Hearts Don’t Lie

Ayaan had never believed in love at first sight. To him, love was something built slowly—one shared laugh, one long conversation, one memory at a time. But that belief changed the day Zoya walked into his classroom, her eyes shy yet curious, her smile like the gentle warmth of early spring.

They were both seventeen, in the final year of high school, still figuring out life and themselves. Zoya had just moved from another city. She was new, quiet, and often looked out the window during class like she belonged somewhere far away.

Ayaan noticed her before anyone else did. Not because she was the prettiest girl in the room—though she was beautiful—but because her silence spoke louder than most people’s words. He didn’t know why, but something about her pulled at his heart, like a story waiting to be read.

They didn’t talk at first. He observed from a distance—how she tied her hair into a loose braid, how she scribbled tiny flowers in the margins of her notebook, how she smiled politely but never deeply.

It wasn’t until their English teacher paired them for a project that fate brought them closer.

“What do you think of this topic?” she asked one afternoon, her voice soft but certain.

That was the first time he heard her speak directly to him, and something shifted inside him.

They began working together after school, meeting in the library, walking partway home, slowly peeling back the layers of each other’s lives.

Zoya told him about her old friends, the city she missed, and how hard it was to fit into places where she felt like a stranger. Ayaan shared his dreams of becoming a writer, about his mother’s struggles after his father left, and how silence had always been his companion—until her.

They started sharing things they had never told anyone. Music, poetry, half-written letters, even secrets. It was innocent and sweet—two young hearts learning how to beat in rhythm.

But in a world that never stops watching, even pure things become difficult.

Rumors spread. Whispered glances in the hallway. Friends asked if something was “going on.” Zoya’s parents noticed how often she smiled at her phone. One evening, her texts stopped.

Ayaan thought maybe she was just tired. Maybe she was busy. But when she didn’t come to school the next day—or the day after that—he knew something was wrong.

She returned a week later, quieter than before. The sparkle in her eyes had faded.

During lunch, he found her sitting alone under the old banyan tree—their tree.

“I missed you,” he said gently.

She didn’t look at him. “I’m sorry, Ayaan. I shouldn’t have let it get this far.”

“What do you mean?”

“My parents found out. They’re angry. They said I’m too young to know what love is. They think I should focus on school, not… feelings.”

“And what do you think?” he asked, heart pounding.

Zoya finally looked up, her eyes filled with unshed tears. “I think... I don’t want to lose you. But I can’t go against them either.”

Silence stretched between them like a fragile thread.

“Then don’t choose,” he said quietly. “Let time decide. If what we have is real… it’ll survive.”

She nodded, but even in that moment, they both knew things had changed.

In the following months, they grew apart. Not out of anger, but out of fear. Ayaan focused on his writing. Zoya stayed away. But neither truly moved on.

The last day of school arrived too fast. Students took photos, signed shirts, and promised to keep in touch—promises most would forget by summer.

Ayaan didn’t expect anything. He stood beneath the banyan tree, alone, holding a notebook filled with poems no one had read.

Then, he saw her.

Zoya walked toward him slowly, holding something in her hand.

“I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” she said, offering him a folded letter.

He took it, fingers brushing against hers.

“I never stopped caring,” she whispered. “But sometimes love needs distance to grow.”

“And sometimes,” Ayaan replied, “it just needs courage.”

She smiled through her tears. “Maybe one day, when we’re ready… we’ll find our way back.”

And then she left.

Years passed. Cities changed. So did they. But some feelings never truly fade.

At twenty-four, Ayaan stood on a small stage, reading an excerpt from his debut novel at a crowded book launch. The title? “Hearts Don’t Lie.”

It was a story of young love, heartbreak, and the truth that some hearts are meant to meet—no matter the time or distance.

As he looked into the audience, his voice caught for a moment.

There she was.

Zoya.

Same quiet grace. Same soft smile. But this time, no sadness in her eyes.

He stepped off the stage after the reading. She met him near the back.

“You wrote our story,” she said.

“I lived it,” he replied.

No more words were needed.

Because when it’s real, when the feelings never truly left