Chapter 12 - The Final Chance That Never Was

Chapter 12: The Final Chance That Never Was

He didn’t plan to meet her.

But somehow, the universe — cruel or cathartic — decided otherwise.

They bumped into each other at a train station. Her hair was longer now. Same soft eyes. Same easy smile. It felt like stepping into an old photo, except he wasn’t the same boy who once stood beside her.

“Hey,” she said, like years hadn’t passed. “You look well.”

Aleem froze. Forced a polite smile. “You too.”

She glanced around, a little nervous. “I’ve been meaning to reach out. I thought maybe we could talk properly?”

He didn’t say yes. But he didn’t say no either.

They met at a quiet café. Neutral ground.

She ordered chamomile tea. He barely touched his drink.

“I owe you an apology,” she began.

Aleem didn’t respond. Just waited.

“I was selfish. I kept you close when I knew my heart was somewhere else. You were… good. Too good. And I was scared I’d never find someone who could love me like that again.”

He inhaled slowly. “So when he came around, you dropped me.”

She looked away. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Silence.

Then she said it.

“I think I made a mistake.”

That should’ve meant something. A few years ago, it would’ve torn him apart. Would’ve made him scramble for reasons. For second chances.

Now? It just made him tired.

“I cried because of you,” Aleem said softly.

She looked up.

“I’ve never told anyone that. Not even ABIX. You were the first person I really gave myself to. And you made me believe that being second-best was all I’d ever be.”

She blinked, voice trembling. “Aleem, I—”

“I used to think it was my fault,” he continued. “Like if I’d done more, waited longer, smiled better… maybe you’d have chosen me.”

He paused, then exhaled. “But maybe it was never about not being enough. Maybe I was just too much for someone who only wanted half-measures.”

She looked at him then — fully, as if trying to recognize someone she thought she knew.

“I think I made a mistake,” she said. “And I want to fix it. If you’re willing… can we try again?”

Aleem didn’t answer immediately.

His heart pulsed between nostalgia and sense.
His brain scrambled — mapping old memories onto her new face, asking: what if?
And for a moment — maybe a few long seconds — he almost said yes.

Because part of him still wanted to believe.
That maybe this time, she’d mean it.
That maybe he’d finally be the first choice.

But then… the echo of ABIX surfaced.

Crystal’s firm grip on his shoulder during that rough week.
Ivan’s steady reminder: “You’re not behind. You’re just healing.”
Isabelle’s quiet belief that love should never make you feel small.

And then Hana.

Her eyes when she listened.
The way she never asked for more than what he could give.
How she once told him:

“You don’t have to fight for someone to stay. Real love doesn’t ask you to bleed to be chosen.”

That sentence replayed in his head now — clear, calm, final.

And that was when Aleem finally understood:

He wasn’t still in love with his ex.
He was in love with who he was when he loved her.
But that boy… he had already grown.

So when he finally opened his mouth, it wasn’t an immediate no. It was a tired, reluctant sigh.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “A part of me wants to. But I don’t think I trust this. Not anymore.”

And that was the truth.

Not a firm rejection. Not a clean closure.

Just a man caught between what once was, and what now deserved to be.

Later that night, he messaged Hana.

She came back. She asked if we could try again.

Her reply was short.

What did you say?

Aleem stared at the screen. Then typed:

I wanted to say yes. Honestly. Maybe 60% of me did. ABIX helped me hold it at 50. But you…

He paused. Then sent:

You made me see that the version of her I was in love with… never really existed. I just wanted to be chosen. And that’s not love.

Hana replied after a pause.

You were already enough the first time. She just didn’t know what to do with something real.

And you don’t owe her a second chance just because she finally realized it.

Aleem stared at those words for a long time.
Then let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Thank you.

For pulling me back when I couldn’t pull myself.

There was no grand victory. No celebratory scene.

Just the quiet feeling of knowing he had closed a door — finally, fully — without slamming it.
And this time, it wasn’t her absence that brought peace.

It was his choice.

And in that choice, Aleem reclaimed the most important thing of all.

Himself.