You Are Mine, Always and Forever

It was the middle of spring when Ayaan met Rhea for the first time. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and everything around seemed to glow a little brighter, almost as if the world already knew something beautiful was about to begin.

Rhea was sitting on a bench in the park, her face hidden behind a book. She wasn’t reading, though. She was lost in thought, staring blankly at the same page for minutes. Ayaan, who had come to the park to sketch, noticed her. Something about her silence, her stillness, caught his attention.

He didn’t speak to her that day. He simply sat at a distance and started sketching. But instead of drawing the trees or the lake like he usually did, he drew her—her thoughtful eyes, her calm face, the way her fingers gently touched the edges of her book.

The next day, he came again. And she was there. And again, he didn’t speak, but he drew. Day after day, without a word exchanged, he watched her, and she saw him too. They became part of each other’s routines, without even realizing it.

On the seventh day, as Ayaan sat down and opened his sketchpad, Rhea got up from her bench and walked toward him.

“You always sit there and draw,” she said softly, standing beside him.

Ayaan looked up, surprised but smiling. “And you always sit there and don’t read.”

She laughed—a soft, musical laugh that felt like the warm sun on a cold morning. “You noticed?”

He nodded. “I notice everything about you.”

That was the beginning.

From that day forward, they talked. At first, just simple conversations—about books, music, the weather. Then slowly, the talks became deeper. They spoke about their fears, dreams, past heartbreaks, and silly childhood memories. It was easy with each other. It felt like they had known one another forever.

Ayaan was an artist, quiet and thoughtful. Rhea was a writer, full of imagination and words. Together, they were a perfect match—his drawings matched her stories, her emotions fit into his pictures.

One day, as they walked through the same park, Ayaan stopped under a tree. He turned to her and held out a small, wrapped package.

“What’s this?” she asked, curious.

“Open it,” he said, his eyes glowing with excitement.

She unwrapped the paper and gasped. It was a sketch—of her. Sitting on the bench, lost in thought. It was from the first day he had seen her.

“You drew this?”

He nodded. “The very first time I saw you.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “Why would you keep this all this time?”

“Because from the very first moment, I knew…” he paused, stepping closer to her. “You were mine. Not in a way that means I own you. But in a way that my heart recognized yours. Like you were the part of me I didn’t even know was missing.”

She couldn’t speak. She just reached out and hugged him tightly.

From then on, their love grew. It was simple, but strong. Not the kind of love filled with drama or noise, but the kind that’s soft and deep, like the ocean under calm skies.

They would walk for hours, hands entwined, talking about everything and nothing. They would sit in silence, and still feel complete. They celebrated each other’s little achievements—her finished poems, his completed paintings. They weren’t perfect, but they were perfect for each other.

One rainy evening, as thunder rolled and the skies poured heavily, they found shelter in a small café. Their clothes were wet, their hair dripping, but they were laughing like children.

Ayaan looked at her across the table, her cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. “Marry me,” he said suddenly.

Rhea froze. “What?”

“I mean it. Marry me, Rhea.”

“But we… we haven’t even been together that long.”

“I know,” he said, reaching for her hand. “But time doesn’t measure love. My heart does. And it knows—You are mine, always and forever.”

She looked at him, her heart beating wildly. She had always believed in love, but never thought she’d find someone who made her feel this safe, this seen, this loved.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Ayaan.”

They got married in a small ceremony by the lake where they had first spoken. Just family, a few close friends, and a sky full of stars. It was perfect.

Years passed.

They moved into a cozy little house filled with books, paintings, and memories. They still visited the park, still held hands like they did when they were younger. Life wasn’t always easy. There were struggles—money problems, work stress, health scares—but through it all, they held onto each other.

Every year, on the same spring day they first met, Ayaan would give Rhea a new sketch of her. And every year, Rhea would write him a new letter. They kept them in a box labeled “Our Forever.”

One day, after many beautiful years, Rhea fell ill. It was sudden, unexpected. The doctors tried everything, but her body grew weaker with each passing day.

Ayaan never left her side. He would sit beside her hospital bed, holding her hand, reading her stories, sketching her as she slept.

One evening, she opened her eyes and whispered, “Promise me something.”

“Anything,” Ayaan said, tears already forming.

“Keep drawing me. Even after I’m gone. So that I live on—in your art, in your heart.”

He nodded, unable to speak, just holding her close.

Rhea passed away peacefully that night, her hand in his, a soft smile on her lips.

Ayaan was broken, but he kept his promise. Every spring, he would go to the park, sit on the same bench, and draw her from memory. And every year, he would write a letter to her, just like she used to do for him.

He filled notebook after notebook with love letters to the woman who changed his life.

“You are mine, always and forever,” he would write at the end of every letter. “Even if I can’t see you, I feel you. In every breath, in every beat of my heart, in every stroke of my pencil.”

Years Later

A young couple walking through the park saw an old man sketching quietly under a tree.

“Look at that,” the girl whispered. “He’s drawing a woman.”

The boy smiled. “Maybe she was someone he loved.”

The old man, Ayaan, looked up and smiled at them. “She is someone I love. And always will.”

He closed his sketchbook gently, stood up, and looked at the sky, where the sun was setting softly.

Because true love never ends. It simply changes forms.

And even after everything, one truth remained:

You are mine, always and forever.