There comes a moment in every story — not the dramatic high point, not the crumbling downfall — but a quiet, breath-holding moment when the heart and the mind sit across a table. One speaks of dreams, the other of duties. And in between them, decisions hang like soft music in a room full of silence.
For Aarav and Meera, that moment arrived not in a storm of emotions, but in the calm that follows one.
They met the way good stories begin — accidentally, yet perfectly timed. Aarav, an architect with a love for imperfect buildings and handwritten letters, had bumped into Meera at a bookstore, both reaching for the same copy of The Little Prince. She laughed and let him have it. He insisted she keep it. So they bought two copies and walked out as strangers with a shared story already forming.
Weeks turned to months. Conversations over coffee turned into shared routines. Aarav would leave voice notes filled with ideas for Meera’s writing, while she doodled homes inspired by his architecture sketches. They were different — she believed in poetry; he believed in blueprints. But somehow, they never felt out of rhythm. Like music and silence, they completed each other.
But life, as it does, presented a crossroad wrapped in a beautifully brutal decision.
Meera received a fellowship to study literature in Paris. Two years. Fully funded. A dream she had whispered to the moon since she was sixteen. Aarav, meanwhile, had just won a contract to restore heritage buildings across India. His roots were grounding him deeper, while hers were calling her to fly.
No one cried. No doors slammed. There was no dramatic fight.
Just two souls who had to decide between what they wanted and what was right.
“I could stay,” Meera said one evening as they sat beneath fairy lights on his balcony.
“You shouldn’t,” Aarav replied softly. “Not if you’re staying for me.”
“And you won’t come with me,” she stated more than asked.
“I want to. But my work is here. It finally makes sense to me. Leaving now would be like leaving in the middle of a sentence.”
She understood. He did too.
But here’s where the story doesn’t become sad. Here’s where love takes a romantic, real turn.
They didn’t break up.
They decided to bend time instead of breaking hearts.
Two years, they promised. Two cities. One love.
Aarav built a café in Delhi and named it Chapitre Deux — “Chapter Two” in French. Meera wrote her Paris journal in chapters addressed to him. Every Sunday, without fail, they video-called. They sent postcards even when they had email. They made decisions every day — to trust, to grow, to wait.
When she finally returned, they didn’t rush. They didn’t throw grand gestures at each other.
They just sat on that same balcony again. Under the same fairy lights. Meera handed him her published book. Aarav pointed to the second floor of the café — a reading space, now renamed Meera’s Nook.
He smiled. “Was it the right decision?”
She leaned in and whispered, “It was the realest one.”
And sometimes, that’s what decisions are. Not easy. Not obvious. But real. Love doesn’t always mean holding hands in the same city — sometimes, it’s standing at a distance and cheering for each other’s dreams. Sometimes, what you want and what is right are not opposites, just chapters waiting to meet again.
And if you choose with truth, the story doesn’t end — it simply turns a page.
Comments
Post a Comment