Some people never leave. Some loves never arrive.For six years, Wadid convinced himself he'd moved on from Myra-from the humid ache of Dhaka, the weight of words left unsaid, the ghost of a connection that never quite became real. She was just a memory now: a girl he almost loved, an almost that lingered like heat after rain.Then, out of nowhere, she calls. "Let's meet." Two words, and the past cracks open.Now, in Melbourne, face-to-face for the first time in years, the air between them thickens with everything they never said. Time bends. The flame trees of their youth, the laughter, the glance he never held-all of it returns, vivid and disorienting.Never Arrived is a haunting meditation on the love that slips through our fingers and the silences we carry. Told in fragments of memory and the relentless now, it asks: How do you grieve a love that never had a name? What do you do with the ghosts you create yourself?