I Am Lost in You

Chapter One: A Glance That Changed Everything

It was a rainy April afternoon in London, the kind that painted the city in silver and blue. The sky hung low with clouds, and the air carried the soft scent of spring blossoms and wet pavement. Emma tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she hurried across Westminster Bridge, the edges of her beige coat fluttering in the breeze.

He saw her before she saw him. Standing beside the railing, hands in his pockets, his eyes wandered across the Thames as if he were reading the story written on the water's surface. His name was Ayaan — a writer from Pakistan, visiting the UK for a literature fellowship. He came to London looking for inspiration. What he found was her.

Emma, a British-Pakistani art student from Kensington, wasn't the type to stop for strangers. She was private, observant, a little too in love with silence. But when she caught Ayaan's eyes, something shifted inside her. It wasn't loud, but it was undeniable. Like hearing a forgotten melody that once meant something.

"You like bridges?" she asked with a shy smile.

Ayaan chuckled softly. "I like the idea of them. Two sides, one connection."

And that was how it began. With a simple line. With the kind of gaze that doesn’t need to linger long to say everything.

Chapter Two: The Language of Silence

Their next meeting wasn't planned. It was fate, coincidence, or something stronger.

At a small bookshop in Notting Hill, their hands reached for the same copy of Rumi's poetry.

Emma looked up and smiled. "We have a pattern."

Ayaan returned the smile, warmth flickering behind his glasses. "Maybe the book chose us."

They shared coffee that day, and then tea the next week. Days turned into weeks. They walked through Hyde Park, sat under willow trees, and spoke about everything and nothing. The bond they shared was quiet yet profound. They didn't need to touch to feel close. Even a glance was loud enough.

Ayaan would often say, "There's something about the way you don't speak that makes me want to listen forever."

Emma, always blushing, never had the courage to say what she felt. But he knew. And she knew he knew.

Chapter Three: Sharmile Jazbaat

He would write about her. In journals, on napkins, in the margins of borrowed books.

Her eyes hold a world where I want to live. Her silence sings. Her laughter is the reason spring exists.

Emma, in her own quiet way, captured him in sketches. She never showed them to anyone. Not even him. But in her sketchbook, he existed in charcoal and light, surrounded by mist and words she never spoke.

They both felt the pull of something deeper, but neither crossed that fragile line. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was beauty in restraint. Maybe it was both.

Chapter Four: The Moment They Almost Said It

It was an unusually clear evening. The London Eye glittered in the background as they stood near the riverbank.

Ayaan reached into his coat pocket and handed her a small notebook.

"It’s yours now."

She flipped through pages filled with poetry, his handwriting uneven but heartfelt. Her breath caught when she saw her name.

She looked up, heart pounding.

"Ayaan, this is..."

He took a step closer. For the first time, their hands brushed.

"It’s everything I couldn't say."

Tears welled in her eyes. She wanted to say, Me too. I feel all of this. I am lost in you too.

But she only whispered, "Thank you."

And he smiled, as if he had heard every word.

Chapter Five: The Storm and the Stillness

One evening, Emma didn’t show up at their usual meeting spot. Nor the next. Ayaan’s messages remained unread. Days passed like years.

Then, a week later, a letter arrived.

"I needed to breathe. To think. I felt myself drowning, but not in pain — in something too beautiful. I wasn’t ready. I hope you understand. And I hope you’ll be there when I find the courage to swim back to you."

He read it again and again. And he waited.

Three weeks later, on the same bridge where they met, Emma stood, holding the same poetry book.

He walked to her, heart trembling.

"I'm here," he said.

She smiled, tears glistening. "I never really left. I was just... lost in you."

He took her hand.

"Then let’s stay lost together."

Chapter Six: Found

They didn’t need grand declarations. Love, for them, wasn’t loud. It was a quiet shelter, a shared umbrella in the rain, two cups of tea going cold in the comfort of presence.

In time, he finished his book. It was called "I Am Lost in You".

The dedication read:

"For the one who taught me that losing yourself in someone isn’t about forgetting who you are... it’s about finding the part of you that only they can awaken."

And she, finally, opened her sketchbook to him. Page after page of moments they lived, in silence, in glances, in love.

Epilogue

They stayed in London. Not forever. But long enough to build something lasting. A studio with ink-stained papers and color-splashed walls. Laughter that echoed like music. And two hearts that never needed to say much, because they had already said everything in the way they looked at each other.

In every glance, a lifetime.

In every silence, a promise.

And in their love — they were both finally found.