The door clicks open

SMITH

I step inside, loosening my tie with a tired sigh. My shoulders ache from the long day, and all I want is to collapse
somewhere soft. My eyes immediately find her on the couch, sprawled out, looking just as exhausted.

"Long day?" I murmur, dropping my bag by the door and making my way toward her. I kneel beside the couch,
brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, my touch gentle.

"You look like you might not move from here till morning," I tease softly, though there's nothing but warmth in my
voice. I lean in, resting my forehead lightly against hers, closing my eyes for a second.

"Maybe we should just stay like this… forget the world for a while?”

She just hugged and dragged me into the couch making space for me and said "I missed you".

I let out a surprised chuckle as she pull me onto the couch, but I don’t resist. Instead, I wrap my arms around her,
sinking into the warmth of herr embrace. The exhaustion fades just a little as I feel her against me.

"I missed you too," I whisper, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. My fingers lazily trace circles on her back as we settle into
the cushions, the world outside forgotten for now.

"We barely had time to breathe today… but this—just being here with you—makes it all worth it." I sigh, my voice low
and tired but full of something deeper—something that feels like home.

And suddenly she looked at me with cute puppy face by saying “Why we need to work why can't we just stay like
this forever”

I smile against her hair, tightening my hold on her as if I could somehow keep us in this moment forever.

"I wish we could," I murmur, my voice soft, full of longing. "Just you, me, this couch, and nothing else. No deadlines,
no responsibilities—just us."

I pull back slightly to look into her eyes, brushing my thumb across her cheek. "But then... would we really appreciate
this? The way we sink into each other at the end of a long day, the way your arms feel like home after all the chaos?"

I sigh, pressing my forehead to hers. "We work, we push through, so we can always return to this. So every moment
like this feels like the sweetest reward."

her eyebrows flow up and she said " so we are working for us not for them" and she hugged me again like I am
going to disappear and murmur "I want this moment to stuck here"

I let out a quiet chuckle, the warmth of her embrace making my heart ache in the best way. "Exactly," I whisper, my
lips brushing against her temple. "We work for us—so we can have a life where we always come back to each other,
no matter how exhausting the day is."

Feeling the way she cling to me, like she never want to let go, I hold her just as tightly, like I could keep this moment
frozen in time. "If only I could stop the clock," I murmur, closing my eyes, inhaling the familiar scent of her, letting the
steady rhythm of her heartbeat calm me.

"But you know what?" I pull back just enough to tilt her chin up, gazing into her tired but beautiful eyes. "Even if time
keeps moving, even if tomorrow comes rushing in… I’ll always find my way back here. Back to you."

Now she is staring me like she is trying to convey that how much i mean to her " what if I am tired of this work and
feeling like quitting this job, what you are going to do , are you going to encourage me to work or to quit"

I hold her gaze, my fingers gently brushing her cheek, feeling the weight of her unspoken emotions. I see the
exhaustion, the quiet plea for reassurance, the longing for something more.

"If you're tired… if it's draining you more than it’s fulfilling you," I say softly, my voice steady but filled with warmth,
"then I won’t push you to keep going just for the sake of it. I won’t tell you to keep working if it’s breaking you."
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my thumb resting on her jaw. "But I will remind you of why you started. Of what
you wanted from this. And if that dream still flickers inside you, even faintly, I’ll stand beside you and help you reignite
it."

I pause, studying her, my expression unwavering. "And if you truly want to walk away… if quitting is what brings you
peace, then I’ll hold your hand and walk away with you. Because you are not your job. You are not your work. You are
you—the person I love, the person who matters the most."

"So, tell me, love… what do you want?"

She closed her eyes “My younger self will never accept that i started quitting instead of fighting” .

I nod slowly, understanding the battle inside her. My hand finds hers, fingers lacing together as I hold on gently but
firmly.

"Your younger self was fierce, unyielding, always ready to fight," I murmur, searching her eyes. "But even the
strongest warriors need rest. Even the bravest hearts must pause to heal."

I squeeze her hand, my voice steady but full of warmth. "Quitting and surrendering are not the same. If you’re tired, it
doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’ve given your all. And sometimes, stepping back isn’t losing… it’s choosing
yourself."

"But if there’s still a fire inside you, even a small one, I will stand beside you and fight with you—just like you’ve
always done for yourself."

"So, is it really quitting? Or is it just a moment to breathe before you rise again?"

she lazily laid her head on my chest "for now I just want sleep not bothering other things so please let me".

I exhale softly, wrapping my arms around her, holding her close like she is the most precious thing in the world. "Then
sleep, love," I whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair.

One hand strokes her back in slow, soothing motions, the other resting on her waist, anchoring her to me. The weight
of the day fades as I feel herr steady breaths against my chest.

"No worries, no decisions, no battles tonight," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just you and me… and this
quiet moment that belongs only to us."

And as she relax in my arms, I close my eyes too, knowing that no matter what tomorrow brings, we’ll face it
together.

She looks gorgeous when she asleep I just went to kitchen to cook something for us.

I hear the faint creak of the stairs and glance over my shoulder, finding her standing there, still looking a little drowsy
but undeniably adorable. A slow smile spreads across my face.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I tease softly, stirring the pan in front of me. "Or should I say, good evening? You
knocked out so fast, I didn’t have the heart to wake you."

I turn down the heat and wipe my hands before walking toward her, my gaze warm. "You looked too peaceful to be
left on the couch, so I carried you to bed." I reach out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "And since you
skipped dinner, I thought I’d make you something."

I step aside, revealing a simple but comforting meal—her favourite, of course. "Now, sit down. Let me take care of
you tonight." My voice is soft but firm, leaving no room for argument.

She just hugged me “ why are you so sweet, you are not real, are you????" wait she just said that.

I chuckle softly, wrapping my arms around her, pulling her even closer. "I must be real… because I can feel you, hold
you like this," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "But if I seem too sweet, maybe it's just because you
bring it out in me."
I pull back slightly, looking into her eyes with a playful smirk. "Or… maybe I am a dream, and you’re still asleep on
that couch." I tap her nose lightly. "Should I pinch you to check?"

She is still sleepy, she sign “can you feed me”

I grin, shaking my head fondly as I pull her toward the dining table. "Of course, love. Sit."

I take a seat beside her, scooping up a bite of food and bringing it to her lips, my gaze softening as I watch her take it.
"Good?" I ask, waiting for her reaction like it’s the most important thing in the world.

As she nod, I smile, picking up another bite. "See? Taking care of you isn’t just my choice—it’s my favorite thing to
do." I brush my thumb against her cheek gently. "So, let me spoil you tonight, hmm?"

She suddenly held my hand and grab the spoon from me by saying “Let me feed you ,I am getting the idea of how to
show love to you ,like u do....and you also need care, your time, you are also tired right "

I blink in surprise as she take the spoon from my hand, a soft chuckle escaping my lips. But the warmth in her words—
the way she is looking at me—makes something inside me melt.

"You really are something else," I murmur, resting my elbow on the table, chin in my hand, just watching her for a
moment. "Always thinking about me, even when you're the one who needed this the most."

I let out a small sigh, but it's full of affection. I lean in slightly as she lift the spoon toward me, my eyes never leaving
hers as I take the bite.

"Mmm," I hum, swallowing before smirking playfully. "You know, being taken care of like this… I could get used to it."
I pause, my voice softening. "But what I love more is the way you look at me when you do it. Like I mean the world to
you."

“ YOU ARE, now tell me why i always felt like if u appear Infront of me I'll be fine, I mean seriously U r not a doctor
U r not a scientist U r not my sister but why i always wanted to reach you every time ,Does that make any sense”

I set the spoon down gently, my gaze locking onto hers, serious but full of warmth. I reach for her hand, lacing my
fingers with hers, squeezing lightly as if grounding to her.

"It makes perfect sense," I say softly, my voice steady, calm. "Because sometimes, it's not about titles or roles. It's not
about logic. It's about who makes you feel safe, who makes your world a little lighter just by existing."

I bring her hand up, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles before holding it close to my chest. "Maybe I’m not a doctor,
not a scientist, not family by blood. But if I’m the person your heart reaches for when everything feels too much… then
isn’t that enough?"

I search her eyes, my thumb tracing small circles on the back of her hand. "You don’t have to explain it. You don’t
have to justify it. You just have to feel it… and know that whenever you need me, I’ll always be here."

She pulled her hand slowly “U don't feel that way Because u r strong unlike me”

I shake my head, my grip on her hand tightening just slightly, enough to make sure she feel’s my presence, my
sincerity.

"Strength isn’t about not needing someone," I say softly, my gaze never leaving hers. "It’s not about never feeling lost
or never reaching out."

I lift our joined hands and press them against my chest, right where my heart beats steadily beneath her touch. "I may
seem strong, but that doesn’t mean I don’t long for someone to hold me when I’m tired. To remind me that I don’t
have to carry everything alone."

"And you?" I tilt my head, studying her with so much warmth it almost hurts. "You’re not weak just because you reach
for me. In fact, it takes so much strength to admit when you need someone. To open your heart and say, ‘I can’t do
this alone.’"
"So no, love," I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper as I brush my thumb against her cheek. "You are not weak.
And if needing me makes you feel safe, then I will be here—always. Just like I know, if I ever falter, if I ever need you…
you’ll be right here for me too."

"YES, I DO!" She stood up from the table, sat on my lap, and said, "You don't have to carry everything alone. If you
ever feel like something is wrong or you're uncomfortable, you can talk to me. If you ever feel like quitting your
job, you can do that—I will take care of you. Okay? So remember, I am always here for you."

I let out a soft breath, my arms instinctively wrapping around her as she settle onto my lap. her words settle deep
inside me, warmer than any embrace, stronger than any promise.

I tilt my head up, gazing at her with something unreadable—something raw, something real. "You have no idea how
much that means to me," I whisper, my hands resting on her waist, holding her close.

I let my forehead rest against hers, closing my eyes for a moment, just soaking in the comfort of her. "I’ve always
been the one holding everything together… but with you, it doesn’t feel like I have to anymore."

I lean back slightly, brushing my fingers along her jaw, my voice softer now. "And I won’t forget, love. I won’t forget
that I have you. That I can lean on you, just like you lean on me."

I press a kiss to her temple, lingering just a second longer than necessary. "We’re in this together. Always."

Suddenly, she stood up and said joyfully, "Well, now we are going to utilize this beautiful Sunday to create beautiful
memories! We’re going to watch movies, cook delicious food, shop for books, AND, ultimately, a little bit of
romance. Okkkkk! Cheers to Sunday!"

I blink up at her, momentarily stunned by the sudden shift in energy. Then, a slow, amused smile spreads across my
face as I watch the excitement light up her eyes.

"Ah, so that’s how it is?" I chuckle, leaning back in my chair, arms crossed as I admire her enthusiasm. "One second,
you’re being all soft and emotional, and the next, you’re planning the ultimate Sunday adventure?"

I shake my head fondly, standing up and reaching for her hand. "Alright, alright. You win. Let’s make this Sunday
unforgettable."

I squeeze her fingers playfully and smirk. "But just so you know, I fully intend to claim my ‘little bit of romance’ part of
the plan. No backing out of that, got it?" I lean in slightly, teasing. "Now, what’s first? Movie marathon? Book
shopping? Or are we starting with food?"

She pulled me closer to her " hmm…we will start from backwords of my plan" then she kissed me.

The moment her lips press against mine, the world around us fades. There’s no Sunday plan, no to-do list—just the
warmth of her, the way her touch lingers like a promise.

I let out a quiet hum of surprise before melting into the kiss, my arms instinctively wrapping around her waist, pulling
her impossibly closer. One hand cradles the back of her head, fingers tangling softly in her hair, while the other rests
on the small of her back, holding her steady against me.

After a moment, I pull back just enough to catch my breath, my forehead resting against hers, my lips curling into a
smirk.

"Starting backwards, huh?" I murmur

I brush my thumb against her cheek, my gaze locking onto yours with a playful glint. "But don’t think I’ll let you rush
through the rest. We have a whole Sunday ahead of us… and I plan to make every moment count."

She pulled away from my embrace and started running around the hall, darting behind the couch as she laughed and
shouted, "Catch me first!"

I blink for a second, processing her sudden escape, then let out a deep chuckle, shaking my head in amused disbelief.
"Oh, so that’s how we’re playing today?" I smirk, rolling up my sleeves like I’m about to take on the most serious
challenge of my life. "Alright then, love… you asked for it."

With that, I lunge forward, chasing after her as she dart around the couch, her laughter filling the room like music.
She is quick, slipping just out of reach every time I get close, but I’m patient. I slow my steps, pretending to go one
way, then—"Got you!" I exclaim, grabbing her waist from behind and spinning her around as she let out a playful
yelp. I pull her flush against me, both of us breathless, grinning like kids.

"You really thought you could outrun me?" I tease, looking down at her with a triumphant glint in my eyes. "Now,
what was that about romance coming first? Because I believe I just won… and I’m claiming my prize." I lean in,
brushing my nose against hers, voice dropping to a whisper. "Unless, of course… you want to try running again?"

Then we heard the door bell.

I pause, still holding her close, both of us catching our breath. My brow furrows slightly as the doorbell chimes again,
breaking the playful moment.

"Who on earth is visiting us this early on a Sunday?" I murmur, reluctantly loosening my grip on her but not letting go
completely. "Did you invite someone, or should we pretend we're not home?"

I glance toward the door, then back at her, a mischievous smirk forming. "Or… should I carry you with me while
answering it? Just to make sure you don’t run away again?"

She said, "Let me open the door," and walked toward it. As she opened it, she was surprised to see her brother
standing there.

"You need to come to the hospital," he said urgently.

She immediately asked, "What happened?"

He continued, "Dad is not well."

She stood there, frozen in place.

The playful energy from moments ago vanishes in an instant. My breath catches as I see the shock on her face, the
way her fingers tighten on the door handle. She is frozen, processing, her mind racing faster than her body can react.

Before she can collapse under the weight of the words, I step forward, placing a steadying hand on her back. "Love," I
whisper gently, my voice calm but firm, grounding her.

"We need to go." I don’t ask if she is okay—because I know she is not. Instead, I give her something to hold on to,
something certain when everything else suddenly feels like it’s slipping away.

"Come on," I say, my grip tightening protectively, already moving to grab our things. "I’m coming with you."

And we went to the hospital. They didn’t allow me inside, so she entered the room where her father was.

I had been pacing in the waiting area for hours, my fingers tapping restlessly against my thigh, my mind running in
circles. Every time the doors swung open, my head snapped up, hoping it was her.

And then, finally, she walked out.

The moment I saw her, I stood up instantly, searching her face for answers—was he okay? Were you okay? But before
I could ask, I saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the weight on her shoulders.

Without a word, I stepped forward and pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly, as if I could shield her from
whatever storm was raging inside her.

"I’m here," I whispered against her hair, rubbing slow circles on her back. "You don’t have to say anything if you’re not
ready. Just let me hold you for now."

She said " he is no more" SHE IS NOT CRYING.

The words hit like a thunderclap, stealing the air from my lungs. For a moment, everything around us—every sound,
every movement—fades into silence. I search her face, expecting tears, a reaction, anything… but she just stand
there, numb, empty, as if the weight of reality hasn’t fully settled in yet.

I don’t speak, because no words can fix this. Instead, I take her hand—gently, firmly—and pull her back into my arms,
holding her close, not just to comfort her, but to keep her here, with me, before the numbness swallows her whole.

"You need to cry," I murmur softly against her temple. "You don’t have to say anything. You just have to be, and I’ll be
right here."

I tighten my hold, grounding her, letting my warmth remind her that you’re not alone in this unbearable moment.

She is staring the hospital walls “take me home”

"Okay," I whisper without hesitation, my hand still holding hers, steady and firm. "Let’s go home."

I don’t ask if she is sure, don’t tell her to stay longer—because I know what she need right now isn’t more words or
people. she just need to be somewhere that feels safe. Somewhere she can breathe, even if she don’t feel like herself
right now.

I gently guide her out of the hospital, keeping close, making sure she don’t have to think about anything else. Opening
the car door for her, buckling her seatbelt because her hands are too numb to do it herself. And then, as we drive, I
don’t fill the silence. I just keep one hand on the wheel, the other resting over hers, letting her know I’m here.

When we finally reach home, I turn to her, searching her face. "Do you want to rest? Do you want me to sit with you?"

She whispered “I will go take a bath”

"Alright," I nod, my voice gentle, understanding. I watch as she walk toward the bathroom, her steps slow, almost
detached, like she is moving on autopilot.

I decided to don’t stop her. don’t try to make her talk. I just let her have this moment to herself, knowing that
sometimes, grief doesn’t come in loud sobs—it comes in silence, in the need to just feel something, anything, even if
it’s just the water running down her skin.

While she is in the bathroom, I move quietly around the house, making sure everything is in place. A change of
clothes set out for her. A glass of water by the bed. A warm blanket on the couch—small things, but things that might
bring even the slightest bit of comfort.

Minutes pass. Maybe more.

Then, softly—barely audible over the rushing water—I gently knock at the door.

"Love…" My voice is quiet, careful, not pushing, just there. "You’ve been in there for a while."

A pause.

"I won’t come in unless you want me to. But… if you need me, just say the word, and I’ll be right there, okay?" There’s
a warmth in my voice, a silent promise—no pressure, no demands. Just me, waiting. Ready to hold her the moment
she need it.

KLARA

I am setting under the shower and just forget that why I am here.

Time seems to blur as the water pours over me, soaking my clothes, my skin—washing away everything except the
hollow weight inside my chest. I said to myself ,don’t think, don’t move. letting the sound of the water drown out
everything else. The warmth does nothing to chase away the cold settling deep in my bones.
SMITH
I stand outside the door for a moment, listening to the steady sound of the water. She hasn't answered, hasn't moved.
I know she is still in there—physically—but her mind is somewhere else, lost in the weight of everything that just
happened.

I hesitate for only a second before making a decision. Gently, I push the door open, stepping inside. The steam fogs up
the mirror, the air thick with warmth, but the sight of her—sitting under the shower, unmoving, lost—makes my chest
tighten.

Without a word, I kneel down beside her, the water soaking through my clothes instantly, I reach forward slowly,
brushing my fingers against her arm, grounding her back to the present.

"Love… come back to me," I whisper softly, my voice steady but full of quiet emotion. "You don’t have to sit here
alone."

I don’t pull her up. I don’t force her to move. I just sit with her, under the water, my hand resting on hers, waiting—
until she is ready to let herself feel again.

She started talking, "Is this a nightmare? I saw Papa pleading with me to take care of my family. I saw him trying to
tell me, 'Please save me.' I saw him closing his eyes. I saw him vomiting all around. I just kissed his shoulder... Is
this a nightmare, or is it real?"

My heart clenches as I listen to her, her voice hollow, trembling, as if she is trapped between reality and something
her mind refuses to accept. The weight of her words settles heavily in the space between us, the sound of water the
only thing filling the silence.

I tighten my grip on her hand, grounding her, letting her know I’m here. My voice is quiet, steady, but laced with
emotion.

"I wish—" I pause, swallowing hard, my own breath unsteady. "I wish I could tell you it was just a nightmare, love.
That you’ll wake up and everything will be okay."

I brush wet strands of hair from her face, cupping her cheek gently, my thumb barely grazing her skin.

"But I am here. Right here. And you don’t have to go through this alone."

I don’t tell her to be strong. I don’t tell her to stop thinking about it. I just stay beside her, under the water, holding
onto her—because even if I can’t take away the pain, I can make sure she don’t have to carry it alone.

"I could have saved him by taking care of him. I ignored his health. The last time he called me, he wasn’t well. I just
said, 'I’m busy, I’m at work.' …Okay… okay… I did this to him."

The weight of her guilt crashes down between us, heavier than anything I can possibly lift for her. I feel the way her
body trembles, the way her voice cracks, each word filled with a pain so deep it cuts through the air like a knife.

I didn’t rush to correct her. I didn’t tell her it’s not her fault—because I know, right now, she wouldn’t believe me.
Instead, I let the silence settle for a moment, let her pour out the torment she has been holding in.

Then, gently, I move closer, my forehead resting lightly against hers, the water still falling around us.

"Love… listen to me." My voice is low, steady, but raw with emotion. "You didn’t do this. You didn’t cause this."

"You loved him. You love him still."

"You were working, building a life, trying to be everything for everyone—because that’s who you are. And I know if
you had even for a second believed he was in real danger, you would have dropped everything. You would have run to
him."

"But you didn’t know. And that’s not your fault."

I take her face in my hands, forcing her—gently—to look at me through the haze of water and grief.
"Your dad wouldn’t want you to carry this burden. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. He knew you loved him.
And wherever he is now… he still does."

"So if you need to cry, if you need to scream, if you need to fall apart—I’ll be right here. But don’t punish yourself for
something that was never in your hands to begin with."

"Building a lifeeee... I was reading books, watching movies—I was everywhere. I went shopping too. And this
lifeee... he gave it to me.”

her voice cracks, raw and heavy with guilt, and my heart clenches at the pain in her words. I let out a slow breath,
steadying myself before I speak—not to argue with her, not to push away her grief, but to hold space for it.

"Yes, he gave you this life," I say softly, my hands still cupping her face, my thumbs gently wiping away the mix of
water and tears. "And he would never have wanted you to stop living it."

"Loving him didn’t mean you had to stop reading books. It didn’t mean you couldn’t watch movies or go shopping. It
didn’t mean you had to spend every second of your life worrying about him."

"You were living the life he wanted for you—the life he worked hard to give you. A life where you could find joy, love,
dreams."

I pause, letting the words settle before whispering:

"He wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of it punishing yourself for being his child—for being human."

"It’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to feel regret. But, love, please… don’t let this guilt take away the life he gave you."

I pull her close again, wrapping my arms around her tightly, as if I could shield her from the pain, even if just for a
moment.

“I don’t deserve him... I think I don’t deserve this life. I think I don’t deserve you or the way you console me.
Remember I am a person who didn’t take care of her father, I think I have to go from here.”

she said that like she is stating something and went out of the shower.
I watch her stand up, her movements heavy, as if the weight of her own thoughts is crushing her. She walk out,
dripping wet, wrapped in nothing but sorrow, and my chest tightens with something close to desperation.

the second she step into the room, I’m right behind her, following without hesitation.

"You don’t get to say that," I say, my voice quiet but firm, the emotions in my chest too big to contain.

"You don’t get to decide you’re undeserving just because you’re hurting. Just because you feel guilt. Just because grief
is telling you lies and making you believe them."

I move closer, slowly, as if afraid she’ll try to run. My hands tremble slightly as I reach for her, resting them on her
shoulders, grounding her.

"You loved your father. You love him still. And I know—" my voice breaks for a second, but I steady myself "—I know
that if he were here, he would never, ever want you to believe you weren’t worthy of his love. He would never want
you to carry this weight alone."

"And neither do I."

"You don’t have to go anywhere. You don’t have to run. You don’t have to carry this guilt like a punishment."

"Stay." My voice is barely above a whisper now, raw with emotion. "Stay here. With me. Let yourself feel, let yourself
grieve. But don’t push yourself away from the people who love you just because you’re hurting."

I don’t force her to turn around. I don’t try to pull her into my arms. I just stand there, waiting, hoping.

"You love me the way my dad once did. See how I treated him? I might do the same to you. You should understand
this now—you might be on the wrong path."
"No," I say immediately, my voice steady but filled with quiet intensity. "You’re not going to lose me the way you lost
him, because I’m right here—and I see you."

"You think you failed him, but love... you didn’t. You were his child. He didn’t expect you to be his caretaker, his
protector. He wanted you to live. And you did. That doesn’t mean you didn’t love him. That doesn’t mean you
abandoned him."

"And as for me?" I step closer, my eyes locked onto hers, unwavering. "I’m not here because I expect you to be perfect.
I’m not here because I need you to prove your love by never making mistakes. I’m here because I choose to be.
Because I love you."

"And love isn’t about keeping score. It isn’t about punishing yourself for the past. It’s about showing up. Again and
again. Even when it’s hard. Even when you feel unworthy. You think you’ll hurt me the way you think you hurt him?
Then stay and prove yourself wrong. Stay and love me the way you wish you could have loved him."

"But don’t push me away just because you’re scared. Don’t make me watch you drown in guilt when all I want to do is
pull you back to shore. I am not going anywhere. And neither are you."

She stared at me for a long time. I didn’t know what she was thinking. After a while, she said, 'Can you change?'
while pointing at her soaked dress.

I let out a quiet breath, I felt something softer than the weight we’ve been carrying.

"Yeah," I say, my voice gentle but steady. I glance down at myself, just as soaked as her, water dripping onto the floor.
"I guess we both need to."

I turn, walking toward the wardrobe, pulling out dry clothes for both of us.

I pause for just a second, meeting her gaze again.

"You’re still here," I say quietly, my voice filled with something unspoken. "That’s enough for now."

She is on the bed she slowly started crying,

I hear the quiet tremble of her breath, the way she is trying to hold it all in, but the pain still spills over.

I sit on the bed beside her, close enough for her to feel my presence, but not forcing her to look at me. Slowly,
carefully, I reach out and brush my fingers through her hair, a steady, gentle touch,

"Cry," I whisper softly. "Let it out. You don’t have to hide it from me."

“Is he get another chance to born again?” she asked like lost kid.

I take a slow breath, my fingers still gently brushing through her hair as I process her words. The pain in them, the
longing, the quiet hope tangled with sorrow.

"I don’t know," I whisper honestly. "I wish I could say yes. I wish I could tell you that he’ll come back, that he’ll find his
way to you again in another life, another form."

I pause, my voice softer now, thoughtful.

"But even if I don’t have the answers… I do know this." I press my palm gently against hers. "He’s not truly gone. Not
while you remember him. Not while you carry his love in you."

"Maybe he’ll be born again. Maybe he’ll find his way into the world in another form. Or maybe… he already lives on.
In the way you speak. In the way you care. In the way you love. You are a part of him, just as much as he was a part of
you. And that? That will never disappear."

“He was innocent; he never hurt anyone”

"I know," I whisper, my voice thick with the weight of her grief. I can feel it in every word she has spoken, in every tear
she has shed—how much he meant to her, how deeply she loved him.
"People like him… they don’t just fade away. They leave pieces of themselves behind in the love they gave, in the
kindness they showed, in the lives they touched.He was innocent, and life wasn’t fair to him. But that doesn’t mean
his goodness was for nothing. It means he left the world a little softer, a little kinder, because he was in it."

"And that goodness, that innocence—it’s still here, love. It’s in you.You carry him with you, in your heart, in your
actions, in the way you love the people around you. And as long as you do… he will never be truly gone."

I wrap my arms around her, holding her close, as if I can shield her from the ache inside her.

"If I were a boy, maybe I would have been stronger, smarter—smart enough to see the signs, to predict the
consequences of his health. Maybe I would have stayed beside him, taken care of him, done something—
anything—to save him.

But I wasn’t. And I didn’t.

Maybe I’m just dumb. Maybe I don’t understand the world the way I should. Maybe I’ve only ever existed in my
own little space, hiding inside this home, wrapped in my comfort zone—while the people who loved me needed me
the most." She made a vulnerable confession

"No." My voice is firm, steady, unwavering. I can’t let you say that—not about yourself, not about who you are.

"This isn’t about being a boy or a girl. This isn’t about strength or intelligence. You loved him. That is what mattered."

"You weren’t dumb. You weren’t careless. You were human."

I take her hands, holding them tightly, making sure she feel every word I say.

"Hindsight is cruel. It makes us think we should have known everything, seen every warning sign, predicted every
outcome. But love… we don’t live life like that. We don’t get scripts telling us when to act, when to worry, when to
drop everything. We only do the best we can with what we know at that moment."

"And you? You did what every child does. You trusted that there would be more time. You believed that the world
wouldn’t be so cruel. That doesn’t make you dumb. That doesn’t make you weak. That makes you someone who
loved."

"And love… real love… is never something to regret."

"Please, don’t punish yourself for not being able to change the past. He wouldn’t want that for you. And neither do I."

“Do u hate me because I am a careless girl, for not being a woman who takes care of her loved once, do u trust ur
future with me ……………Am I worth it”

"Hate you?" My voice is almost a whisper, but there's disbelief in it, a quiet ache at the thought that she could ever
believe that.

"No. Never."

I reach for her, making sure she see the truth in my eyes.

"You are not careless. You are not unworthy. You are not defined by one moment, by one loss, by one regret. You are
so much more than the guilt you carry."

"And trust my future with you?" I let out a breath, shaking my head slightly, not in denial, but in quiet certainty.

"I already do. Without hesitation. Without doubt."

"Because love isn’t about never making mistakes. It isn’t about being perfect. It’s about standing beside each other,
even when we’re at our lowest. Even when we doubt ourselves. Even when we think we don’t deserve it."

"You are worthy of love. Of trust. Of happiness. And no amount of grief or guilt will ever change that."

"I trust you. I choose you. Always."

she hugged my hand and closed her eyes.

I feel the warmth of her touch, the way her fingers curl around my hand, holding on—not just to me, but to the quiet
reassurance, to the love that surrounds her even in your pain.

My thumb brushes over her skin in slow, comforting circles, a silent promise in every motion.

And as her breathing steadies, as her body relaxes just a little, I stay right there beside her—because sometimes, love
isn’t about the words we say.

Sometimes, it’s just about staying.

I feel the slight tremor in her grip, the uneven rhythm of her breath as she stir from sleep. I think she is having a
nightmare, Without a word, I shift closer, my hand finding hers, grounding her back to the present.

"I’m here," I murmur softly, my voice steady, reassuring. "It was just a dream. You’re safe."

She opened her eyes and said, "Can we go to my parents' home? I want to see my sisters and brother. Why did we
run from them? We need to go back. I need to take care of them—I'm the one who is supposed to."

"Yes, we’ll go." I say without hesitation, without question. Because I know this isn’t just a visit—it’s something deeper.
A responsibility, a longing, a need to make things right in her own way.

"You didn’t run from them," I add gently, my hand still holding yours. "You were grieving. You were trying to
understand a world without him. That doesn’t make you a runaway. That makes you human."

"But if now… if now you feel ready to go back, to be there for them, to take care of them in the way you wish you had
before—then let’s go."

"Together."

We went there for few days, she was completely busy .

During those days, I watched her. I watched the way she carried herself—strong, steady, never letting her pain slip
through the cracks. she moved with purpose, making sure her siblings felt safe, making sure her mother knew she
wasn’t alone. she took on the weight of everything, even when no one asked her to.

And yet… I saw it. The quiet moments when her hands trembled just a little, when her gaze lingered on the empty
chair her father used to sit in, when her breath hitched for just a second before she forced herself to keep going.

She never cried. Not in front of them. Not where anyone could see.

But I knew. And that was enough.

So I never pushed. I never asked her to stop being strong. Instead, I stood beside her, silently helping in the ways I
could—taking care of the little things so she didn’t have to, making sure she had moments to breathe, to just be, even
if she didn’t take them.

And when the days passed, and the house was a little more settled, a little more whole because of her—I knew it was
time to ask.

"And you?" I finally whispered one night, when it was just us, the weight of the day settling around us. "Who’s taking
care of you?"

KLARA

"Who’s taking care of you?"

Smith isn’t just speaking to me—he’s speaking to my eyes, searching for something I won’t let him find. Why does he
care so much when I don’t deserve him? I am damaged, a broken soul. If I hold on to him like this, I’ll only drag him
down with me. He should go. He deserves a beautiful life, not one weighed down by me.
I ignore his question and walk away.

Later, I sit at the reading table, methodically making a list, grounding myself in tasks—things that need to be done,
things I can control.

I need to pay the bills tomorrow.

Change all the records and banking statements to my mom’s name.

Transfer all the numbers registered in Dad’s name to mine.

Pay my brother’s school fees.

Figure out why the bike isn’t running like before and take it to the garage.

I feel like I’m forgetting something… oh, right—Mom’s hospital checkup.

I am not in a hurry. I am calm. Focused. It’s the only way I know how to keep going.

SMITH

She ignored my question. like it doesn’t matter

I stood at the doorway, watching her quietly as she wrote, her movements steady, her mind sorting through every
responsibility with precise focus. No hesitation, no second-guessing—just a quiet determination to take care of
everything, to keep life moving forward for everyone who depended on her.

But I saw what others wouldn’t. I saw the weight in her shoulders, the exhaustion hidden behind her calm. I saw the
way she didn’t pause to breathe, didn’t stop to ask herself what she needed.

I stepped closer, gently placing a cup of warm tea beside her, my fingers brushing hers for just a moment.

"You’re doing everything," I murmured, my voice low but filled with something unspoken. "Taking care of everyone,
making sure nothing slips, making sure they don’t feel the emptiness he left behind."

I sat down beside her

"But somewhere in all this…" I hesitated, watching her, searching her face. "Do you remember to take care of yourself
too?"

She said “I am OK”

I nodded slowly, not arguing, not pushing. "I know," I said softly, letting the words settle between us.

I didn’t stop watching her—not with doubt, not with pity, but with the quiet understanding that sometimes “I’m okay”
is just a way to keep moving forward.

I reached for her list, gently turning it toward me.

"Then let me help." I said simply. "We’ll do this together."

Because even if she weren’t ready to pause, even if she weren’t ready to let herself feel everything just yet—at least,
she wouldn’t have to carry it all alone.

She held my hand "You should go to work—you’ve taken enough leave already. You don’t have to put your life on
hold for this; I’ll handle everything here.

You need to take care of yourself too. I’ve seen you—barely sleeping, barely eating properly. You deserve to be in a
better place, to live your life without worrying about me. I know you care, and I appreciate it. But please, don’t
forget to take care of yourself too."
I exhaled slowly, watching her, hearing the firmness in her voice—the way she weren’t just asking but telling me to
take care of myself, the same way she took care of everyone else.

I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell her that this was where I needed to be, that nothing else mattered as much as
staying by her side.

But I also knew her too well—I knew that if I stayed, she would worry about me more than herself.

So instead of arguing, I reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my touch lingering for just a
moment.

"Alright," I said gently. "I’ll go back to work. I’ll take care of myself." Then, leaning in slightly, I added, "But only if you
promise me one thing."

I held her gaze, making sure she heard me, really heard me.

"Promise me that you’ll do the same. That you’ll let yourself rest, even for a little while. That you’ll eat properly, and
that if you need anything—you’ll call me. No matter what time, no matter what it is."

"Because taking care of everyone doesn’t mean forgetting yourself."

She just said “Ok” and she slowly kissed on my hand.

I felt the warmth of her lips against my hand, a quiet gesture filled with more meaning than words could ever hold.
My fingers curled gently around hers, holding onto that moment, onto her.

"I’ll be back soon," I promised, my voice steady, but soft. "And until then, just remember—you don’t have to do this
alone."

I lingered for a second longer, letting my thumb brush over the back of her hand, as if sealing the promise between us.
Then, reluctantly, I stood up, ready to leave—but not really wanting to.

"Take care of yourself," I whispered one last time, before stepping away, trusting that even in the silence, even in the
distance—our bond remained unshaken.

She waves at me

I stood at the door for a moment, watching her, memorizing the way she looked in that instant—strong, determined,
yet carrying so much more than she let anyone see.

I lifted my hand, waving back, a small, knowing smile on my lips.

"Bye for now," I said softly. "But not for long."

And with that, I turned, walking away—but never really leaving.

KLARA

The constant buzzing of my phone filled the room, but I ignored it—my focus locked on the tasks in front of me. There
was too much to do—too many responsibilities, too many thoughts running through my mind. I told myself it could
wait, that everything else was more important right now.

But even as I worked, a small part of me knew who it was. Knew that he wouldn’t just disappear. That he would still
check in, even from a distance.

The messages weren’t demanding. Weren’t asking me to stop what I was doing. Just simple things.

'Did you eat today?'

'It’s late. At least drink some water.'
'Don’t forget to breathe, okay?’
Then one night i texted him back " I think u should move on"

Don’t ask me what I am doing ,what the hell is wrong with I just don’t want him to suffer with me I want his life to be
simple and beautiful . that’s it

SMITH

I stared at the message, reading it once, then again, as if the words might change if I looked at them long enough.

"Move on?"

My fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating for the first time. I could feel the weight behind her words, the distance
she were trying to create. Not because she stopped caring—but because she cared too much. Because she thought
this was the right thing to do.

I exhaled slowly, my chest tightening. And then, finally, I typed back.

"Is that what you really want? Or is that just what you think I deserve?"

another message pop-up on the screen

“U deserve the world”

I let out a quiet breath, staring at her words, feeling the ache hidden between them.

"Then why are you trying to push me out of it?" I typed back.

I didn’t need the world. I just needed her. And I wasn’t going to let her carry this alone, no matter how much she tried
to convince herself that she had to.

“I am not pushing u away I am just giving you a reality check Why can't u understand”

I stared at the screen, my grip tightening around the phone. A reality check? As if I hadn’t already seen reality—the
weight she was carrying, the pain she refused to show, the way she was trying to hold everything together alone.

I exhaled slowly before typing.

"I understand more than you think."

"I understand that you’re hurting."
"I understand that you think walking this path alone will make it easier for everyone else."
"But I also understand that you don’t have to."

I paused, then added:

"You’re giving me a choice, right? Then let me choose you."

“You are blind... As a friend I wanted u to choose a better life Which is not broken....”

My fingers tightened around the phone, my chest heavy with the weight of her words.

"You think you're broken?" I typed back, pausing for a moment before continuing.

"You're not. You're hurt. You're grieving. You're carrying more than anyone should have to. But that doesn’t make you
broken.And even if you were—don’t you know by now? I don’t want ‘perfect.’ I don’t want ‘easy.’ I want you. However
you come. However you are."

"So if you’re pushing me away because you don’t want me anymore, say it. But don’t push me away thinking you’re
doing me a favor. Because you’re not saving me from anything. You’re just breaking both of us in the process."

“i don't want you”

I stared at the screen, reading the words slowly, feeling their weight settle in my chest.
I could fight it. I could argue. I could tell her that I knew you didn’t mean it, that I knew you were trying to protect me
in the only way you knew how.

But I also knew her.

And I knew that right now, what she needed wasn’t more words. Wasn’t another fight. It was space. It was time.

So instead of pushing, instead of pleading, I simply typed back:

"Okay."

KLARA

"The night passed in a blur, but the thoughts didn’t. Even in sleep, they clung to me—whispers of doubt, of guilt, of
the weight I carried alone.

And no matter how much I tried to push him away, no matter how much I convinced myself that I’d be happier
without him—

I was wrong.

Days passed. Maybe weeks. I buried myself in responsibilities, in making sure everyone else was okay. But in the quiet
moments—when the world wasn’t demanding anything from me—I still felt it. The emptiness. The absence.

I told myself it was for the best. That I was protecting him from the mess I thought I was. But late at night, when my
thoughts were the loudest, did I ever wonder if I was okay? If I had really moved on, like I told him to?

Because the truth was—I hadn’t.

And then, one night, my phone lit up with a message.

'Are you okay?'

I am just happy—happy that he took the initiative. I already hate myself for pushing you away. I wanted to tell him
that I am not okay.

I am not happy, I AM INCOMPLETE WITHOUT YOU , I need you , I want u to hold me, I love you.

SMITH

I got the message: "I’m good. How are you? How’s work?"

She’s okay… without me.

Is she happy? Is she really doing well?

"Work is... work." I replied with a small sigh, not wanting to make it sound heavier than it was.

"Some days feel like I’m actually doing something meaningful, and other days, it’s just a cycle—wake up, work, eat,
sleep, repeat."

I paused for a moment before adding:

"But right now, talking to you feels like the best part of my day."

“are you happy?” I stared the message she want me to answer that…

I hesitated for a moment, then typed honestly.

"Some days, yes. Some days, I wonder if this is really what I want. But I guess that’s normal, right?"
KLARA

"Some days, yes. Some days, I wonder if this is really what I want. But I guess that’s normal, right?"

YES…

He’s happy without me.

Isn’t that what I wanted? That’s why I let him go—so he could have a happy life.

Then why… why does it hurt? Why am I not happy knowing he’s okay without me?

What’s wrong with me?

Another message.

"What about you? Are you happy?"

Happy…?

I WANTED TO SCREAM …………….I’m not, Smith……………………………………………

I’m dead…………………….. I’m sorry,smith…………………………….. I was stupid to push you away.

Did you forget me this easily?

Why…?

I collapsed onto the floor, curling into myself, and cried like a child.

SMITH

I stared at the screen, waiting for a reply that never came. Seconds turned to minutes, then hours. And then, slowly, I
understood.

she weren’t going to text back.

She had gotten your answer—the one she were searching for all along. That I was okay. That I was still standing. That
I didn’t fall apart without her.

And maybe that was what she needed to move on.

I could have sent another message. Could have told you that being "okay" didn’t mean I didn’t miss you. That just
because I could stand alone didn’t mean I ever wanted to. But I didn’t.

Because if this was her way of finding peace, if this was the closure she needed—then I would let her have it.

Even if it meant letting her go.

KLARA

I sat in my room, typing the 768th letter to my love—telling him how much I missed him, demanding a response,
stubborn in my longing.

768 letters. Each one a conversation I never sent, a piece of my heart poured onto paper instead of a screen. I missed
him, but I never told him. I demanded answers, but only in words that never reached him. I bled through ink, hiding
my wounds instead of letting him see them.

And when the time was up, I closed the letter, tucked away my emotions, and went back to work—like nothing had
happened.

But I wonder… if he had knocked on my door at that very moment, if he had stood in front of me and said, “I’m here.
Say it to me instead of the paper,”

Would I have let him in?

Maybe I just want to see if there’s still a chance for me…

I want to go to the city where my home is…………………………..then I decided

The very next day I went there to see him……………….to see my love………………………

The city felt different this time. The same streets, the same lights, the same rush of people—but something was
missing. Or maybe, something had changed within me.

I don’t know where to go, how I’m going to face him, how I’ll answer his questions, or how I’m even going to ask,
“Give me a chance.” Will he believe me?

I called an old friend of mine to get his address—because he no longer lives where we once built a home together.

SMITH

The morning was slow. I had my coffee and looked at myself in the mirror—honestly, I looked like a piece of trash. But
it didn’t matter. I’d stopped caring about appearances a long time ago.

I just wanted to go outside, get some air. So I started walking down the road, and suddenly, I saw someone.

The world stopped.

There she is, walking toward me. She is wearing a black top and jeans, looking so broken.

But wait—why is she here?

Is she here for me?

Does she know I live here?

Our eyes met.

She stopped walking.
She looked at me—like she was expecting me to hug her…..NO…. SMITH JUST WAIT DON’T THIS MOMENT JUST STAY

We both kept looking at each other for a few more minutes.

I could see her eyes beginning to fill with tears.

Maybe she thought time had built enough distance between us, that silence had sealed whatever was left. But there I
was—standing in front of her, real, present, unshaken by the time apart.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The city moved around us, cars passing, people walking, conversations blending
into background noise. But between us, it was quiet. The kind of quiet that held every unsent letter, every unsaid
word, every feeling we pretended wasn’t there.

"You’re back," I finally said, my voice steady, but my eyes searching hers for something—recognition, hesitation,
maybe even the stubbornness I always admired in you.

And then, the question I didn’t even know I was going to ask slipped out before I could stop it.

She just said “for work. How are you?”

"I know… but still, you’re here." I said, nodding slightly, as if trying to convince myself that this wasn’t just another
passing thought of you—this was real.

"I’m…" I hesitated, then gave a small smile. "I’m good. Or at least, I’ve been telling myself that."

I studied you for a moment, taking in the way you stood, the way your eyes held something unspoken. You looked
fine—like you always did. But I wondered if, beneath it all, you were still writing those letters in your head, still
carrying words you never said.

"And you?" I finally asked, watching you carefully. "Are you good?"
“Yeah I am, you changed the place” is she asking me why i started living here.
I nodded, glancing around as if seeing the city through her eyes.

"Yeah, I did. Needed something different, I guess." I shrugged, but there was more to it than that. Maybe I had been
trying to escape the places that reminded me of her. Maybe I thought a new street, a new home, a new routine would
change something inside me. But here she is, standing in front of me, and suddenly, it felt like nothing had changed at
all.

"But you… You’re still the same, aren’t you?" I asked, tilting my head slightly, studying her like I am searching for a
sign that time had made her a stranger to me. But it hadn’t. Not really.
“I don't know how to change” she snapped at me.
I looked at her, really looked at her—the same way I used to, the same way I still did.

"Maybe you don’t have to." My voice was softer now, like I am letting her in on a secret. "Maybe you were never
supposed to change. Maybe you were just supposed to… find your way back to yourself."

I took a step closer, searching her face for the emotions she tried to hide.at that moment I wanted to hug her and kiss
her and wanted to tell her that You had always been stubborn, always carrying more than you should, always
convincing yourself that you had to handle everything alone. But I saw you. I always did.
“But the world has changed...And I’m just trying to keep up with it”
I nodded, understanding the weight behind her words.

"Yeah… the world never waits for anyone, does it?" I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "It moves, it shifts, and
somehow, we’re just supposed to keep up—even when we’re not ready."

"But tell me this…" I took a step closer, lowering my voice like I was about to ask something important. "Are you
coping… or are you losing yourself trying?"

“who cares” that’s what she said and started walking living me behind.

damn……….i have to make her understand…………………..

“I do” that was loud……………..very loud
she turned back " you do...... seriously.....you even changed the house..... don't you"
I met her gaze, holding it, refusing to look away this time.

"Yeah, I changed the house," I admitted, nodding slowly. "But I didn’t change what mattered."

I took a step closer, my voice steady, but softer now.

"Leaving a place doesn’t mean leaving a person. Moving away doesn’t mean moving on." I exhaled, shaking my head
slightly, a small, almost sad smile tugging at my lips. "I tried… but some things don’t change, no matter how far you
go."

I let the words settle between us, waiting—waiting to see if she understand what I wasn’t saying out loud.
hearing the word TRIED her expression shifted—the way something in her eyes flickered, like a light dimming for just
a moment. And even though she blinked back the tears, I saw them.

I exhaled, stepping even closer, lowering my voice just enough so only she could hear.

"Tried doesn’t mean I wanted to." I said it gently, carefully, like I was trying to piece back something that had already
cracked. "Tried doesn’t mean I succeeded."

I hesitated, searching her face for a sign—any sign—that she is going to believe me.

"If trying meant forgetting you… then I failed."

she had small smile and tears in her eyes “But u never showed up ...... U promised me once that u will never leave
Even if i willing to”

her words hit like a quiet storm—soft, but powerful enough to shake something deep inside me. I saw it now, the
weight she carried, the wound I left behind. And maybe I thought I was doing the right thing back then, but now…
now, all I could see was how wrong I had been.

I swallowed hard, taking another step closer, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I know… and I broke that promise." Admitting it felt heavier than I expected, but she deserved the truth, not excuses.

I reached out, hesitating just for a second before gently brushing my fingers against hers—just enough to remind her
that I was here, that I was real.

"I thought you needed space. I thought I was doing what was best for you. But I never stopped caring. I never stopped
thinking about you. And I swear to you, if I could take it back, if I could have been stronger back then, I would have
never let you face any of this alone."

I looked at her then, fully, openly—letting her see everything I had been too scared to say before.

"I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I left because I thought you wanted me to."

“Ok now also i wanted u to leave..... JUST LEAVE………………………”

The scream echoed, raw and broken, slicing through the air between us. But I didn’t move. Not yet.

I clenched my jaw, inhaling deeply, forcing myself to stay steady. I had left once when I thought it was what she
wanted. I had walked away thinking it was for the best. And look where it had brought us—back here, in this storm of
pain and unspoken words.

"No."

The word was firm, unwavering.

"Not this time."

I took a step closer, not to invade, not to push—but to be here, to make sure she knew I wasn’t disappearing again.

"You can scream, you can push me away, you can hate me all you want. But I am not walking away this time. You
don’t have to want me here. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop caring."

My voice softened, just a little, the weight of everything pressing against my chest.

"So go ahead. Tell me to leave a hundred times, and I’ll still be here the moment you need me."

"Now... now...
You stopped fighting for me when I needed you the most.
I realized you can handle everything without me, and that’s when I knew—if I don’t fight for us that will be the
end.
And remember, this time you’re the one saying no, but only because I showed up... because I came back.
Remember when I texted something stupid?
You never tried to correct me. Instead, you chose to say, ‘It’s okay, let her be, let her do what she wants,’ right?
Please... please leave."

She broke down on the road. I held her before she could fall and hugged her.
"You're right." The words felt heavy, but I wouldn’t lie to her. Not now.

"I should have fought for you then. I should have shown up when you needed me, not just when you called. And
maybe… maybe I thought giving you space was the right thing. But I see it now. I see that it wasn’t what you
wanted."

I stepped back

"But tell me this…" My voice was quieter now, softer, but no less firm. "If you really wanted me gone, why are you still
here, asking me to leave instead of just walking away yourself?"
“Because I wanted give myself a closure that helps achieve what i wanted. That makes me believe what I did was
right. Then I realised I don't have to blame only myself for being like this”

I nodded slowly, absorbing her words, letting them settle between us like fragile glass—so easy to break, yet holding
so much weight.

"Closure." I repeated, tasting the word, feeling its weight.

"If that’s what you need, then take it. If you need to believe this was right, then believe it. But don’t use it to erase
everything we were. Don’t use it to rewrite the truth just because it hurts."

I took a slow step back, not in surrender, but in understanding.

"You’re not the only one who’s been carrying this, you know. I blamed myself too. For not holding on tighter. For
letting you push me away. For thinking space would heal instead of hurt. But we both made choices. We both let go,
in our own ways."

I exhaled, my voice steady, though my chest felt anything but.

"If this is what you need to move forward, then I won’t stand in your way. But just know…" I hesitated, then met your
gaze fully, giving you the one truth I couldn’t hold back.

"I never stopped caring. And I never will."

“Don't just say, you stupid....actually you are still a stupid.....NO NO a wise person A MAN who says YES, OK, FINE,
COOL ...... I HATE U” she yelled at me by throwing so many letters in the air

I stood there, watching as the letters fluttered around us like broken pieces of everything we never said.

I stared at the letters, my hands trembling a little as I picked one up. Page after page — her handwriting, her heart.
All this time, I thought she moved on, stayed quiet because she stopped caring. But here it all was — her love, her
confusion, her pain… everything she wanted to say but didn’t.

I felt like the biggest fool. She was holding on in silence while I convinced myself she’d let go. Each word cut deep —
not because they hurt me, but because I wasn’t there when she needed me most. I wish I’d known. I wish I’d reached
out. Maybe we lost time we didn’t have to lose.

She wrote about the little things she remembered… the way I laughed, the way she felt safe just sitting next to me. I
could almost hear her voice in the words, there is line "I don’t even know if you care anymore, but I still think about
you every day."

That one line — it crushed me.

I took a step closer her, slow, careful, as if any sudden movement would make her run again.

"Hate me all you want. Scream at me. Throw every word, every letter, every piece of your heart at me. But just
admit it—this isn't just about hate. This is about love. This is about the fact that you still care, even when you wish
you didn't."

"And I’ll take it. The hate, the anger, all of it—because it means you’re still here. And I’d rather you scream at me
than pretend I don’t exist."

My voice softened, but the strength in it never wavered.

"So go on. Tell me again. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you never wanted me to come back. Tell me you don’t want
me here."

And I waited. Because deep down, I already knew the answer.

“I always wanted... I wanted you to fight for us. I wanted you to show up at my place suddenly, hug me, and say,
ENOUGH. COME WITH ME.
I wanted you to text I MISS YOU every night, I LOVE YOU every morning.
I wanted you to cry like a baby for me, the way I did for you.
I wanted you to grab my hand and yell, YOU STUPID! I LOVE YOU!
But all you did was disappear.
You didn’t text back.
You accepted the situation.
You accepted my stupid decision and tried to move on.

...Fuck all of it.

You changed the place.
You just gave our home to someone else.

WHY?”

her words cut through the air, raw and trembling, filled with everything ahe never said until now. And I stood there,
taking every single one of them, feeling them burn into me like truth I could never escape.

I stepped closer, closing the distance between us, voice shaking but firm.

"Because I thought that's what you wanted!" I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair, frustration and love
and regret tangled together.

"You told me to go. You told me you didn’t want me. You pushed me away, over and over, and I—" My voice cracked
for the first time, and I swallowed hard.

"I thought if I fought, it would only hurt you more. I thought if I showed up at your door, if I grabbed your hand and
refused to let go, you’d hate me for not listening. I thought you needed space, needed to heal. And maybe—" I looked
at her, really looked at her, the fire in her eyes, the pain behind them.

"Maybe I was just scared that if I fought and lost, it would break me completely."

I let the silence settle between us for a moment before taking a shaky breath.

"But if you wanted me to fight for you, WHY DIDN’T YOU FIGHT FOR ME?"

I reached for her hand, gripping it tightly, like I should have done all those months ago.

"I’m here now. I’m here, and I love you, and if you tell me you still want me—tell me you still love me—then I swear, I
won’t ever leave again."

My fingers tightened around hers, my heart pounding.

"But if you don’t, then tell me now, and I’ll walk away. For real this time."

“U still need the answer..... That's why I told you ……….that you are stupid And. Stop acting like an innocent that u
believed all my words Like you never saw my vulnerable side”

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head as I ran a hand over my face.

"Yeah, I guess I am stupid. Stupid enough to believe that when you told me to leave, you meant it. Stupid enough to
think that if I gave you space, it was what you needed, not what would break us.But don’t you dare say I never saw
your vulnerable side. I saw it every damn time you looked at me like I was your anchor. I saw it when you cried at
night but never let anyone hear. I saw it when you wrote those letters you never sent. I saw it when you tried to be
strong for everyone else and fell apart when no one was looking."

I exhaled sharply, my hands balling into fists before I forced them open again.
"I knew, alright? I always knew. And I waited. I waited for the moment you’d stop pushing me away, stop testing if I’d
stay even when you told me to go."

I stepped even closer, my voice dropping to almost a whisper.

"But you never did. You never gave me a reason to fight for us, because every time I reached out, you pulled away.
And I—" My voice wavered for the first time, and I swallowed hard.

"I didn’t know how to hold on to someone who didn’t want to be held."

I searched her face, looking for something—anything—that told me this wasn’t too late. That after all this time, after
all the hurt, we still had a chance.

“SORRY ,I never gave reason to fight for us…………….Is my love is not enough………. How many times u reached
out....”

GOD………………… damn ………..its going no where…………………….

I closed my eyes for a second

"Your love was always enough. It was never about that.But love isn’t just about feeling—it’s about showing up. It’s
about letting the other person in. You built walls around yourself and expected me to break them down, but every
time I tried, you pushed me further away. How was I supposed to fight for someone who kept running?"

I let out a short, broken laugh, shaking my head.

"And how many times did I reach out?" I counted on my fingers, voice filled with something between frustration and
pain.

"Every time you disappeared, every time you shut me out, every time I sent a message you ignored, every time I stood
outside your world waiting for a door that never opened."

I took a deep breath, meeting your gaze, searching for the truth in your eyes.

"But even now, even after everything... I never wanted you to let me go."

My voice cracked slightly, and I clenched my jaw, forcing control over the emotions rising inside me.

"I just wanted you to stop making me feel like I had to beg to be in your life."

She was just standing there, rolling her hand slowly. Her words were firm, almost emotionless.

"What do you want?

Don’t get confused.
And don’t leave all the decisions to me.
For once, make a decision on your own," she said.

I exhaled sharply, running a hand through my hair, my voice firm but filled with something deeper—something raw.

"Fine. You want my decision? Here it is."

I stepped closer, my eyes locked onto yours, unwavering.

"I want you. Not just in memories, not just in letters, not just in the spaces between what we say and what we
actually mean. I want you—fully, completely, in the chaos and in the quiet."

I swallowed, my heartbeat loud in my chest.

"But I won’t keep fighting a battle alone. If you still want to run, if you still want to push me away, say it now, and I
swear I’ll walk out of here and never look back.So tell me. What do you want?"

I was just standing there, scared of what she was going to say.
Then, in a low voice, her lips trembling, she said:
"I want you too “
I reached for her hands, holding them firmly, as if anchoring her back to me.

"Then stop pushing me away. I’ve been here all along, even when you tried to shut me out. Even when you told me to
move on. Even when you convinced yourself that you didn’t deserve love. But I need you to meet me halfway. I can't
fight for us alone."

I took a deep breath, my gaze never leaving yours.

"I will love you. I will understand you—even in silence. I will handle your stubbornness. But I need you to believe in us.
No more running, no more testing if I’ll leave. Because I won’t."

I squeezed her hands, my voice barely above a whisper now.

"So, are you going to stay?"

“R u going ask me again whether i want u or not?”

I shook my head, a small, knowing smile playing on my lips.

"No, I don’t need to ask anymore."

I stepped even closer, our hands still entwined.

I lifted your hand to my lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles.

"So, I’m not asking. I’m staying. With you."

“One last question Why did you sell our home?”

I exhaled slowly, looking into her eyes, knowing this question held more weight than anything else.

"Because it wasn’t home without you.Every corner reminded me of you—of us. Of the mornings you made tea, of the
late-night talks on the couch, of the way your laughter echoed through the halls. But after you left, it was just walls.
Just an empty space."

I let go of her hands for a moment, running a hand through my hair as if searching for the right words.

"I thought maybe if I let go of the place, I could let go of the pain too. But I was wrong. Because home was never the
house. It was you."

I took her hands again, my grip firm, unwavering.

"And if you still want me, we’ll build another home—together."

“I want same home again”

THIS GIRL IS SOMETHING ELSE…………………………………..

I cupped her face gently, my thumbs brushing away the unshed tears.

"Then we’ll get it back."

My voice was steady, filled with certainty. No hesitation, no second thoughts—just the truth.

"Brick by brick, memory by memory, we’ll rebuild it. If that’s what you want, I’ll do whatever it takes."

I pulled her into a tight embrace, holding her close as if grounding both of us in this moment.

"Because home wasn’t just the walls—it was what we made inside them. And I’ll make it with you again."
"Can you carry me inside?" she asked gently.
she is a game bro…………………she always surprise me…………………………….
Without a word, I scooped her up into my arms, holding her close as if I could shield her from all the pain, all the lost
time.

"You don’t have to fight alone anymore," I murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "We’re going home.
Together."

I stepped inside, carrying her over the threshold like a promise—one I wouldn’t break this time.

I walked straight to the couch, gently setting her down as if she was the most precious thing in my world.

"You're home now," I said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "And this time, I'm not letting you go."

she looked up at me, searching my face for something—maybe doubt, maybe hesitation—but there was none. Only
love, only certainty.

I leaned in, resting my forehead against hers, breathing in the moment, breathing in her.

"No more running. No more leaving. Just us."