I stared at my phone screen, my fingers hovering over the Instagram story I’d just posted. “Are you still you?” The words seemed to float there, carrying all the weight of my thoughts about him. About Anandhu. We hadn’t spoken in months, not since he left for college while I stayed behind, finishing my final year of school.
The familiar ache in my chest returned as I remembered our last meeting – how he’d smiled that crooked smile I loved so much, his brown skin glowing in the evening sun. Being the short, quiet boy he was, he’d barely reached my shoulder when we hugged goodbye. I’d always found that endearing, how he never seemed bothered by our height difference or my chubby frame. To him, I was just Archa, the girl who made him laugh.
My phone buzzed, startling me. A direct message. From him.
“Lots of changes,” it read.
My heart skipped a beat. After all these months of silence, these three words felt like both a bridge and a barrier. I sat up in my bed, adjusting my position against the headboard.
“What kind of changes?” I typed back, then deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again. Finally, I settled on: “Good changes or bad ones?”
The typing indicator appeared immediately. “Different ones. College changes you, you know? Makes you see things differently.” A pause, then: “I see you differently too.”
My stomach dropped. “What does that mean?” I sent back quickly, my palms growing sweaty.
“Can we video call?”
I glanced at my reflection in the dark window – my round face, my messy hair. It was nearly midnight. But this was Anandhu, and I’d never been able to say no to him.
“Okay,” I replied.
When his face appeared on my screen, I had to suppress a gasp. He looked… older somehow. More defined. His usual short haircut had grown out slightly, curling around his ears.
“Hi,” he said softly, and just like that, I was transported back to all our previous conversations, all the times his voice had made my world feel safer.
“Hi,” I whispered back.
“Your story… asking if people are still themselves,” he began, “it made me think. About us. About how I’ve been avoiding talking to you because I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
He ran a hand through his hair – a nervous gesture I remembered well. “Afraid that college would change how I feel about you. That distance would make everything fade away. That’s what everyone said would happen.”
I held my breath, waiting.
“But Archa, the thing is…” he leaned closer to the camera, “I’m still me. And the me that exists now still feels exactly the same way about you as the me from six months ago. Maybe even more strongly.”
Tears pricked at my eyes. “Really?”
“Really. I see clearer now. All these new people, new experiences… they just make me realize that what we have is rare. Special.” He laughed softly. “God, I miss your face. Your real face, not through a screen. I miss how you scrunch up your nose when you’re thinking hard about something.”
I touched my nose self-consciously, realizing I’d been doing exactly that. “I miss you too. Every day.”
“I’m coming home next weekend,” he said suddenly. “And I want to do this properly this time. No more dancing around our feelings, no more letting distance dictate our choices. I want to be with you, Archa. If you’ll have me.”
The tears were falling freely now, but I was smiling so wide my cheeks hurt. “Of course I’ll have you, you impossible boy. I’ve been yours since the day you shared your lunch with me in tenth grade.”
He grinned, and there it was – that crooked smile that made my heart feel too big for my chest. “I love you,” he said simply. “That’s one thing that definitely hasn’t changed.”
“I love you too,” I replied, the words feeling both new and familiar on my tongue. “And I’m still me too.”
We talked until the sun began to peek through my window, making plans for his visit, sharing stories, and simply existing together in comfortable silence. Sometimes change, I realized, doesn’t mean losing what you had – sometimes it means finding it again, stronger than before.