We never took a photo together
She left me like she never met me
Which sounds insane, right?
In a world where everything gets documented, I loved someone and didn't get a single photo or memory to prove it.
Her name was Rhea.
We met during a group study in college—both of us too tired to care, too bored to pretend. She was quiet, sarcastic, smart in that effortless way. I was just… curious.
It wasn't fireworks. It was more like fog—slow, settling, almost invisible until you realized you couldn't see clearly without them.
She didn't believe in love, and I didn't believe in labels, so we existed somewhere in between.
Late-night walks. Long voice notes. Sharing playlists. Sitting in silence and not needing to fill it.
She had this habit of pulling away when things felt too real.
She'd disappear for days, then come back like nothing happened. I'd pretend I didn't notice, even though I always did. I never asked for more than she could give. Maybe that was my mistake.
When it ended, it wasn't a fight.
Just distance. Quiet. Fading.
Now it's been two years.
She still comes to mind when certain songs play.
When I drink cold coffee.
When I see couples taking pictures and I wonder if they'll realize how lucky they are to have something to look back on.
We never took a picture.
But she's still framed in my memory like she never left.
Next chapter will uploaded soon