A New Morning, the Same Old Loneliness
The morning rose quietly over the hills of Cappadocia.
Snow lay thicker than the night before.
Sunlight touched Zoboria’s face — but her eyes were still trapped in the darkness she carried inside.
Her lips were silent.
Yet something in her chest kept screaming.
“You came… and then you left. Why?”
She stared at the same stone for a long time —
the stone beneath which Abu Zarr’s first note had once slept.
Now it felt like the grave of her entire love.
The Scarf That Still Trembled
She wrapped the light scarf her mother had given her tightly around her shoulders.
“By losing you, I am finally finding myself, Abu Zarr.”
For the first time, she spoke the truth aloud.
She was no longer the girl who waited.
She was becoming a woman
who did not live inside a memory —
but rose from it.
Letters That Were Never Meant to Be Sent
Zoboria stayed at a small hotel beneath the endless sky of Cappadocia.
Every night, she wrote a letter to Abu Zarr.
Not to send.
Only to give a voice to the silence living between her breaths.
“I still love you… but the way I love has changed.”
“I no longer ask you questions. I search for answers within myself.”
Safwan — On the Other Side of the Story
In Delhi, Safwan still carried one line in his wallet:
“If someone gets tired of waiting for you… will you ever call them back?”
He had read it a hundred times.
And each time his heart whispered:
“Maybe she wasn’t asking me… maybe she was asking herself.”
He no longer claimed love.
He only prayed for her peace.
Zoboria’s Diary — A New Beginning
Returning from the same hill, she wrote:
“I will not bind love anymore.
If someone leaves — let them.
If someone returns — they will.
But I will not lose myself in waiting.”
Her eyes now held less tears — and more light.
The Second Letter
Three weeks later, she returned to the hill.
The snow had thinned. The air was warmer.
On the same stone lay a new note.
“I knew you would return.
I am no longer afraid of loving.
If you can walk once more — walk with me.
This time, not in silence.”
— Abu Zarr
She did not cry.
She folded the note, tied it to her scarf, and walked down the hill.
This time, if he had returned, he had to choose the path himself.
The Post That Reached the World
Back in her room, Zoboria opened Instagram.
Typed. Deleted. Typed again.
And finally posted:
“Four years ago, a boy told me —
If you get lost, meet me where the sky touches the earth.
I reached there.
He came too.
But we did not meet.
Because maybe our silence was holier than any meeting.”
#MyBlankLove
The post spread across the world like wildfire.
Three Screens, Three Silences
Istanbul — Abu Zarr:
He saw the post. Whispered her name. His eyes filled.
Delhi — Safwan:
He read it once. Then again.
He did not like it.
He only turned off his phone.
Lucknow — Her Parents:
For four years they had heard her name, not her voice.
Now they heard her pain through a post.
The Call After Four Years
That night her phone rang.
“Ammi Calling.”
Her mother’s voice broke first.
Then her father’s.
“You protected us by staying silent.
Now let us protect you with our love.”
Zoboria wept like a child.
“I’ll come home… not as a woman — but as your daughter.”
The Flight & The Return
Abu Zarr booked the next flight to Cappadocia.
Not to that same hill.
But to the place where Zoboria was learning to smile again.
The Unfinished Bench — Safwan
In the university library, Safwan found the last line she had ever left:
“If someone gets tired waiting… will you still call them back?”
Rain fell softly outside.
“God,” he whispered,
“If You don’t return her to me —
at least give her peace.”
The Mountain & The Echo
And on that very moment —
on the mountaintop of Cappadocia —
a voice reached Zoboria’s heart:
“You were always my truest story.
If you allow it…
let us begin again —
from where you stopped believing.”
Where the Story Finally Stands
On one side — Safwan,
who loved too late.
On the other — Abu Zarr,
who left but never let go.
And in between — Zoboria,
no longer begging for love,
no longer asking to be seen.
She now wanted only this:
A love that understands her —
not rewrites her.
My Blank Love
Still unfinished… but finally real.
Next Short Part
Zoboria closed her eyes for a moment.
For years, she had been choosing between hearts —
now she had to choose herself.
Safwan took a slow step forward.
His voice trembled.
“Is it too late to ask for forgiveness… or for you?”
Before she could answer,
Abu Zarr’s eyes met hers —
filled with everything he never said.
And for the first time…
Zoboria didn’t look back at the past.
She looked ahead.
Because sometimes,
the bravest choice
is not choosing between two people —
but choosing peace.
To be continued…
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đ ✨ Dear Readers,
If this chapter of My Blank Love touched your heart, please comment your country’s name below and share this story with your friends. Your love and support from across the world truly give me strength and motivation to keep writing.
Thank you from my heart đ❤️
https://afsanawahidwrites.blogspot.com/2025/12/202512hashim-zille-huma-sach-kandeel-novel.html.html
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