The One Call I Wish I Had Never Answered

The One Call I Wish I Had Never Answered

BY Ubaid

It was a quiet Tuesday evening when my phone started ringing. I remember the exact moment because nothing about that day had been special. I had just returned from work, thrown my bag on the chair, and was sitting by the window watching the sky turn orange. My phone vibrated against the wooden table, breaking the silence.
Unknown number.
Normally, I ignore unknown calls. But that evening, something made me hesitate. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was boredom. Or maybe it was fate quietly rearranging my life.
I answered.
“Hello?” I said cautiously.
There was a brief pause, then a familiar voice I hadn’t heard in years. “Is this… you?”
My heart skipped. It was Sara.
Sara and I had once been inseparable. We met during our first year of university and quickly became everything to each other—best friends, partners in late-night study sessions, and eventually something more. But life has a strange way of pulling people apart. After graduation, misunderstandings, ego, and distance slowly built walls between us. One argument turned into silence. Silence turned into years.
And now, she was calling.
“I got your number from an old friend,” she said softly. “I know it’s been a long time.”
My mind was racing. I had spent years convincing myself I had moved on. I had buried the memories, trained myself not to think about her laugh, her stubbornness, the way she used to look at me like I was her entire world. And now, with one simple call, everything I had suppressed came rushing back.
We talked for an hour that night. At first, it was awkward. Then familiar. We laughed about old professors, remembered silly incidents, and carefully avoided the topic of our breakup. It felt like reopening a book I once loved but had forced myself to close.
When the call ended, I stared at my phone long after the screen went dark.
That should have been it. A nostalgic conversation. A closed chapter revisited for a moment.
But it wasn’t.
The calls became frequent. Every evening around the same time, my phone would ring, and I would answer without hesitation. She told me about her new job, her struggles, her loneliness. I told her about mine. Slowly, the emotional connection we once had began rebuilding itself.
There was just one problem.
She was engaged.
I found out a week later. She mentioned it casually, almost like an afterthought. “It’s not what I wanted,” she confessed. “It just… happened. My family insisted. He’s a good man, but I don’t feel anything.”
Her words should have been my warning sign. Instead, they became my weakness.
I told myself we were just talking. Just catching up. Just friends.
But deep down, I knew it wasn’t innocent.
The more we spoke, the more attached I became. Old feelings don’t die easily; they wait. They hide. And when given the smallest chance, they return stronger than before.
One night, she called me crying.
“I don’t think I can go through with this marriage,” she said between sobs. “I keep thinking about us. About what we had.”
That was the moment I should have ended the call. I should have told her to make her decision independently. I should have protected both of us from the chaos that was about to unfold.
Instead, I let my emotions speak.
“I never stopped caring about you,” I admitted.
Silence followed. A heavy, dangerous silence.
Within days, her engagement became uncertain. She started arguing with her fiancé. Her family grew suspicious. She leaned on me for support, calling me at all hours. I became her escape from a reality she didn’t want to face.
But reality has a way of demanding attention.
Her fiancé found out about our conversations. Not the details, but enough to know something was wrong. Accusations were made. Families were involved. Voices were raised. In the middle of it all, Sara was overwhelmed.
And then, one evening, my phone rang again.
It was her number.
I answered immediately, my chest tight with anxiety.
Her voice was different this time. Tired. Broken.
“This is all a mess,” she whispered. “I thought talking to you would give me clarity. But it’s only made everything harder. I hurt him. I hurt my family. And maybe I hurt you too.”
I didn’t know what to say.
She continued, “Maybe we were meant to stay in the past. Maybe some chapters should never be reopened.”
That was the last real conversation we had.
After that night, she stopped calling. Her number eventually became unreachable. Through mutual friends, I heard she went ahead with the marriage. I don’t know if she is happy. I don’t know if she ever thinks about me.
But I know this: answering that first call changed everything.
Before that evening, she was a memory. A bittersweet part of my past. After that call, she became a fresh wound.
I learned something painful from it all. Not every opportunity to reconnect is a blessing. Sometimes, it’s a test. Sometimes, it’s life asking if you have truly grown or if you will repeat the same mistakes.
If I hadn’t answered that call, she would have remained a closed chapter. I would have kept my peace. She would have faced her decisions without my influence.
Instead, we blurred the lines between past and present, between nostalgia and reality. And in doing so, we created confusion where there could have been clarity.
Now, whenever my phone rings from an unknown number, I pause a little longer.
Because I know how powerful a single “Hello” can be.
Some calls bring opportunity. Some bring closure.
And some… are the ones you wish you had never answered.