Past the Night

"गुज़र जा, ऐ रात, तू गुजर जा..."

It had rained earlier. Not enough to flood anything, just enough to leave the streets slick with memory. The kind of rain that clings more to the air than the ground. I hadn't planned to be out. But the room was stifling, my phone had run out of things to distract me, and something in me needed to breathe.

So I walked.

The campus at night has its own silence. Not the absence of sound—just the quiet thrum of something alive, watching, remembering. Trees dripping. Streetlamps humming. Footsteps feeling louder than they are.

And there she was.

Same bench. Same posture. Back hunched just a little, chin resting on her palm. Hair tied up like she always did when she didn’t want to be seen. But the wind had loosened a few strands. They floated near her face like something hesitant.

She hadn’t seen me yet.

The last time we spoke, I hadn’t said enough. Maybe that was the problem. I didn’t say I missed her. Didn’t say I cared more than I should’ve. Just let her drift away like people do when you don’t anchor them.

Now here she was again. Sitting on the same damn bench.

I could’ve turned away. Walked the longer path around the admin block. But I didn’t.

I walked up. Said her name.

She looked up slowly. Her eyes had that same unreadable calm. She used to stare at the sky like it was a friend who owed her something. Tonight, she looked at me like I was that sky.

“You still roam around at this hour?” she asked.

“You still haunt this bench?”

She smiled a little. “The bench doesn’t ask questions.”

I sat down. Not too close. Not too far.

It didn’t feel new. It didn’t feel comfortable either.

"मुश्किल से संभला है, तू अब नज़र ना लगा..."
It had taken months to stop checking her Instagram stories. Weeks to stop thinking what she'd say about every stupid thing I saw or heard. Nights spent not texting her, and not knowing if she noticed.
"गलती न कर दिल इस रात की आदत में..."
Don’t fall for the quiet.
Don’t mistake the peace of night for permission to feel again.
“ना डूब दरिया में यादों के…”
Because this night was a current.
And if I swam too far in, I wouldn’t come back the same.
“रहम कर रात मुझपे, रहम कर और गुज़र जा…”
Because this night was a test.
Because I didn’t want to forget her, but I couldn’t afford to remember her too well.
Because something real had hovered here.
Not love.
Not anymore.
But the ghost of it.
Sometimes they sit beside you.
And sometimes they walk away.
Soft. Without anger. Without promise.

And now she was sitting next to me like time hadn’t tried to clean her away.

I glanced at the notebook in her lap. Same one she carried everywhere, filled with sentences she never read aloud.

“You still write?” I asked.

“Only when I want to remember things differently.”

“And tonight?”

“Tonight,” she said, without looking at me, “I’m trying not to remember anything.”

The silence after that wasn’t awkward. It was heavy.

I watched her pull a strand of hair behind her ear. Same fingers, same motion. And suddenly I remembered how she'd laugh at her own jokes. How she'd sit cross-legged in library chairs. How she'd never finish her chai but always order it.

She shifted slightly, the bench creaking beneath us. Her knee brushed mine. Accidental. Maybe.

Or maybe not.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Mostly,” she replied.

“You’re not still mad?”

She looked at me then, really looked. “No. Just older.”

That one landed harder than I expected.

The notebook remained closed.

I wanted to ask what she had written. I wanted to ask if she’d thought of me these past few months. I wanted to ask a lot of things that wouldn't change anything.

I didn’t ask.

She turned toward me, just slightly.

“You look the same,” she said.

“You look like you’ve been reading heavier books.”

She smiled. “Only ones that end sadly.”

I laughed, but not loudly. The kind of laugh that people give when they want to touch the moment without holding it.

She stood up first.

Not suddenly. Gently. Like she didn’t want to disturb the memory we’d just created.

“You walking back?” I asked.

She nodded.

I stood too, slower. And something in me hoped she’d say “Walk with me.”

She didn’t.

Just said, “Take care, okay?”

“You too,” I said.

And that was it.

She walked off. Not looking back.

And I stayed for a while. On the bench. Letting the silence return to where it came from.

The night passed eventually. It always does.

But for a moment, I wasn’t sure I wanted it to.

And ghosts don’t leave just because you want them to.

Just like she did.

गुजर जा, ऐ रात, तू गुजर जा, मुश्किल से संभला है, तू अब नज़र ना लगा

गलती न कर दिल इस रात की आदत में, इश्क की राह पर चलने से पहले ठहर जा

ना डूब दरिया में यादों के, तैर नहीं पाएगा तू सवर जा

रहम कर रात मुझपे, रहम कर और गुजर जा, मुश्किल से संभला है, तू नज़र ना लगा