If Only He Knew

It had been three days since Riya posted her last entry on Letters I'll Never Send. Three days since she'd bled her heart onto that glowing screen, sending it into the void like a paper boat in a storm.

She hadn't posted again. Not because she didn't feel — but because the feelings had become too much.

And she didn't have time. The annual Harbourview Gala was around the corner, and while Riya usually managed to stay at a polite distance from events like these, this time... she couldn't avoid it.

Her mother had called.

"Riya beta, this year is important. Your father is being honored for the Oberoi Foundation's work in cardiac research. We need you there."

"Of course, Mom," she had said, already knowing resistance was pointless.

But there was more to her stillness than family pressure. Something about this year's gala had started to haunt her.

The mystery guest.

"A face from the world of sports."

And though she knew it was silly — reckless, even — a small voice in the back of her mind kept whispering one name.

Shubman.

She hadn't let herself hope. Not really. But she couldn't stop the thought either.

The next afternoon, she stood in front of her closet, staring at rows of gowns she never wore. She selected a deep wine-colored silk dress — simple but striking. She held it up against herself in the mirror and almost laughed.

As if it matters, she thought. As if he'd ever notice me in a room full of cameras and billionaires.

But she set it aside anyway.

Just in case.

Somewhere across the country — Shubman's POV

The team had the day off, but Shubman didn't rest.

He sat in his hotel room, a black hoodie pulled over his head, headphones on but no music playing. He scrolled through emails, barely skimming any of them — until one stood out.

Subject: Harbourview Gala Invitation – Collaboration with Youth & Sports Wellness Initiative

He almost deleted it out of habit. Then paused.

Apparently, a collaboration had been proposed — something about promoting heart health awareness among young athletes. His team had been quietly pushing it for months. He'd ignored it.

But now, something in him nudged.

Maybe it was the way the past few nights had felt unusually heavy.
Maybe it was that blog.
Maybe it was the girl who kept writing like she saw into his soul.

He hadn't stopped thinking about her.

Who was she?

He'd re-read her post four times now — once in the dressing room before the last match, once before bed, and twice when he couldn't sleep at all.

He didn't know her name. Didn't know her face.
But he felt her words like echoes in his chest.

You smiled, but it didn't reach your eyes.

How could a stranger know that?

And why did it feel like she'd written it for him?

Riya's POV

Twelve days before the gala.

Riya sat at the hospital café, stirring a coffee she didn't plan to drink. Her phone buzzed.

Aahana: Did you RSVP?
Riya: Yes.
Aahana: What are you wearing? Also don't say "scrubs."

She smiled despite herself.

Riya: The wine-colored one.
Aahana: You mean the one you bought for your nonexistent engagement last year? Iconic.

Riya: Shut up.
Aahana: No. You're dressing up for him, aren't you?

Riya froze.

She didn't reply.

Not because it wasn't true — but because it was too true.

Back in Shubman's world

"Gill," his manager said over the phone, "you're good for the Harbourview thing, right? It's next week. Quick speech, photo op, done."

"Sure," he said, without thinking.

But later that night, he opened Instagram again and searched:

#LettersI'llNeverSend

No luck.

She was smart. Anonymous. Careful.
Whoever she was, she didn't want to be found.

And yet...

He wanted to find her.

Not because she was dramatic or poetic — but because she was honest. Real in a way that fame had long stolen from his world.

He didn't know it, but he had already started looking for her.

Seven days before the gala

Riya hadn't posted another blog entry.

She'd tried — but the words wouldn't come. It was like something inside her was waiting.

Then one night, after a particularly long shift in the CCU, she sat at her laptop and typed without thinking.

lettersillneversend.blog
Posted anonymously. 11:47 PM.

To the boy I'll meet only in my dreams,

If I saw you — in real life, face to face — I wouldn't know what to say.

Would I thank you for the comfort you never meant to give me?

Would I apologize for falling in love with you through a screen?

Would I smile and pretend you're just another public figure, even though I've written more words about you than I've spoken to anyone in years?

Or would I say nothing... and just let you walk away?

Sometimes, I wonder if you'd even recognize my silence.

But maybe some souls are meant to stay behind curtains.
To love in whispers.
To ache in anonymity.

And yet...
if by some miracle, you looked up
and saw me — truly saw me —
I wonder if you'd know
that every word was always for you.

—R

And this time, when she clicked Post, her hands trembled.

Because the gala was six days away.

And her world was about to change.