The morning air was soft with mist as Aira stood by the window, watching the world stir outside. The city, always rushing, now felt slower somehow—as if time itself had bent gently to match the pace of her heart.
Ravi had left a note on her desk the night before:
"I don't know where life will take us, but every road I walk now hopes to find you at its end."
She read it twice that morning.
And then once more.
---
At work, her mind drifted often—between thoughts of Ravi and the look on her mother's face yesterday. Not anger. Not disappointment. Something softer, something like realization. As if she finally understood this wasn't rebellion—it was love.
Aira's colleague, Meena, nudged her during lunch.
"You've been smiling like someone just proposed."
Aira blinked, startled. "What? No—nothing like that."
Meena grinned. "Not yet, maybe. But something's changed. You look like someone who finally found where they belong."
Aira paused, her heart tugged by those words.
Where she belonged.
With Ravi.
---
Later that evening, she met Ravi on a rooftop café overlooking the city lights. Lanterns hung from strings above, swaying in the breeze like tiny suns, and the air smelled of cardamom tea and warm stories.
He stood as she approached, pulling out her chair. A small gesture, but it always made her heart flutter.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
Aira nodded. "I think I'm… peaceful."
They shared a quiet moment, sipping tea, gazing at the skyline that had been witness to all their stolen moments, silent hopes, and whispered wishes.
Then Ravi took a small, wrapped package from his coat pocket.
"What's this?" she asked, eyes wide.
"Open it."
Inside was a delicate key on a silver chain. Old, vintage. Worn, but beautiful.
"It's not to anything real," he said quickly. "But… I thought of you. You unlocked something in me I didn't know existed."
Aira held the key tightly. "And what did I unlock?"
Ravi looked at her, eyes full of light and something deeper. "The part of me that believes in forever."
Her breath caught.
No grand proposal. No promises under pressure.
Just truth.
And truth was always the beginning of something eternal.
---
That night, Aira wrote in her journal:
He was never just a feeling. He was the echo of something I always knew—but never met. Until now.