What If I Had Tried?
Ansh's POV
Ansh stood in the middle of the road.
He didn't know how long he'd been standing there.
Ten seconds.
A minute.
Maybe longer.
Time seemed to have stopped somewhere between Ruhi walking away and the moment he was supposed to accept that she was actually gone.
Again.
His eyes remained fixed on the road ahead, following the direction in which she'd disappeared.
There was nothing there anymore.
Just rain.
Cars passing by.
Streetlights reflecting against the wet asphalt.
People rushing home.
And yet, somehow, he could still see her.
He could still see the way she'd looked at him.
The way their eyes had met.
That one moment.
That single, impossible moment had been enough to drag four years of memories out from somewhere he had buried them.
Ruhi.
His heart clenched around her name.
He swallowed hard.
What just happened?
He had imagined meeting her again countless times.
More times than he would ever admit.
Sometimes he imagined she'd smile.
Sometimes she'd walk past him without noticing.
Sometimes he'd finally get the chance to apologize.
Sometimes he'd tell her everything he'd never been able to say that night.
But never—
never had he imagined her looking directly into his eyes and saying that she didn't know him.
His eyebrows pulled together.
She knows me.
The thought came instinctively.
She knows me.
He couldn't accept anything else.
Because there had been something in her eyes.
He had seen it.
For that brief second, before she looked away, he had seen the same girl he'd loved.
The same eyes.
The same softness.
The same tiny hesitation.
Then it disappeared.
Replaced by something cold.
Something guarded.
Something that looked suspiciously like pain.
His chest tightened.
Was she angry?
Of course she was.
Why wouldn't she be?
He had left her.
He had been the one to end everything.
He had been the one to tell her that he couldn't continue.
He had been the one who promised himself he was doing the right thing.
And now, after four years, he had the audacity to stand in front of her and expect her to welcome him back?
A bitter feeling settled inside his chest.
Maybe I deserved that.
His eyes burned.
He blinked rapidly.
He didn't want to cry.
Not here.
Not in the middle of the road.
Not over her.
Not after four years of pretending he'd learned how to live with it.
A car suddenly zoomed past him.
“HEY! DO YOU WANT TO DIE OR WHAT?!”
The angry shout snapped him back to reality.
Ansh flinched.
He stepped back immediately.
The car disappeared down the road.
For a few seconds, he simply stared after it.
Then he looked around.
Only now did he realize how drenched he was.
His shirt clung to his skin.
Water dripped from his hair onto his forehead.
His hands were cold.
His breathing was uneven.
But none of that mattered.
Because somewhere inside him, something had already broken.
And he knew exactly what had broken it.
Her.
Or perhaps—
the realization that after four years, she could still do this to him.
Ansh lowered his eyes.
He took a deep breath.
It did nothing.
He took another.
Still nothing.
His chest remained painfully tight.
So he started walking.
Slowly.
His feet felt heavier than they ever had.
Every step toward home felt like a step away from her.
And a part of him hated that.
He wanted to turn around.
Run back.
Find her.
Ask her why.
Ask her if she really didn't remember.
Ask her if she had hated him all these years.
Ask her if she had ever missed him.
Ask her if she had ever thought about calling him.
But most of all—
he wanted to ask one question.
Did you ever love me after I left?
He knew he had no right to ask.
So he kept walking.
---
By the time Ansh reached home, the rain had soaked him completely.
He pushed open the door.
His mother came rushing toward him.
“Where have you been, son? I was—”
She stopped.
The rest of her sentence died on her lips.
She looked at him.
Really looked at him.
And something in her expression changed.
His eyes were red.
Not simply from the rain.
There was something behind them.
Something raw.
Something exhausted.
His face looked like someone who had just spent years carrying a weight he had never spoken about—and had suddenly lost the strength to carry it anymore.
His mother stepped closer.
“What happened?”
Ansh looked away.
“Are you okay?”
Her voice softened.
He wanted to answer.
He wanted to say yes.
He wanted to say no.
He wanted to tell her that he had just seen the girl he had spent four years trying to forget.
That she had looked exactly like the person he'd remembered and completely unlike her at the same time.
That she had stood right in front of him and called him a stranger.
That he didn't know whether he was more hurt by her words or by the fact that he knew he had given her every reason to say them.
But instead—
he shook his head.
A tiny smile appeared on his lips.
It was weak.
Fragile.
Almost painful to look at.
“Nothing, Maa…”
His voice was rough.
He cleared his throat.
“It's just… the rainwater.”
His mother didn't move.
She looked at him for another few seconds.
She knew her son.
She knew the difference between his real smile and the ones he used when he didn't want anyone to ask questions.
This was the second kind.
“Ansh…”
“I'm fine, Maa.”
He said it quickly.
Too quickly.
Before she could ask anything else, he walked past her.
Up the stairs.
He didn't look back.
Because he knew that if he did—
he might break.
---
He reached his room and closed the door behind him.
The click of the latch sounded strangely loud.
Silence filled the room.
Ansh stood with his back against the door.
His eyes closed.
And immediately—
she was there.
Ruhi.
Standing in the rain.
Her dupatta flying behind her.
Her eyes meeting his.
Her face changing when she recognized him.
And then—
“I don't know you.”
His eyes opened.
He stared at nothing.
A painful laugh almost escaped him.
“Right…”
His voice sounded foreign even to himself.
“Of course you don't.”
He walked toward the bathroom.
He didn't change his clothes.
Didn't dry his hair.
Didn't even turn on the lights.
He simply stepped inside and turned on the shower.
Warm water began pouring over him.
He stood underneath it.
Still.
Motionless.
Waiting for the warmth to quiet the storm inside his head.
It didn't.
His breathing grew heavier.
His vision blurred.
His legs suddenly felt weak.
And before he could stop himself—
he sank to his knees.
The shower continued running above him.
Warm water struck the back of his neck.
It slid over his shoulders.
Down his arms.
Across his trembling hands.
He pulled his knees toward his chest.
His forehead rested against them.
He closed his eyes.
And for a few seconds—
nothing happened.
Then his mind betrayed him.
A memory appeared.
Ruhi laughing.
Not today's Ruhi.
His Ruhi.
The girl from four years ago.
The girl whose laughter used to make even the worst days feel lighter.
He remembered the way she'd laugh when he teased her.
The way she'd try to act annoyed.
The little frown she'd make.
The way her nose would scrunch up when she was irritated.
He remembered doing it deliberately just because he loved seeing that expression.
A tiny smile appeared on his lips.
For half a second.
Then it disappeared.
Because the memory hurt.
He remembered their calls.
Those painfully short calls.
Five minutes.
Sometimes less.
He remembered staring at his phone, waiting for those few minutes.
He remembered how his entire mood could change simply because her name appeared on his screen.
He remembered hearing her voice after a long day.
He remembered thinking—
This is enough.
Even when it wasn't.
Even when he wanted more.
He had convinced himself that five minutes were better than nothing.
Because she was worth waiting for.
Because he loved her.
Because somehow, even the smallest piece of her felt like something precious.
His throat tightened.
He remembered her asking about his day.
Remembered telling her about his.
Remembered the random conversations.
The stupid jokes.
The teasing.
The arguments that lasted five minutes before one of them started laughing.
The silences that somehow never felt uncomfortable.
The promises.
God—
the promises.
His breathing stopped for a moment.
We'll make it work.
He remembered saying it.
He remembered believing it.
They had been so young.
So certain.
So convinced that love would be enough to overcome everything.
He swallowed.
And another memory came.
Her voice.
“I want you, Ansh.”
His chest twisted.
He pressed his forehead harder against his knees.
I wanted you too.
He had always wanted her.
That was the cruelest part.
He hadn't left because he stopped loving her.
He had left because he loved her and was terrified that his inability to give her enough would eventually destroy her.
At least—
that was what he'd told himself.
His eyes burned.
A tear escaped.
Then another.
He didn't wipe them.
He didn't have the strength.
His shoulders began to shake.
A sob slipped out.
Quiet.
Broken.
He covered his mouth with his hand.
As if there were still someone he needed to hide his pain from.
But there wasn't.
There was no one here.
No family.
No friends.
No Ruhi.
Just him.
And four years' worth of feelings he had never allowed himself to release.
Another sob escaped.
This one deeper.
More painful.
His chest heaved.
He curled further into himself.
And suddenly, the question came.
The question he'd spent years avoiding.
What if I had tried?
He froze.
His eyes opened.
The thought remained.
What if I had tried?
His breathing became uneven.
What if that night he hadn't been so afraid?
What if he had told his family he needed time?
What if he'd asked Ruhi to wait—not forever, not endlessly, but just until he figured things out?
What if they'd fought for the relationship instead of surrendering to everything standing between them?
What if distance hadn't been the end?
What if schedules could have been adjusted?
What if they had been patient?
What if—
His lips trembled.
What if we could have made it work?
The sob that followed tore through him.
He pressed his face against his knees.
Because there was no answer.
And that was what hurt the most.
He would never know.
Maybe they would've failed anyway.
Maybe they would've grown apart.
Maybe four years would've changed them regardless.
But maybe…
maybe they would have made it.
Maybe they would have survived.
Maybe today, instead of standing across a road from a woman pretending not to know him, he would have been standing beside her.
Maybe she would have still laughed at his stupid jokes.
Maybe she would still scrunch her nose when he irritated her.
Maybe her name would still be the first thing he looked for on his phone.
Maybe he wouldn't have spent four years missing someone he had convinced himself he was better off without.
His fingers trembled.
“I'm sorry…”
The words barely made it past his lips.
He didn't know whether he was apologizing to her or to himself.
Maybe both.
His mind returned to her face today.
She had looked older.
More mature.
More beautiful in a way he couldn't explain.
But what struck him most wasn't how much she'd changed.
It was how familiar she still felt.
And that terrified him.
Because he had spent four years learning how to live with her absence.
He had never learned how to live with her presence.
His tears continued falling.
She hates me.
The thought hurt.
But another thought hurt even more.
What if she doesn't care about me anymore?
He had no idea which possibility was worse.
Hate meant she still felt something.
Indifference meant he was truly nothing to her now.
His chest tightened again.
He remembered the way she'd looked at him.
There had been hurt there.
He was sure of it.
And for some reason, that hurt almost comforted him.
Because hurt meant he hadn't been completely forgotten.
But then she had said—
“I don't know you.”
His eyes closed.
Maybe she was trying to protect herself.
Maybe she wanted him to feel what she had felt.
Maybe she really had moved on.
Whatever the reason—
he couldn't blame her.
Not after what he'd done.
Ansh lifted his face toward the shower.
Warm water poured over him.
He let it wash over his face.
For a moment, he wished it could wash away memories too.
The promises.
The calls.
Her laughter.
That night.
Her tears.
His regret.
Everything.
But he knew better.
Some memories didn't disappear.
They simply became quieter.
Until the person they belonged to walked back into your life.
And then—
they became deafening.
Ansh lowered his head again.
His voice broke as he whispered her name.
“Ruhi…”
Four years.
Four entire years.
And somehow, saying her name still felt like coming home.
His eyes filled again.
He took a shaky breath.
Then another.
And finally admitted the truth he'd been running from for years.
“I should've tried.”
His voice cracked.
“I should've tried…”
He bowed his head.
His sobs filled the quiet bathroom.
Because maybe the biggest regret of his life wasn't losing Ruhi.
Maybe it was never finding out what could have happened—
if he had just been brave enough to fight for them.
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