The Silent Breakup

how it feels when someone leaves without saying goodbye

When the news broke of the Ahmedabad plane crash yesterday,
I did what I always do when life tilts suddenly:

I checked in.
On every name I could think of.
Old friends. Distant cousins. Familiar faces I hadn’t spoken to in years.

If I’ve ever laughed with you, spoken to you, shared a moment that meant something, I keep you on my invisible list — the one I carry quietly in my heart.

One by one, the messages came back.
A simple: “I’m okay.”
A relieved: “Thanks for checking.”
A few long voice notes wrapped in emotion.

Everyone replied.

Everyone… except one.

He’s a doctor.
Someone I used to talk to often — warm voice, quick mind, kind eyes in chat bubbles.

No reply.
My message stayed on a single tick.

So when my message stayed undelivered and unread, I waited.
Told myself: He must be busy. Probably fine.

But something in me stirred —
that quiet gut-knock that whispers: look again.

So I did.
I opened Instagram.

Typed his name. Nothing. No profile. No trace.

Just the ache of realization: Blocked.

There was no fight. No friction. No final word.
Just an ending that arrived in silence —
and stayed.

There’s a grief that comes with being removed from someone’s world
without being given the dignity of goodbye.

Not because you caused harm.
Not because you drifted.
But because they decided… quietly…
that you no longer belonged.

We live in a time where ghosting is a trend.
A normal. we romanticized detachment.
Taught ourselves to treat people like chapters —
to be read, loved, and discarded.
Friendships aren’t planted anymore, they’re bookmarked.
People become… temporary.

And maybe that works for some.
But for those of us who still believe in seeing things through,
who hold onto people long after the conversations fade —
this world feels sharp.

Here I am…..
Still checking in on people I met in 2016.
Still believing that every bond can — and should — last forever if nurtured.

I have always believed that if I care for someone,
I carry them with me.
Not out of duty. Not out of guilt.
But out of heart.

And in moments like this, I wonder...
Do I even belong in this version of the world?
Where ghosting is easier than honesty,
where silence is more common than explanation,
where care feels like an outdated code,
where loving deeply is a language fewer and fewer people seem to understand.

But here’s what I know: I will not stop checking in.

To the one who blocked me:
Maybe you needed distance.
Maybe you needed quiet.
But I wish you’d said something.

Not for closure —
but for care.

To you, reading this:
Have you ever been cut off without closure?
Or maybe you walked away from someone without a word?

This isn’t a guilt trip.
It’s a reminder:
We’re not disposable.
And neither are the people who once held space in our lives.

In a world that celebrates detachment, can you be the one who stays?
Can you be the one who still replies, still reaches out, still believes that connections are meant to be lifelong?

Maybe the world doesn’t always get people like us.
But maybe that’s exactly why we’re needed here.

Till next time,
with heart wide open,
— Hiral