The Promise That Stayed

I was 22 when I met Arjun. It happened during a seminar in my college in Mumbai. I was doing my Master’s in English Literature. I was a simple girl who liked reading, writing poems, and spending time alone. Arjun was 25, a final-year cadet from the Naval Academy. He had come to give a talk about joining the Indian Navy.

When I first saw him, he was standing tall, wearing his navy uniform, speaking with confidence. His smile had something that made me feel warm inside. After the seminar, I don’t know what pushed me, but I stayed back and asked him a question—something small, just to talk to him.

He looked at me, smiled again, and said, “Good question. What’s your name?”

“Priti,” I said, feeling nervous.

“Nice name,” he replied. “I’m Arjun.”

That’s how it started.

After that day, we began talking. First it was through messages, then phone calls. He was posted in Kochi but came to Mumbai often. Each time he came, he met me. We explored the city, had cutting chai at roadside stalls, shared dreams under the stars sitting at Marine Drive. He told me stories of the sea, of ships, of discipline and duty. I told him about my poems, about my fear of being left alone.

He always said, “I’m not going anywhere, Priti. I’ll always come back to you.”

We fell in love slowly but deeply. He was calm, steady, and full of life. I felt safe with him.

One evening, we sat by the beach. The sun was setting. He held my hand and said, “Priti, when I finish my training, I’ll get posted, and I might be far. But I’ll come to you. We’ll marry after that. I promise.”

I looked into his eyes and smiled. “You better not break your promise.”

“I won’t,” he said, tightening his grip on my hand. “Tu milne ka vaada karke gaya hoon. Nibhana hoga.”

Time moved fast. He joined duty after training. He was posted on a Navy ship that patrolled Indian waters. He was busy, but he always messaged. Every time he had network, I would get a “miss you” or “take care.” I waited for those messages like a schoolgirl waits for results.

Then one day, everything stopped.

No messages. No calls.

At first, I thought maybe he was on duty and had no signal. But two days passed. Then three. Then a week.

Then the news came.

His ship had been hit during a routine patrol due to a sudden explosion in the engine room. Three navy officers died.

Arjun was one of them.

I stared at the screen of my phone for hours, reading the same message again and again. My hands were shaking. My legs gave up. I dropped to the floor and cried till I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t believe it. He was just here. He had promised he would come back.

I went to his house. His parents were broken too. I sat in his room, looked at his uniforms, his medals, his books. It all felt so unfair.

I picked up a photo of us, taken at the Gateway of India. He had one arm around me and that wide smile on his face. I held the photo close and whispered, through tears:

“Tu to milne ka waada karke gaya tha… fir kyu nahi aaya? Kyu mujhe akela chhod gaya tu? Bol kyu…?”

I asked that again and again. Every night. Sitting by my window. Talking to the stars, hoping he would hear me.

People told me to move on. That I was young. That life doesn’t stop. But they didn’t know what it meant to lose someone who was not just a boyfriend, but my best friend, my dream, my home.

I didn’t delete his number. I didn’t stop writing to him. I still wrote messages and saved them in drafts. I still looked at his last voice note before sleeping.

And sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I could still hear his voice saying, “Main wapas aaunga, Priti. Promise.”

Maybe he didn’t come back in the way I wanted, but I know he’s still around me—like wind, like waves, like silence.

This pain doesn’t go. It just becomes part of you.

I still write poems. But now, they’re about him. About love that stays. About promises that are broken, but never forgotten.

And every time I see that photo, I cry. Not because he left. But because he loved me enough to promise me forever.

Even if forever was just a few months.

He was my sky.
Now he is my sea.
Gone far away,
But still holding me.