The Unexpected Return: How Twenty Years of Birthday Wishes Became a Bridge to Friendship.......

.......A surprising twist to "A (somewhat) Happy/ unhappy love story...."

There are stories we walk away from, thinking the chapter has closed for good. And sometimes, that’s true. But every now and then, something small — almost forgettable — slips through the cracks of time and rewrites the ending in the most gentle, unexpected way.

For me, that something was a birthday message.

From Mr. A.

Every year, like clockwork.

Even after we parted ways, even after I had written our story into the archives of heartbreak and healing, he remembered. It didn’t come with fanfare. No long paragraphs. Just a simple note: “Happy Birthday, Janet. I hope you’re well.”

Year after year. For twenty years.

At first, I didn’t know how to respond. I didn't want to respond since I needed time to heal. I wanted to heal and forgive....not just forgive Mr. A and my mother, but more importantly forgive myself. You see....the way I see it was like this......Mr A. made the choice for both of us to separate 20 years ago. I was never consulted. I did not have a say. Rather it was a choice I had to unwillingly live with coupled with the pain and anger and resentment for 15 years, until I made the choice and had the courage to move on. But more importantly learnt to accept it and be happy with myself on how this experience molded me. The wound was still fresh in the early days, the space still raw. Sometimes I replied with a polite thank you. Other times, I didn’t. But he never stopped. Quietly, respectfully, the message arrived — not as a thread pulling us back together, but as a thread that gently reminded me that care could survive even when romance could not.

Time, they say, is the great healer. But I’ve come to believe it’s also the great revealer. It shows you what matters. Who matters. And what parts of your story are still quietly unfolding, even after the last page has been turned.

And somewhere along that timeline — perhaps in year16, or maybe year 18 ,— something shifted. I stopped feeling pain when I saw his name. I stopped flinching at the memories. I began to feel… peace. Appreciation, even. Not for what we had lost, but for what we once were. For what we still were, in a way — two people who had been part of each other’s formation. Who had loved sincerely. Who had let go without bitterness.

Then, not long ago, almost a year and half ago, we finally had a real conversation again. One that wasn’t about birthdays or small talk. It was about life. Work. Aging parents. Faith. It was natural. Honest. Grounded. And that was the moment I realized — we weren’t just former lovers who had made peace. We were, in fact… friends.

Not the “let’s talk every day” kind of friends. But the kind who checks in now and then and respects the boundaries we set. Who send a kind word when life gets heavy. Who celebrate your joys from afar and pray quietly through your sorrows. Friends who know your history but aren’t stuck in it. Who can laugh about the old days without wanting to return to them. Who see you fully — not as who you were, but as who you’ve become.

It’s not common. And it’s not always possible. But in our case, it is real.

I don’t know what prompted him to remember my birthday for two decades. Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was respect. Or maybe, like me, he never stopped believing that some connections — even when they no longer fit our lives romantically — still deserve to be honored.

There are many kinds of love in this world. The passionate, the complicated, the fleeting. But the one I’ve come to treasure most is the quiet kind. The kind that doesn’t demand to be center stage. The kind that stands in the wings, clapping for you through every season, content just to know you’re okay.

So here we are now — Mr. A and I. Friends.

Not because we never hurt each other, but because we chose to forgive. Not because we needed each other, but because we respected what we once were. And not because we have a future together, but because we found peace in our past.

Sometimes the most beautiful stories don’t come full circle. Sometimes they just settle into a new shape — quieter, simpler, but no less meaningful.

To anyone still healing: hold on. Let time do its work. And don’t be surprised if grace finds you in the most unexpected ways — even in something as small as a birthday wish.

With peace.....

And now to all the readers for whom this story has peaked who this mystery man could be.....here he is ....Mr. A.