The Bench by the Lake

It was a cold autumn morning when Sarah returned to the lake after almost a decade. The air was crisp, and golden leaves floated silently onto the water's surface. The same wooden bench stood at the edge, weathered but strong—just like her memories.

She sat down slowly, brushing off a few dry leaves from the seat. This was where everything had started. Ten years ago, she had met Aarav here—an artist with a sketchbook and the most peaceful eyes she had ever seen.

They used to meet every Sunday. He would draw, she would write. Sometimes they talked for hours, sometimes they said nothing at all. But life, as it often does, got in the way. Sarah had to leave for another city, chasing a job, a future, and everything that made sense—except him.

They had promised to meet again, but promises, too, are fragile like fallen leaves.

Now, ten years later, she returned—half hoping, half afraid. What if he never came back? What if he had moved on?

Just as she was about to leave, a familiar sound caught her attention. The gentle scratch of pencil on paper. She turned, her heart racing.

There he was. Older, slightly grayer, but those same peaceful eyes met hers. He was sitting on the bench behind her, sketching.

“I knew you’d come back,” he said softly, without looking up.

She smiled, tears brimming. “I didn’t know if you’d still be here.”

“I never left.”

And just like that, time melted away. No grand gestures, no dramatic confessions—just two souls who had waited, patiently, for love to return.