No music.

No background noise.

Just the soft sound of the wind, carrying their memories with it.

Aarohi looked at Vivaan.

So much had changed… yet his eyes still held the same quiet sadness.

> “Why didn’t you come back?” she asked.

He took a long breath.

> “Because I thought you’d moved on.”

“And I didn’t want to disturb your life with my broken pieces.”

She shook her head, tears slipping quietly.

> “You were never a disturbance, Vivaan.

You were the one thing I never stopped waiting for.”

He looked down at his hands. Paint-stained. Shaking.

> “You remember that drawing I gave you in class 10?”

“The one with the umbrella?”

She nodded.

> “I kept drawing it again and again… hoping one day, we’d both be under it.”

She smiled weakly.

> “Maybe we still can.”

But Vivaan stayed quiet.

Aarohi’s voice dropped.

> “Do you… still love me?”

He turned to her.

His eyes glistened, but his voice was steady.

> “I love you… more than ever.”

“But I don’t think I know how to stay anymore.”

That one sentence hit her harder than any goodbye.

> “Then why paint me?” she whispered.

> “Because it’s the only way I could hold on…

when my hands weren’t brave enough to reach for yours.”

---

They didn’t hug.

They didn’t kiss.

They just sat there — two broken clocks, ticking quietly in different time zones.

The sun set slowly.

And with it, the story that was always almost love.

---

Last Line:

> Some stories aren’t meant to be finished…

They’re meant to be felt, again and again, every time it rains.

---

[End]

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