“Until the Last Sunset”

She always sat at the same table—corner of the café, by the window, sketchbook in hand, lost in a world of charcoal lines and dreams. Ayan noticed her the first day he walked into Chai & Canvas, a quiet little art café in the heart of Bangalore. Her name was Meher, and the way she brushed her hair behind her ear when she was deep in thought made time slow down for him.

Ayan was a software engineer, the type who didn’t believe in soulmates or poetry—until Meher. She was nothing like him. Where he was logic and deadlines, she was colors and chaos. But something about her presence felt like peace after a long war.

They didn’t speak for weeks. He just came in, ordered his coffee, and watched her from a distance, pretending to read. Until one day, as fate would have it, the café was crowded, and the only empty seat was across from her.

“Do you mind?” he asked, motioning to the chair.

Meher looked up, smiled softly, and said, “Not at all. But I warn you—I draw strangers.”

Ayan chuckled. “I’ve been a stranger most of my life.”

And just like that, a love story began.

Days turned into weeks. Ayan started coming early, just to sit with Meher. She taught him how to draw, how to see the world beyond logic. He taught her how to find structure in her wild heart. They were opposites that made perfect sense.

She’d tell him about the way she painted dreams at night, and he’d talk about coding them into apps. He never believed in magic, but when she laughed, it felt like the universe paused to listen.

Their first kiss was under a rain-soaked tree after she pulled him into the downpour, saying, “Let go. Just feel.”

He felt everything.

Months passed, and Ayan knew he wanted a life with her. He told her one night, under the stars on her terrace, with trembling fingers and a heart wide open.

“I don’t just love you, Meher. I need you in every version of my future.”

She looked at him, eyes shining, and whispered, “Then promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“If ever I’m lost... find me. Even if I push you away.”

He didn’t understand then. He just kissed her forehead and promised.

A few weeks later, Meher changed.

She missed their café dates, stopped drawing, and went silent for hours. Ayan, confused and hurting, asked her what was wrong, but she only said, “I’m just tired.”

He thought it was burnout. Stress. Maybe a fight with her parents.

Then one day, she disappeared.

No texts. No calls. Her number stopped working. Her apartment was empty, and the café owner told him she had left the city.

Ayan’s world shattered.

He searched for her for months. Visited every gallery. Called every friend she ever mentioned. Posted online. Nothing.

Then a year later, a letter arrived at his door. No return address. Just his name, in her handwriting.

Dear Ayan,

I’m sorry. I broke our promise.

But I had to go before you watched me fade. I’ve been sick for a long time. Terminal, they said. I didn’t want you to remember me in a hospital bed, not as the girl who made you dance in the rain.

I loved you. Deeply. Madly. But love isn’t always about holding on. Sometimes, it’s about letting the other person live fully.

You once said you didn’t believe in magic.

You were wrong.

We were magic.

Forever,

Meher

Ayan fell to his knees.

He had lost her.

Years passed.

Ayan never stopped visiting Chai & Canvas. Her corner seat remained untouched. Her sketches still hung on the café wall, fading with time but never with memory.

He eventually opened an art gallery—in her name. “Gallery Meher,” he called it. A place for dreamers, for lovers, for those who understood that some stories don’t end with forever—but live on anyway.

He never married. People asked why.

He always smiled and said, “Because I already found my forever.”

The End