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The rain tapped gently against the window as Saanvi sat by the lamp-lit desk, her diary open to the page where she had written the words:
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“I now stand at the same crossroad… where either the story ends, or begins again.”
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She traced her fingers over the line he had written. “I left the story unfinished… but never left you.”
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Three years of silence, yet the ink felt fresh. Too fresh to be from the past.
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Whoever had written it — had done so recently. But how? The diary had never left her shelf. No one had access. Not her family. Not her friends. Not even herself some days.
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Her heart urged her to believe it was him. Her mind, cautious as ever, demanded answers.
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And so, she made a decision.
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She would finish the story — no matter how much it hurt.
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The next morning, she took the diary and went to the only place that still smelled like him — The Old Book Café.
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Aarav had loved the place. Every Friday, they’d sit at the corner table by the window, two cups of chai and a notebook between them. He'd scribble lines. She'd add endings. They called it ‘Story Fridays.’
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She hadn’t returned here since he left. But today, something called her back.
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To her shock, the same table was empty — untouched. As if time had waited.
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Saanvi sat down, opened the diary, and began to write.
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“He returned on a day the sky wept — as if the heavens knew the story needed a rewrite...”
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But before she could continue, the waiter appeared.
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“Ma’am,” he said gently, “someone left this for you... three years ago. Told us you might come back someday.”
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He handed her an envelope, yellowed at the edges but sealed. Her name written in his handwriting.
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Her breath caught.
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She tore it open, hands trembling.
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Inside was a single letter:
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Saanvi,
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If you're reading this, then I was right — you never let stories die. Especially not ours.
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I disappeared not because I wanted to, but because I had to. That night, I found out something... something I thought would ruin you if you stayed connected to me. I was diagnosed with a rare condition, and the doctors weren’t sure I’d make it. I couldn’t bear the thought of you watching me fade. I chose to protect you with silence — foolishly, maybe cowardly.
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But every day I wrote to you in my head. I dreamed of you reading this when the time was right.
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I never stopped loving you.
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If your heart still has space for an unfinished story… turn around.
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Aarav
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---
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The letter slipped from her fingers.
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Heart racing, she turned.
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And there he was.
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Standing by the café door, drenched in rain, older, thinner, eyes full of unspoken years — but alive.
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Real.
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And looking at her as if she was his unwritten future.
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Tears spilled before words.
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She rose.
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No dramatic run. No movie scene.
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Just a quiet walk — heart to heart.
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And when they stood face to face, no words were needed.
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They both knew:
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This was not the ending.
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This was Chapter Two.
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A new beginning.
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—
Would you like a Chapter Three?
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