time, as if saying it could make it true. "I can’t even
imagine what life would be like without you."
Meera reached over and took his hand, her fingers warm and
grounding. "Aarav, we don’t have to imagine it right now. But I need
you to promise me. If I die first, come see me. Bring the things we love. Tell
me the stories I won’t be there for. It doesn’t have to be sad, okay?"
His throat felt tight, but he nodded, squeezing her hand. "I
promise."
Years passed. They never spoke of that conversation again.
Life moved forward, as it always does, and they both assumed they had time. But
time has a way of shifting when you least expect it.
Meera was gone. The news had hit him like a wave crashing,
leaving him breathless and disoriented. One moment she was there, and the next,
she wasn’t. No warning, no time to prepare. Just a phone call that shattered
his world.
In the days that followed, Aarav went through the motions.
The funeral, the condolences, the numbness. But every day, he thought about
that conversation beneath the oak tree, the promise he had made, and the
birthday that was fast approaching.
On the morning of her birthday, Aarav found himself standing
outside the cemetery, clutching a bouquet of wildflowers—the kind Meera loved.
The air was crisp, the sky an endless stretch of blue. It was strange, standing
there with the knowledge that she wasn’t going to laugh at his choice of
flowers or tease him about being late, like she always did.
He walked slowly, his heart heavy but his mind determined.
He found her grave easily, marked by a simple stone. "Meera Kapoor.
Loved by all. Forever our sunshine." The words felt too small for
someone so big, someone who had filled the world with her light.
He knelt down, placing the flowers gently at the base of the
stone. The silence around him was overwhelming, but he remembered her words. "It
doesn’t have to be sad."
Aarav smiled through the tightness in his chest. "Happy
birthday, Meera."
He sat down next to her, the way he used to when they would
meet under the oak tree. The stillness of the cemetery felt nothing like those
carefree days, but he had promised her. He had promised to come, to celebrate
her.
"I brought wildflowers," he said, laughing
a little as he placed them down. "I can hear you saying they’re better
than roses."
For the next hour, Aarav talked. He told her everything she
had missed. About the silly things, the big things, the moments she would have
rolled her eyes at, and the moments she would have loved. He spoke of the
dreams they had shared, the plans they had made that now felt like unfinished
sentences.
Then, with a soft chuckle, he leaned back against the cool
stone. "Do you remember the time we got locked out of your apartment?
You were so sure you could break in through the kitchen window." He
grinned, shaking his head. "You practically fell headfirst into the
sink, and I was there, laughing like an idiot instead of helping you."
Aarav could almost hear Meera’s laughter in the wind, that
infectious giggle she always had when things went wrong. "And then,
after you finally climbed in and unlocked the door from the inside, we realized
the whole time the front door wasn’t even locked!" He threw his head
back and laughed, the memory warm and alive in his heart. "I don’t
think you’ve ever let me live that down."
He paused, looking at her name etched into the stone, the
reality of her absence settling back over him like a heavy weight. "I
know you would’ve had some smart comeback about me being useless in a
crisis," he said softly, wiping a tear that slipped from his eye. "I
miss that. I miss you."
He took a deep breath, feeling the wind brush against his
face as if Meera was there, teasing him, making light of the situation like she
always had. He smiled, remembering her spirit, how she could turn even the
worst moments into something funny, something light.
"You know," Aarav added, his voice quieter
now, "I kept expecting you to come back. For the longest time, I
thought I'd get a message from you, like this was all some elaborate prank. But
you didn’t, and you’re really gone."
He wiped his face again, but this time, there was a strange
comfort in his heart. He wasn’t alone, not entirely. Meera was here, in the
stories, in the laughter, in the quiet moments they still shared, even like
this.
"I’ll come back next year," he promised,
looking up at the sky that seemed to stretch on forever. "I’ll tell you
everything, just like today. And I’ll bring wildflowers again, and maybe this
time I won’t cry so much."
He stood up slowly, brushing off his pants as he looked down
at her grave one last time. "You always made sure I didn’t take life
too seriously, and I promise I’ll try to do the same. But I’ll keep celebrating
with you. Every year. I’ll keep telling you the funny stories."
As he walked away, the wind carried a soft, familiar whisper
through the trees, and Aarav smiled.
"Happy birthday, Meera."
