The second-chance romance: Should you really rekindle an old flame?

Three months later, we were back in touch, but only over messages. All messages were formal. It was all logistics, nothing else. I needed to sort out who to give my car to, since it was parked at her place and I had moved cities. She wondered when I’d come by to pick up my stuff from her place, which… used to be our place, back when “our” meant something. We even had to deal with changing the WiFi ownership – such a small, mundane thing, but even that felt like untangling a whole life. Each message was stiff, like we were strangers who just happened to share a past. “Let me know when you’re free to pick up your things,” she wrote. “I’ll arrange for the car handover next week,” I said. No warmth, no “how are you,” no “I miss texting you,” just the bare minimum. Talking to her like that was strange, but I guess that’s what happens when love fades but the care lingers… you’re stuck in this odd, formal space where neither of you knows how to be.

A year passed, and we met again. She had always said we could never be “friends,” and that we could never not be “family”… she was right, I think. There we were, two people who once planned a life together, now meeting so formally – side hugs, small talk, maintaining this careful distance between us. We chatted about random stuff… work, her new job, the weather – anything but us. I remember trying to laugh at some story she told, but it felt forced. Like we were both pretending to be okay. I kept thinking about how it used to be – how we’d laugh over nothing, how we’d sit so close our shoulders touched – but all that was gone. We were just… two people, tied by the past.

Another year went by, and things started to feel different. We’d gotten more comfortable by then – the awkwardness wasn’t as sharp. We met for coffee, and for the first time, we talked about what happened. Not to reconcile, but to make peace. We shared our reasons, our regrets… I told her I felt I’d let her down, and she admitted she’d pushed me too hard sometimes. Those weren’t talks to fix things, they were to let go, to move on for ourselves. I remember her saying, “We were right together… the time wasn’t,” and I just nodded, because… yes, that’s exactly it. Or I thought so. It felt lighter after that, like we’d finally put that chapter to rest.

Six months later, we decided to meet for breakfast – one of our favourite rituals when we were together. I don’t know what hit us that day… maybe the familiarity, the warmth, the obvious love we still had for each other, or just the ease of it all. Honestly, I can’t put a finger on it, but I fell in love with her all over again. And I knew she did too – I could see it in her eyes, that old twinkle. The photos we took that day captured it too, those content smiles we hadn’t worn in years. We spent the whole day together, like old times, cancelling plans we made with others, postponing work… we didn’t know how to not be together. So, we addressed the elephant in the room and bang! We were in a relationship again.

It didn’t even take four days to realise why we parted ways. By the fifth day, we hugged again, this time for good, happily. That hug celebrated the funeral of our relationship – not the four-day fling, but the three-year one we had carried for so long. We both realised we could never be together because we weren’t right for each other. I’ve been so happily single since then, and rekindling this old flame gave me a lot of perspective. Over the years, I researched about it, learned about it, and I want to share all that with you, because maybe it’ll help you think twice before chasing a second-chance romance.

Psychology Today notes that couples often reunite because they believe they’ve invested too much to let go (Source: Freepik)

You must have guessed my take on this already – do not do it!

Data shows second chances are common. A particular study shows 40–50 per cent of people reunited with an ex to start a new relationship. But data also shows that staying together is rarer – only about half of those who reconcile last, often breaking up again within months. In my case, it just took four days.

Our minds are shaped by what is referred to as the “reminiscence bump,” a psychological phenomenon that cloaks past relationships in a shimmering veil of nostalgia, often concealing the jagged edges of reality. We hold onto those relationships and people because they sculpted our identities. However, they rarely align with who we’ve become. I thought I was falling for her again that day at breakfast, but I was only captivated by the ghost of our past – the shared rituals, the warmth, the comfort of familiarity, most of all – not the woman before me whose needs now diverged so sharply from mine. I’ve seen others doing this too, like a colleague-turned-friend who reconnected with her college boyfriend, only to realise the warmth she felt was for the memory of their late-night drives, not the man who now lived a life so different from hers.

The next learning is that unresolved “relationship scripts” govern our interactions. This is a psychological force that binds us to old roles, even when we believe we’ve evolved beyond them. These scripts, etched deep within us, draw us back into familiar patterns – patterns that broke us apart in the first place – because they are the paths we know best, however painful. In those four days, we slipped effortlessly and unknowingly into our old arguments: her needing more certainty than I could offer, me retreating because I felt trapped, as if no time had passed at all. These “scripts” require deliberate unlearning, a task far harder than the heart’s initial spark suggests.

Then comes “attachment styles”; though they may shift, these often anchor us to dynamics that no longer serve us, a psychological truth that illuminates why second chances so often falter. With my secure attachment, I sought a stable, balanced, free connection, but her need for constant reassurance overwhelmed me, a mismatch that became starkly clear in our brief reunion. Our love couldn’t bridge that gap – my need for independence clashed with her desire for closeness, a divide we couldn’t cross. I’ve seen this play out with a friend who, despite her secure attachment, rekindled with an ex whose anxious tendencies led to constant demands for affirmation, leaving her drained and the relationship doomed. Our attachment styles, even when healthy, must align for love to thrive, a truth that second chances often reveal in the harshest light.

Next up is the “mere exposure effect,” a psychological principle where familiarity breeds comfort. This can deceive us into believing an old flame holds more promise than it truly does. We’re drawn to what we know, even when it’s flawed, because it feels safe, predictable, a refuge from the uncertainty of new beginnings. I felt that pull at breakfast, the ease of her presence luring me back, but that familiarity masked the deeper truth of our incompatibility. A friend once shared how she returned to an ex because his habits – his laugh, his coffee order – felt like home, only to realise that “home” was a place of unresolved resentment, not growth. Familiarity can be a siren’s call, but it’s not the foundation for a love that endures.

Now, let me introduce you to the “sunk cost fallacy,” a psychological trap that often drives us to rekindle old flames. It whispers that the time and emotion we’ve invested should mean that something salvageable remains. We fear letting go of what we’ve poured our hearts into, believing that walking away negates the past’s worth, but this blinds us to the present’s truth. I fell into this trap, thinking our three years together meant we had to try again, but those four days showed me that our investment couldn’t change our core differences. I’ve watched my closest friend do the same, clinging to a decade-long relationship by trying again, only to face the same infidelity that broke them apart, her sunk cost keeping her tethered to a cycle of pain. True love doesn’t tally past investments, it asks what builds your future.

The last concept – confirmation bias – is a psychological tendency to seek evidence that supports our desires. This can lead us to overlook the reasons that led to the end of a relationship, focusing instead on what might still work. Psychology Today notes that couples often reunite because they believe they’ve invested too much to let go, seeing only the good – like our shared warmth – while ignoring the bad, like our mismatched needs. I did this, focusing on our love rather than our fights, but reality hit hard.

So, hear me out.

Before you rekindle an old flame, think: will this relationship fit who you are now, or only who you were then? Because love – real, present love – should grow with you, not hold you back in the past.

Mind the Heart attempts to uncover the unspoken in our relationships – or the over-discussed, without nuance – spanning solo paths, family bonds, and romantic hopes. Join us to discover the whys of our ties.