The evening was slowly slipping away,
and a soft golden hue spread across the sky—
as if the sun itself was hesitating to leave.
In the quiet garden, Gul and Ehsan sat on the same bench,
close enough to feel each other’s presence,
yet far enough for the words in their hearts to remain trapped.
Silence surrounded them,
but inside, both were drowning in unsaid truths.
Gul inhaled deeply—
as though lifting a weight that had been crushing her chest for days.
“Ehsan… we should meet one last time,”
she whispered,
“and… today is that day.”
Ehsan turned toward her, startled.
“One last time?”
His voice faltered.
“Why are you saying that?”
Gul lowered her eyes,
her fingers nervously twisting the bangle around her wrist—
the same bangle Ehsan once admired.
“I’ve been hiding something from you…”
she said softly.
“I thought time would make it easier to tell you…
but time only pushed the truth closer to my heart.”
Her voice trembled.
“My parents have arranged my marriage elsewhere, Ehsan.
And I cannot change their decision.
For them, this isn’t just a marriage…
it’s a matter of family honor.”
Ehsan’s breath grew heavy,
as if the air around him had suddenly vanished.
“So you’ll just walk away?”
he asked quietly.
“Everything we dreamed of…
the promises we made?”
Tears gathered in Gul’s eyes,
but she refused to let them fall.
“Promises…”
she said, almost smiling through pain,
“sometimes in love, promises are meant to be broken—
so the other person can live…
even if it’s without us.”
She stood slowly,
stepped closer to Ehsan,
and held his hands—
hands that had once felt like home.
“You will always be the one
who painted my life with the most beautiful colors,”
she whispered.
“But the colors of my fate…
were written for someone else.”
Ehsan couldn’t speak.
He only looked into her eyes—
eyes still full of love,
but no longer meant for him.
Gul gently released his hands,
turned away,
and walked into the mist.
Ehsan watched her
until she disappeared completely.
Her fragrance lingered in the air—
but he knew now,
it would only bloom in his memories.
After Gul left, the bench stood empty.
Yet to Ehsan,
it felt as though her shadow still sat beside him.
Every day, he walked past that path,
glanced at the bench,
and then looked away—
as if avoiding it could erase the pain.
Days passed,
but time seemed frozen for him.
College laughter, classroom noise,
the clatter of cups at tea stalls—
everything became distant echoes.
His mind lived elsewhere.
Nights were the hardest.
He sat by the window for hours,
searching the sky—
as if Gul’s face might appear among the stars.
Sometimes, he almost heard her voice—
“Ehsan… are you alright?”
But when he blinked,
the room was empty again.
Books became his refuge—
not to study,
but to silence his thoughts.
Coffee tasted bitter now.
Rain no longer calmed him—
because the first time he saw Gul,
she was walking in the rain.
People said,
“Ehsan has changed.”
But the truth was—
he hadn’t changed.
He had only locked a room inside his heart…
and lost the key forever.
Sometimes, staring at his reflection,
he thought—
“Maybe Gul has forgotten me…
And me?
I’m still standing there…
at that bench.”
As Ehsan finished recounting his past,
his voice broke.
Words refused to come—
only a deep sigh escaped.
Zoboriya watched him quietly.
The man who looked strong and distant
was shattered within.
Her eyes filled with tears—
his pain had reached her heart.
She asked softly,
“Then… you never saw her again?”
Ehsan shook his head,
a faint smile appearing—
the kind that hides old wounds.
“No, Zoboriya.
She just came…
left her fragrance…
and went away.
After that…
I kept searching for that scent in the wind.”
Silence followed.
Outside, snow fell gently.
Between them lay a season
that was neither warm nor cold—
only still, and damp.
Zoboriya’s eyes were still moist.
She was about to speak
when Ehsan looked at her—
a gaze filled with care,
yet guarded by boundaries.
“Zoboriya…
you mean a lot to me.
More than you can imagine.
But… only as a friend.”
Her face froze for a brief moment—
surprised, yet calm.
No complaint touched her eyes.
She smiled softly.
“Sometimes, friendship is deeper than love, Ehsan.
Because friends…
don’t promise to leave.”
Ehsan lowered his gaze.
Perhaps he found comfort in knowing
that the distance between them
was built on understanding,
not misunderstanding.
Outside, the snow had stopped.
Sunlight entered the room,
casting their shadows close—
yet each standing in their own place.
Zoboriya leaned a little closer
and said gently—
“Ehsan…
I promise I will never leave you.
You are the first…
and the best friend I’ve ever had.”
Her words wrapped around his heart
like warm tea on a cold evening.
Ehsan smiled faintly,
his eyes still shining.
“In friendship, promises are precious, Zoboriya.
And I… will never forget yours.”
A silence followed—
but not a heavy one.
It was the silence of trust
slowly taking root.
Sunlight now filled the room completely.
And for the first time in a long while,
Ehsan felt—
perhaps the season
was finally about to change 🌤️
🔹 What Can Happen Next in This Story?
The story can naturally move forward in three possible directions — whichever path it chooses:
1. Slow Healing Arc
Zoboriya, without forcing anything, will begin to heal Ehsan’s wounds simply by staying beside him.
Not love at first — but peace will come before love.
2. Closure from the Past
One day, Ehsan may receive a quiet message from Gul —
something that helps him understand that some stories remain incomplete,
yet still become whole in their own way.
3. Friendship → Quiet Love
No confessions. No promises.
One day, Ehsan will realize that Zoboriya hasn’t just been sitting beside him…
she has reached the locked rooms of his heart.
🔹 What Do We Learn from This Story?
Not every goodbye is a betrayal
Some loves demand sacrifice, not union
Sometimes, friendship is deeper than love
Those who leave may live on in memories
And those who stay… teach us how to live again
🔹 Next Short Part (Mini Continuation)
Short Part: “The First Unlocked Window”
Zoboriya placed a cup of tea in front of Ehsan.
This time, she didn’t say anything.
She simply set the cup down
and opened the window.
Cold air flowed into the room.
For the first time, Ehsan felt it —
this air did not bring Gul’s memories.
This time…
it helped him breathe.
Zoboriya smiled softly and said,
“Sometimes, closed rooms
only need fresh air…
not memories.”
Ehsan lifted the cup.
The tea was still warm.
Perhaps…
life was too.
🔹 Thank You Message for Readers (End Note)
“Thank you from the heart for reading this story.
If you felt Ehsan’s pain, Gul’s helplessness,
or Zoboriya’s quiet loyalty —
then know that the story has done its job.
Your reading is the greatest reward for a writer.”
https://afsanawahidwrites.blogspot.com/2026/01/dr-bakhsh-kandeel-maafi-aur-mohabbat.html
“I am originally a Hindi writer, and I translate my stories into English to share them here.
Please forgive any grammatical errors that may appear in the translation.
I hope the feelings behind the words remain intact.”
All images used on this website are either AI-generated or used for illustrative purposes only.
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