Forgotten Love

Do you think we’ve forgotten how to love each other?” Manasi’s voice trembled as she broke the silence that had grown between them. Somewhere between the hurried mornings and quiet nights, love had quietly slipped away, unnoticed—until one evening when it all came rushing back. I guess things we hold onto for a long time resurface when a small event triggers them.

Manasi and Sameer had been married for over twenty years. Their lives had become routine—rushed mornings, work pressure, and quiet nights. Somewhere along the way, they had drifted apart, their conversations fading into the background of daily life. The spark in their marriage seemed to be overshadowed by life’s tensions.

One evening, Manasi sat alone on the couch, flipping through an old photo album. She paused at a picture from a trip they had taken years ago. That photo held countless memories of carefree laughter and small, joyful moments at a hill station. She glanced at Sameer, who was sitting across the room, absorbed in his laptop.

“Do you remember this?” Manasi asked, holding up the photo.

Sameer looked up, startled. For a moment, his face softened, and a smile appeared. “Of course I do,” he replied, his voice tinged with nostalgia. “That was a special trip indeed.”

Manasi smiled back, but her heart ached. “What happened to us now?” she wondered. “Are we becoming strangers living together?” As Sameer returned to his work, Manasi sat quietly, lost in her thoughts. Looking at the photo again, she felt a pang in her chest. “Are we still the couple who laughed, dreamed, and lived for each other?” she asked herself.

Later that week, on his way home from work, Sameer parked near a park. He noticed a young couple sitting on a bench, their heads close together, laughing softly. Their joy reminded him of his own early days with Manasi. He could almost hear her laughter and see her excitement at small gestures. He sighed, realizing how life’s relentless pace had consumed them.

Over the past week, Sameer had noticed a change in Manasi—her rare smiles, her quietness, her distance. That night, as they sat in their room, he gently asked, “Manasi, is something wrong? You’ve seemed… distant.”

After hesitating, Manasi looked at him, her face heavy with emotion, nervous. “Sameer… do you think we’ve forgotten how to love each other? It feels like we’ve just faded into the blur of daily life.” With a low tone she asked

Sameer’s heart sank. He reached out and held her hand. “Manasi, love hasn’t disappeared. It’s just changed its language.”

“Changed its language?” she asked softly, tears brimming.

Yes,” Sameer said. “It’s in the little things we do every day. Like when you drop notes in my lunchbox, even if it’s not my favorite sabji. Or when you make my favorite chai after a long day.”

Manasi looked at him, her tears now flowing.

“And isn’t it love,” Sameer continued, “when you listen to my office drama even when you’re exhausted? Or when we share chores without saying a word? What about those walks we take, no matter how brief? And isn’t it love when you silently place food from your plate into mine because you’re too full to finish it?”
Manasi’s heart softened as he spoke. Sameer’s voice grew tender. “Love isn’t always grand gestures or carefree days, Manasi. Sometimes, it’s in the unspoken acts and everyday moments. And if we’ve forgotten to say it, let me remind you now—I love you, and I always will.”
A tear slid down her cheek as she smiled through her emotions. She leaned closer to him, and for the first time in years, they sat holding hands, lost in the comfort of each other’s presence.
That night, as they talked late into the evening, they realized something profound: love wasn’t lost—it had just evolved, deepened in the quiet corners of their shared life.
Manasi found her answer. Love wasn’t just about rekindling the spark; it was about recognizing the warmth that had been there all along.