Love in the Silence

Rain fell softly against the windows of the old café, creating a rhythmic hum that echoed the silence between them. Amaan stirred his coffee absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the storm outside, but his thoughts were miles away—lost in memories he hadn’t dared to revisit for years.

Across the table, seated with her usual grace, was Meher.

It had been six years since they last saw each other—since she boarded a train to a city far from his world, far from the promises they once made under the starlit sky of their hometown.

"Do you still write?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, just like it used to be—gentle, careful, and filled with unspoken meanings.

Amaan glanced at her, surprised. "Not as much. Words stopped coming when you left."

The pain in his voice was well hidden, but Meher caught it. She always did. That was the thing about love—it leaves traces, even in silence.

“I used to wait for your letters,” he added, “but they stopped. One day, they just stopped.”

Meher lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the cup she hadn’t touched. “I didn’t stop writing,” she said. “They were never sent.”

Amaan looked up sharply. “Why?”

“Because I was afraid they would pull me back. And I couldn’t afford to come back—not then.”

The storm outside grew heavier, as if nature itself was mourning the time they lost. Amaan leaned back, his mind racing through the memories they once shared—late-night phone calls, stolen glances during poetry readings, the scent of old books in the library where they first met.

“Why now?” he asked.

Meher hesitated, then reached into her bag and pulled out a worn, yellowed letter.

“I found this in an old journal,” she said. “It was the last one you sent. I never replied to it. But I’ve read it… maybe a hundred times.”

He took the letter carefully, his fingers brushing against hers for the briefest moment. His heart skipped the way it used to, like it still remembered what hers once sounded like.

“You said we were written in the stars,” she continued. “I wanted to believe that. But life… it had other plans.”

He unfolded the letter slowly. The words were his, but they felt like someone else’s—a younger version of himself, unafraid to dream, unafraid to love.

“Even if the world pulls us apart,” he had written, “I will always find you in the quiet between heartbeats.”

A tear slipped down Meher’s cheek. “Do you think… some loves are meant to return? Even after they’ve been lost?”

Amaan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at her, really looked. The years had changed her, yes—but they hadn’t dimmed the fire in her eyes. If anything, it had only grown deeper, wiser.

“I think,” he said finally, “that some loves never really leave. They wait. Patiently. Quietly. Like whispers in the heart.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “And do you still believe in the stars?”

He looked outside—the rain had softened now, the storm giving way to the golden hue of a setting sun. The sky looked like a painting, filled with warm colors and quiet promise.

“I believe in this moment,” he said. “And that’s enough for me.”

They sat in silence after that. Not the uncomfortable kind. This was the silence of two hearts speaking without words—of stories unfinished, of wounds healing in the light of shared memory.

When Meher finally stood to leave, Amaan rose with her. She paused, her hand on the door.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” she asked. “Just like old times?”

He nodded. “Only if we walk without a destination.”

She smiled. “Always.”

As they stepped out onto the quiet street, the first stars began to appear, one by one, above them. Maybe destiny had its reasons. Maybe time wasn’t their enemy—it was just a necessary pause.

And as their footsteps echoed softly in the night, the past didn’t seem so far away.

Because love—real love—never ends.

It simply waits... for the heart to listen again.