Article: Your Plan, My Plan, Our Plan' ~
Months turned into a year, and life kept moving. Ananya and I stayed in touch sporadically—an occasional text, a random meme, or a quick call on her birthday. But as much as I wanted to keep her close, the time zones and our busy lives created a distance that was hard to bridge.
One evening, after a particularly exhausting day at work, I got a video call from her. It was unexpected but welcome, like a cool breeze on a hot summer day.
“PJ!” she exclaimed as soon as I answered. “Guess what?”
“What?” I asked, amused by her excitement.
“I got promoted!”
“That’s amazing, Ananya!” I said, genuinely thrilled. “You deserve it.”
She beamed, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed since our last meeting.
As the months went by, these calls became more frequent. We’d talk about everything—her adventures in the US, my struggles at work, the books we were reading, and the shows we were binge-watching.
One night, during one of our marathon calls, she said something that caught me off guard.
“PJ, do you ever think about what might have been?”
I paused, unsure of how to respond. “What do you mean?”
“You know... us. If things had been different, if I hadn’t moved...”
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “Of course I do. But I also know that we’re where we’re supposed to be right now.”
She smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “You’ve always been good at saying the right thing.”
Over time, our conversations began to shift. They became deeper, more reflective. We talked about our fears, our dreams, and the kind of lives we wanted to build.
One night, she asked me, “Do you think people can be soulmates without being together?”
“I think so,” I replied after a moment. “Soulmates don’t always have to be romantic. Sometimes, they’re just people who change your life in ways you never expected.”
She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I like that.”
Two years later, I found myself on a flight to New York for a work conference. I hadn’t told Ananya I was coming—I wanted to surprise her.
When I finally stood outside her apartment, my heart was pounding. I knocked, and when she opened the door, her expression went from confusion to pure joy.
“PJ?” she exclaimed, pulling me into a hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Work conference,” I said, grinning. “But I couldn’t come all this way and not see you.”
She laughed, pulling me inside. “You’re unbelievable.”
New York had a pulse of its own, a rhythm that Ananya seemed to move with effortlessly. As we stepped out of her apartment building, the city buzzed around us—yellow cabs honking, street vendors calling out, and the aroma of roasted chestnuts mingling with the faint scent of rain on asphalt.
Our first stop was the High Line, a park built on an old railway line elevated above the city streets. It was a chilly evening, and the breeze carried whispers of stories from the past. Ananya led the way, her scarf fluttering behind her like a flag of freedom.
“Look at this,” she said, pointing to a mural on one of the nearby buildings. It was a burst of colors, abstract yet powerful. “Doesn’t it feel like the city is always talking to you?”
I nodded, taking in the scene. The cityscape stretched out in all directions—steel and glass towering over patches of green. Below us, people walked briskly, their lives unfolding in a symphony of motion.
The next day, we ventured to the Met. The Metropolitan Museum of Art wasn’t just a museum; it was a world within a world. We wandered through halls filled with treasures—Egyptian sarcophagi, Renaissance paintings, and modern sculptures that seemed to defy gravity.
“Do you ever feel like we’re just tiny specks in the grand scheme of things?” I asked, staring at a massive canvas depicting a stormy sea.
Ananya chuckled. “All the time. But I think that’s what makes life beautiful. Even as tiny specks, we have the power to create, to feel, to love.”
Her words lingered with me as we stepped out into the crisp afternoon air.
On the third day, she took me to her favorite bookstore in Greenwich Village. It was a cozy little place, with creaky wooden floors and shelves that seemed to reach the heavens.
“This is my sanctuary,” she said, running her fingers along the spines of well-loved books. “Whenever life feels overwhelming, I come here.”
I picked up a book of poetry and flipped through the pages. “It suits you,” I said. “A place full of stories, just like you.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. “You always know how to make me sound more profound than I am.”
Our evenings were spent walking through Times Square, where the lights were so bright it felt like daytime, even at midnight. The chaos of the place was overwhelming, yet there was something magical about it—the way people from all over the world gathered here, their dreams as vivid as the neon signs above.
“Do you know what I love about New York?” Ananya said, looking up at the towering billboards.
“What?”
“It makes you feel small, but in a good way. Like your problems aren’t the center of the universe.”
I thought about her words as we stood there, surrounded by strangers yet feeling strangely connected to all of them.
Our final evening together was spent on the Staten Island Ferry. The city skyline sparkled like a jewel against the dark waters of the Hudson River. The Statue of Liberty stood tall in the distance, a silent witness to countless stories of hope and resilience.
“This is my favorite view,” she said, leaning against the railing. “It reminds me that no matter how far we go, there’s always a way back.”
I didn’t say anything. I just stood beside her, letting the moment etch itself into my memory.
As I boarded my flight back home, I realized that I hadn’t just visited a city; I had lived a story. And Ananya had been at the heart of it.
One evening, as we walked through Central Park, she turned to me and said, “I’m glad you came.”
“Me too,” I said, my voice soft.
We sat on a bench, watching the city lights twinkle in the distance.
“PJ,” she said after a long silence, “do you ever regret not telling me how you felt back then?”
I looked at her, my heart racing. “I think I did tell you. Maybe not with words, but in my own way.”
She smiled, her eyes glistening. “Yeah, you did.”
When it was time for me to leave, the goodbye was bittersweet.
“Take care of yourself, okay?” she said, hugging me tightly.
“You too,” I replied, reluctant to let go.
As I walked away, I felt a mix of emotions—gratitude for the time we’d spent together, sadness that it was ending, and hope that this wasn’t the last chapter of our story.
Ananya and I continued to stay in touch, and though our lives took us in different directions, our bond remained unshaken.
Sometimes, love isn’t about being together. Sometimes, it’s about being there for each other, no matter the distance or time.
And while I didn’t know what the future held, I knew one thing for sure: Ananya would always be a part of my story.
Labels: Diary
