Akheer-e-Yaum (The Last Day)

(Even after separation, love does not end)**

The city didn’t feel the same today.

There was a strange quietness in the air, as if something significant was about to be lost. The sunlight touched the streets, but Ali could only feel darkness inside him. Today was his final day of college — and the final time he would see Fatima.

Three years ago, they were strangers. She, a quiet soul with a love for books. He, an energetic, witty guy who could light up any room. Their first meeting was accidental — over a dropped notebook during a class project. But what started with a simple "thank you" slowly bloomed into conversations, laughter, late-night messages, and finally, love.

Fatima loved poetry, silence, and tea. Ali loved cricket, street food, and her eyes. Their worlds collided gently, like two rivers meeting in the middle of calm.

“Do you ever fear we’ll be apart someday?”

Fatima once asked.

Ali had laughed. “True love doesn’t fear distance. If it’s real, separation can’t erase it.”

But life often listens less to the heart, and more to fate.

Fatima’s father was offered a permanent transfer abroad. She had to leave — and this time, not just cities… but countries.

Ali tried everything — he looked for scholarships, exchange programs, excuses — but reality stood in the way like a brick wall.

Today, at the corner café where they had spent countless hours, they sat together one last time.

Fatima wore a soft cream scarf. Her eyes were tired but peaceful. The noise around them faded.

“I found a home in your presence, Ali,” she said. “But I have to go.”

“And I have to stay,” he replied, struggling to hold back the tremble in his voice.

Fatima looked down, pulling something from her bag — a folded envelope.

“Don’t open it now. After I leave… when you feel the silence loudest.”

They stood. The goodbye felt heavier than a thousand hellos.

“Will you forget me?” she asked, voice low.

Ali smiled sadly. “You don’t forget the breath that keeps you alive. You’re that to me.”

She turned away slowly, eyes shimmering, and disappeared into the crowd.

Ali sat back down at their table. Time moved, but he didn’t.

The coffee turned cold, the day turned to dusk.

He finally opened the letter.

---

"Ali,

Some people arrive in our lives late, yet stay in our hearts forever.

You are that person for me.

If time ever brings us together again, I want to find you at a corner table, with the same smile we started with.

If not, just know I loved you — truly, deeply, and without regret.

This is not goodbye forever…

– Fatima"

---

Ali folded the letter carefully, like it held pieces of his soul. A tear escaped, but he smiled. A soft, fragile smile — the kind that hurts and heals all at once.

Months passed.

Ali didn’t move on. He grew on. He began to write — poems, reflections, little pieces of Fatima hidden in metaphors and moonlight. He became known for his words, but never spoke of their origin.

One day, he was invited to a poetry reading… in the same city Fatima had once flown to.

Standing on stage, Ali looked at the crowd and said:

> “Every poem I ever wrote…

is a conversation with someone I once knew…

and still do, somewhere in the folds of memory.”

Maybe Fatima was there.

Maybe she heard.

Maybe some silences echo louder than spoken words.

---

⭐ The End

it is my last story please published it .

thank you