Time moved on, silently.
Not the kind of time that announces itself with change, but the kind that passes quietly, leaving feelings untouched.
Meera didn’t send messages.
She didn’t call.
And Aarav didn’t ask.
He already knew—she loved him. He had seen it once, clearly, in her eyes. That truth had never faded. But knowing someone loves you and being able to be with them are two very different things. Silence slowly became their language, and Aarav carried it without complaint.
He stopped waiting for notifications.
He stopped checking his phone at night.
But he never stopped remembering.
Some days were heavier than others. Especially when memories returned uninvited—moments from the past when Meera spoke about someone else, casually, without realizing how deeply it cut him. That pain had stayed longer than he expected. It hurt more than her silence. Because silence still carried hope, but those words carried distance.
Yet even in pain, Aarav never turned bitter.
He could have blamed her.
He could have questioned fate.
But instead, he chose understanding.
One night, during a restless moment, his eyes fell on the Bhagavad Gita. And there, without effort, the answer found him. Krishna loved Radha, deeply and eternally. Yet Radha was not meant to be his fate. She was meant to live in his soul, not by his side.
Love, Aarav realized, doesn’t always mean possession.
Sometimes it means acceptance.
Sometimes it means loving someone enough to let them walk their own path—even if that path does not include you.
And suddenly, everything felt clearer.
Meera might not be written into his future—but she was written into his memories, his emotions, his growth. She lived in every quiet evening, every softened thought, every version of himself that had learned to love without demand.
She had changed him.
Before her, love was an idea.
After her, love became strength.
He understood then:
Some people are meant to stay forever… just not physically.
He began to see his love not as loss, but as depth. Losing her was not a small thing. It felt like an ocean—wide, silent, endless. Some days were calm. Some days were stormy. But the ocean remained.
Still, he carried that ocean with dignity.
And if, by destiny’s rare kindness, Meera ever chose him—then Aarav knew one thing with certainty. She would not just be loved; she would be honored. Not with grand speeches or dramatic promises, but with daily respect. With patience in arguments. With presence in difficult days. With care in ordinary moments.
He would treat her like a queen—not in fantasy, but in reality.
But if that day never came, Aarav would still remain whole.
Because love like his didn’t depend on outcomes.
It depended on truth.
He loved her because he felt it.
Not because he expected something back.
He decided he would wait—not forever, but with balance. Two or three years. Enough time to see what fate decided. Enough time to know if life had another chapter for them.
And if she returned, he would be there.
If she didn’t, he would still bless her happiness.
Because real love does not shrink into hatred.
It grows into understanding.
In the end, Aarav did not lose her.
He learned how to love without owning.
And that kind of love—quiet, steady, and honest—never truly fades.
It becomes part of who you are.
