The waves of love in my life

The rain was soft that evening—not heavy enough to run from, just enough to blur the streetlights and make everything feel like a memory.

Lena stood outside the café where Aariz had asked to meet. It wasn't the kind of place you took someone to impress them. It was quiet, local, filled with books and mismatched chairs. It felt like him.

She almost didn't come.

Not because she didn't want to.

But because she didn't trust herself to stay composed.

The bell chimed as she stepped inside. And there he was.

Same boyish slouch, but steadier now. No longer hiding behind half-smiles. He stood when he saw her, and for a moment, time folded inward. Six years vanished between two heartbeats.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," he said.

"I wasn't sure either," she admitted.

They sat across from each other. Two cups of tea. No small talk.

Lena tapped her fingers on the ceramic cup, then sighed. "I read your letter."

Aariz nodded slowly, eyes searching hers. "And?"

"I cried," she said simply.

A pause.

"I haven't cried for myself in years, Aariz. I didn't know I still could."

He smiled faintly. "That makes two of us."

There was silence, but not the awkward kind. The kind filled with meaning. With the weight of things unspoken and the quiet ache of people trying to start over.

"I was so angry at you back then," Lena said finally. "When you shut down, when you stopped letting me in… I took it personally."

"I know," he said. "And I was angry too. But mostly… I was ashamed."

"Of what?"

"Of needing help," he admitted. "I didn't want to be a burden. And you… you were so bright. So sure. I didn't want to be the reason you broke."

She looked at him, heart stinging. "But I did break. Not because of you. Because I never let anyone see when I was unraveling."

She swallowed hard.

"I made being strong my identity. And when I couldn't carry people anymore, I didn't know who I was."

Aariz reached across the table, slowly. His hand hovered before resting gently on hers.

"You don't have to carry anyone now, Lena," he whispered. "Not even me."

Tears blurred her vision. She looked down.

"You were the first person who ever made me feel like I could just be," she said softly. "And I walked away from that because I didn't know how to stay without fixing something."

"I didn't need fixing," he replied. "I needed company."

They sat in stillness. The rain tapped gently on the windows. A child giggled at the next table. And in that quiet, something shifted.

Not regret.

Not pain.

But recognition.

"I don't know what this is," Lena said. "I'm not even sure I'm ready for a second chance. But I miss being seen by you. The way you always… looked past the surface."

Aariz's eyes softened. "Then let's not rush anything. We can start from where we left ourselves. Not the past version of us—but the people we are now."

She smiled, for real this time. "That's a better place to begin."

They walked out together. The rain had stopped, leaving behind the scent of wet earth and fresh beginnings. They didn't hold hands. Not yet.

But they walked close enough that it felt like a promise.

Later That Night

Lena sat by her window, the city lights flickering like tiny stars.

She pulled out her notebook—one she hadn't written in for years.

Not about anyone else. Not about Mira. Not about pain.

This one was just for her.

She opened to a blank page and wrote:

*"I'm not who I was when I walked away.

And he's not who he was when he let me go.

Maybe we weren't ready to love then.

But maybe we're ready to grow now.

And maybe love isn't about saving each other.

Maybe it's about being safe… together."*

She closed the notebook gently, feeling something she hadn't in a long time.

Hope.

Soft. Unrushed. Real.