Chunztenz

Part Four: New York

There comes a point in life when you stop chasing people.

Not because you stop caring.

Not because your feelings disappear.

But because life teaches you that the people who are meant to stay will make an effort to remain in your life too.

That has always been one of my biggest lessons.

Maybe that’s why, over the years, I have learned to give people space.

I have learned to respect their lives, their journeys, and their choices.

And perhaps that is exactly why, before my trip to New York, I hesitated.

For ten months, we hadn’t spoken.

The truth is, there was a reason.

After his visit to Canada, we did occasionally talk over the phone.

Our relationship had always been very platonic, sweet, and comfortable.

I have always carried an enormous amount of respect for him.

There was never any pressure between us.

Never any expectations.

But somewhere along the way, I noticed he had created a new Instagram account and never followed me from it.

I know it sounds silly.

But sometimes, it is the smallest things that quietly hurt us.

Not enough to break us.

Just enough to make us step back.

So I did.

I respected his space.

I respected mine.

And perhaps, after all the experiences life has given me, I no longer wanted to chase anyone.

If someone is meant to be in your life, they will also make an effort to stay.

At least, that is what I have learned.

Over the years, I heard many different versions of his life.

Some people said he was married.

Some said he was in a relationship.

Others said he was single.

Almost every time I met someone who knew him, I would somehow find a way to ask.

Most of them would laugh and say they had never seen him with anyone and assumed he was simply busy with work.

The easiest thing to do would have been to ask him directly.

But I never could.

I have always been this way.

When I genuinely like someone, I become timid.

I stop asking questions.

I become a better listener than a speaker.

Maybe I have always been that little girl from Deer Park.

The one who became shy around the person she liked.

So, ten months later, I finally reached out.

And yes, it was me again.

Actually, if I am being completely honest, it has almost always been me.

At this point, you can laugh and say this entire story has been one-sided.

Maybe it has.

But as Selena Gomez once said, the heart wants what it wants.

So one evening in late May, I sent him a message.

I simply asked how he had been after being MIA for so long.

Then I went to sleep.

The next morning, I woke up to his reply.

He asked me how my India trip had been.

That one question immediately made me smile.

Because suddenly I wondered if he had been quietly checking up on me too.

And just like that, the butterflies I felt twenty-three years ago returned once more.

My hands started trembling.

I was smiling at my phone like an absolute idiot.

We eventually spoke over the phone for a few hours.

It was beautiful.

Comfortable.

Easy.

Like no time had passed at all.

Then I told him I was coming to New York.

He jokingly said he would be sitting there with a bouquet of flowers.

The reason he was joking was because I had teased him many times over the years about visiting New York and never actually going.

So naturally, he assumed I was lying again.

Little did he know, this time I wasn’t.

Then came the day I landed in New York.

It was my birthday.

And as exciting as New York was, the truth is, there was only one thing I was truly looking forward to.

Seeing him.

I texted him asking where my bouquet was.

No reply.

Two days passed.

I told myself maybe he wasn’t interested.

Maybe he was busy.

Maybe we wouldn’t meet after all.

So I sent another message.

I told him I would be there for a week and asked if he was free for dinner or coffee.

Then he immediately called me.

He sounded surprised.

He kept saying, “You’re actually here?”

He apologized for not replying sooner and explained that work had been extremely busy.

For some reason, that conversation reminded me of the old days.

The phone calls from 2007.

The familiarity.

The comfort.

The ease.

Then we decided to meet.

I canceled several plans with friends because, if I am being honest, spending time with him was what I was looking forward to the most during this trip.

The day I saw him is a moment I will never forget.

I was standing near a pedestrian crossing when I saw him walking towards me.

For a second, my entire world stopped.

I quickly crossed over to the other side and suddenly felt tears filling my eyes.

I don’t even know why.

I think I was just happy.

Deeply happy.

Twenty-three years of memories were standing right in front of me.

I quickly wiped my tears away and pretended I hadn’t seen him.

I waited for him to break the ice.

And then those butterflies returned again.

The exact same butterflies I had felt twenty-three years ago.

He walked up to me.

We hugged.

And for a moment, the entire world felt still.

He had come directly from work.

And perhaps that sounds insignificant to someone else, but to me, little things matter enormously.

The fact that he came straight from work to see me mattered.

It made me feel important.

It made me feel like he was just as happy to see me.

And once again, I found myself following him.

Just like I had followed him to Deer Park all those years ago.

Only this time, it was New York City.

We went to Times Square.

We went to Roosevelt Island.

The views were breathtaking.

But if I am being honest, his presence mattered more than the city itself.

I spent most of the evening blushing.

We talked for almost eight hours.

Eight beautiful hours.

We spoke about our lives.

Our careers.

Our families.

And we dug up old memories.

We remembered all the different moments life had brought us together.

It was, without a doubt, one of the happiest nights of my adult life.

Then he walked me home.

For someone visiting New York for the first time, perhaps I should have been excited about the city itself.

But my heart was far more excited about the possibility of seeing him again.

I kept many of my evenings free.

I canceled plans with friends.

I aligned my schedule around his work hours.

And honestly, I have no regrets.

Because I met him.

And that alone made the trip worthwhile.

Then we met one more time.

That day, he looked incredibly cute.

He wore a light blue T-shirt, beige pants, and polo shoes.

I quietly took lots of photos.

We went out to eat.

The city was busy with tourists because of the World Cup festivities.

We walked.

We talked.

And we laughed.

At the restaurant, there was a trivia game.

Little did we know how terrible both of us were at general knowledge.

We laughed at ourselves the entire time.

And for those few hours, life felt wonderfully simple.

When he dropped me home that night, I had a feeling it might be our last meeting.

So I asked for one warm hug.

He hugged me.

And it felt exactly how I imagined it would.

Warm.

Safe.

Comfortable.

Then life resumed.

I met friends.

I met cousins.

But secretly, I kept hoping for one more meeting.

It never happened.

He was much busier than I had imagined.

And I respected that.

But on my last night in New York, I remember crying while walking back to where I was staying.

I felt silly.

My heart simply wanted to see him one more time.

And somehow, that hurt.

So before leaving, I sent him a goodbye message.

I admitted that I was disappointed.

I told him I had hoped we would meet one last time.

The next morning, I woke up to his response.

He said he thought I was exhausted after walking thirty-five thousand steps that day.

He said he thought calling me out again would have been selfish.

And just like that, every bit of disappointment disappeared.

I cried again.

This time, not out of sadness.

But because I realized something.

Sometimes people care in ways that don’t always look the way we expect.

Today, I am back in Canada.

We still text occasionally.

But I think this is where I slowly choose to stop.

Not because I care any less.

Not because I am angry.

And certainly not because this story suddenly became less beautiful.

I choose to stop because I don’t want us to slowly become a situationship.

I have reached a point in my life where I no longer want to live in uncertainty.

I don’t want to keep wondering.

I don’t want to constantly question someone’s intentions.

And I don’t want to build an entire future inside my head while the other person may simply be living in the present.

Twenty three years is a long time to carry a feeling.

And perhaps that is exactly why I want to protect it.

I want to preserve this story exactly as it is.

Pure.

Gentle.

Uncomplicated.

I never want us to become something that eventually leaves me feeling resentful.

Because that would erase the beauty of everything we have shared.

Sometimes the most loving thing we can do is to leave things untouched.

To leave them exactly where they are.

Because not every beautiful connection is meant to turn into a relationship.

And not every person we deeply care about is meant to become our partner.

Sometimes they become a memory.

Sometimes they become a lesson.

And sometimes, if we are lucky, they become a feeling that stays with us forever.

I think he will always be that feeling for me.

The boy who quietly travelled beside me for twenty three years without ever truly belonging to me.

And maybe that is okay.

Because after all these years, I finally understand something.

I do not want to force an ending.

I do not want to force a beginning either.

I simply want to be grateful that our paths crossed at all.

And if life decides to bring us together again someday, I will welcome it with an open heart.

But until then, I think this is where I gently let go.

Not of him.

But of the expectations I quietly carried.

Because I have learned that love should never feel like waiting alone.

And perhaps the greatest act of love I can give myself now is choosing peace over uncertainty.

Twenty three years ago, he gave me butterflies.

Today, he still give me butterflies but leaves me with gratitude.

And somehow, that feels like enough.

Maybe he was never meant to become my forever or may be we are meant to be together in the future, who knows?

Or Maybe he was simply meant to become the boy who never left.

Out of eight billion people in this world, I got to carry one beautiful feeling for twenty three years.

And perhaps that is enough.

Because some stories are not measured by their endings.

They are measured by how deeply they touched us while they existed.

And if this truly is my final chapter about him, I hope he knows one thing.

Thank you.

Thank you for twenty three years of butterflies.

Thank you for that bike ride to Deer Park.

Thank you for that butterflies i feel in my stomach in Dharamsala.

Thank you for that beautiful lakeside walk in Canada

Thank you for that wonderful memories in New York.

Thank you for every unexpected crossing of our paths.

And thank you for being the boy who never really left.

❤️

The End… Or maybe not.