Between Two Hearts

Amaan had never been the kind of boy who sought attention. He was quiet, thoughtful, and often kept to himself. He had a smile that wasn’t loud, but warm enough to melt even the most guarded hearts. That smile, without his knowing, would change the lives of two very different girls: Meher and Sana.

They met in college — three souls unknowingly bound by fate.

Meher was fierce, outgoing, and full of laughter. She was the kind of girl who walked into a room and turned heads. But behind her bright eyes was a soft heart, one that longed for someone who would see beyond her boldness.

Sana, on the other hand, was reserved, soft-spoken, and poetic. She wrote verses in her notebook and sat under trees between classes, often lost in her thoughts. She believed in love — the kind that waited patiently, silently, until the time was right.

Both girls noticed Amaan in their own way.

For Meher, it started with a conversation during a college debate. Amaan’s calm, respectful manner stood out in a room full of ego and noise. He listened more than he spoke — and when he did speak, he made her feel heard. She liked that. She wasn’t used to being understood.

Sana noticed Amaan from afar. She admired how he helped the librarian carry books without being asked, or how he smiled at the college janitor every morning. Small things. Beautiful things. And slowly, those small things built a big place in her heart.

Weeks turned into months. The three became friends. And as the bond grew stronger, the unspoken emotions between them grew heavier.

One late afternoon, as the golden sunlight filtered through the canteen windows, Meher sat across Amaan, laughing over a joke. She looked at him — really looked at him — and saw something in his eyes. Not just kindness, but depth. In a sudden surge of courage, she asked, “Do you ever think about… us?”

Amaan looked surprised. “Us?”

“I mean… more than friends?”

He hesitated. “You’re important to me, Meher. Very important.”

That night, Meher went home with hope blooming in her chest.

But across town, under a dim lamp in her bedroom, Sana was writing a letter she’d never have the courage to send. A letter confessing everything she felt. Every smile, every silence, every stolen glance. She folded the letter neatly, placed it in a drawer, and whispered, “Maybe someday.”

The turning point came during the college annual festival.

Sana had performed a poem on stage. It was about love — silent, patient, enduring. Her words echoed through the auditorium, touching every listener, but especially Amaan. He clapped the loudest, his eyes lingering a moment too long when she stepped down.

Later that evening, Amaan found her alone near the college garden.

“That poem… was it about someone?” he asked.

She smiled softly. “Maybe.”

“Can I ask who?”

She looked away. “It doesn’t matter. Some stories are not meant to be told.”

But Amaan, for the first time, saw her differently. Something about her silence screamed louder than any words. And that night, he lay awake, thinking about her — and Meher — and the weight of choosing between two hearts.

Days passed. The trio felt the shift. The conversations weren’t as free. The laughter had pauses. And in the silence between them, love waited. Love — complicated, beautiful, and cruel.

Finally, Amaan made a decision.

He called Meher to the same canteen where they once laughed endlessly. His face was gentle, but firm.

“Meher… you’re one of the best people I’ve known. You’ve shown me what it means to be brave, to be bold, to speak your heart without fear. But…” — he paused — “my heart belongs to someone else.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she nodded. “Sana?”

Amaan didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

That evening, Amaan went to Sana, holding a piece of paper — her letter. She froze.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she whispered.

“I had to,” he replied. “Because sometimes, we wait too long for a ‘maybe’… when the answer has always been yes.”

For the first time, Sana didn’t look away.

Years Later…

At a quiet bookstore, Amaan and Sana sit side by side, fingers interlocked. They don’t talk much, but their silence speaks volumes.

Meher? She moved on. She traveled the world, wrote her own story, and learned that love doesn’t always mean possession — sometimes, it’s letting go with grace.

Three hearts. One choice. And a story written between two hearts, with the ink of honesty, pain, and growth.