The Sun and Three Years

I was just sitting there, listening to music, when I got an Instagram notification.

It was her.

Someone I had feelings for three years ago. Someone I hadn’t really expected to hear from again.

For a moment, I genuinely thought, What? Is this real? Am I seeing things?

I couldn’t believe it.

I wouldn’t describe what I felt as happiness or excitement. It was more like disbelief. I just sat there, trying to process what had happened.

And then, naturally, my overthinking began.

Why was she messaging me? Did she need something? Was there a problem? Was there some other reason?

Twenty minutes. That’s how long I spent thinking about a message I hadn’t even opened yet.

Eventually, I told myself to stop overthinking. Whatever I was imagining probably wasn’t even close to reality.

So I opened Instagram and replied.

“Hello, what’s up?”

She greeted me by my name. We exchanged a few ordinary messages, and then she told me she needed help with something.

I asked what she needed.

It turned out she was looking for something that, as far as I could figure out, didn’t even exist. I asked around, tried to find some information, but nobody seemed to know anything about it.

Eventually, I told her what I’d found.

She liked my message.

And that was pretty much it.

Three or four messages. That’s all.

After three years, that was our conversation.

I don’t know why, but I kept replaying it in my head for the next two or three hours. Such a small conversation, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Part of me was relieved that we’d finally talked. Another part was disappointed that it ended so quickly.

I kept thinking that maybe I should have continued the conversation. Maybe I could have said something else. Maybe I could have made it last a little longer.

But what was I supposed to do?

There’s a little more to this story than just a random message.

I think we might have had mutual feelings once. There was even a time when she confessed something to me. But I thought she was joking and casually shrugged it off.

Maybe she was serious. Maybe I misunderstood. I honestly don’t know anymore.

A friend once told me that she had found someone else. I guess that’s life. I can’t say I know everything about her life now, and I don’t want to assume too much.

But I do know that I haven’t completely moved on.

Three years is a long time to carry feelings for someone. Sometimes I wonder why I still think about her, why a few ordinary messages can occupy my mind for hours, and why something that happened so long ago still feels unfinished.

And the weirdest thing?

If I could go back and meet my younger self, I don’t think I’d tell him to do anything differently.

I’d probably let everything happen exactly as it did.

Maybe things turned out the way they were supposed to. Maybe they didn’t.

I don’t know.

All I know is that, after three years, she sent me a message.

And for a few minutes, we talked.

Then it was over.