Please Do Not Leave Me

Prologue – The Beginning of Us A brief, emotional opening showing how Aarohi and Kian first met during a train journey—two strangers, one conversation that changes everything. --- Chapters


 Chapter 1 – The Stranger on the Train Aarohi meets Kian during a late-night train ride. Their banter is playful, filled with humor, but beneath it is an immediate, undeniable spark.

 Chapter 2 – Coffee Dates and Confessions What begins as casual meetings slowly becomes something deeper. Kian confesses that he feels alive around Aarohi. She feels the same but hesitates—her past heartbreak makes her guarded.

 Chapter 3 – Love, Laughter, and Late Nights They fall in love quietly—through late-night calls, shared music, and small gestures. Their bond deepens, but neither says the words aloud.

 Chapter 4 – The First Goodbye Kian receives a job opportunity abroad. Aarohi encourages him, though her heart aches. Their last night together is bittersweet, filled with promises to stay connected.

 Chapter 5 – Letters Across Oceans They begin writing letters and emails, each one a lifeline. But as months pass, the distance begins to strain their connection. Aarohi hides her loneliness in cheerful words.


 Chapter 6 – Silence Grows Between Us Kian grows distant, busy with his new life. Aarohi senses him slipping away. She rereads old letters, clinging to what they had.

 Chapter 7 – Please Do Not Leave Me One night, unable to bear the silence, Aarohi writes a raw, vulnerable letter begging him not to let go: “Please do not leave me. Not like this. Not when I’ve only just found home in you.”

 Chapter 8 – The Return Kian surprises Aarohi by returning unexpectedly. He admits he was afraid—of failing her, of not being enough—but he can’t imagine life without her. Their reunion is tender, filled with unspoken longing.

 Chapter 9 – Storm Before the Calm A misunderstanding threatens to undo them. Aarohi overhears a conversation that makes her believe Kian is planning to leave again. Old fears resurface, and her walls come back up.

 Chapter 10 – The Choice Kian finds her on the same train where they first met. This time, he refuses to let her go. With raw honesty, he asks for forever, saying: “I left once. I’ll never leave again. Please don’t leave me either.” ---


 Ending

 The novel closes with Aarohi taking his hand, tears streaming down her face, but her smile brighter than it had ever been. The ending is hopeful, open yet satisfying, with the sense that this time, they will fight for love together. --- 💡

This story combines: A meet-cute (strangers meeting on a train). Long-distance heartbreak & unsent letters. A desperate, emotional plea (the title moment). Reunion and redemption. ---

Chapter 1 

The Stranger on the Train


 The train was half-empty, its compartments swaying with the rhythm of steel against tracks. It was one of those late-night journeys where the world outside melted into darkness, the windows reflecting only your own tired face back at you.

Aarohi shifted in her seat, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She hated traveling alone, but this trip was unavoidable. The quiet was interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps.

A young man appeared at the entrance of the compartment, slightly out of breath, dragging a worn leather backpack behind him. He looked around, scanning the empty seats, before his eyes landed on hers.

 “Is this seat taken?” he asked, pointing at the empty space opposite her. Aarohi shook her head. “No, go ahead.” He dropped his bag with a thud and sat down, running a hand through his unruly hair.

His shirt was slightly wrinkled, his watch strap loose, his smile crooked in a way that looked like trouble—or charm. Maybe both. “I almost missed the train,” he admitted with a sheepish grin. “Didn’t think running through a platform with samosas in one hand and a ticket in the other was the best first impression.”

 Aarohi raised an eyebrow, amused despite herself. “Depends. Were the samosas worth it?” “Absolutely.” He leaned back, looking at her with mock seriousness.

“Though now I’m regretting not buying an extra one. You look like someone who might judge me for not sharing.” She laughed softly, covering it with her hand.

“Maybe I would.” The ice broke like that—easily, unexpectedly. As the train sped forward, they slipped into conversation as if they’d been doing it for years.

His name was Kian. He was on his way to Delhi for a job interview, though he confessed he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted out of life yet. Aarohi, in contrast, was traveling for a cousin’s engagement.

She worked as a graphic designer, though she downplayed it, calling herself “just someone who makes posters look pretty.” “You don’t sound like someone who’s ‘just’ anything,” Kian said, tilting his head. “You sound like someone who underestimates herself.”

 She blinked at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. Most people didn’t notice her like that, not right away. “And you,” she countered, “sound like someone who talks too much.” “Guilty,” he said, raising both hands in surrender. “But in my defense, silence makes me nervous.” Aarohi studied him when he wasn’t looking.

There was something about Kian’s presence—carefree, unpolished, a little chaotic. He had that rare ability to make the air feel lighter, even in a cramped train compartment.

And yet, beneath the jokes, there was a softness in his eyes, as if he carried stories he hadn’t yet told.

 They talked about trivial things first—favorite street foods, terrible movies, childhood pranks. Then, gradually, the conversation deepened. Kian told her about his father’s dream for him to settle abroad, about the weight of expectations he wasn’t sure he wanted to carry.

 Aarohi shared how she once dreamed of painting full-time, but ended up in design because “dreams don’t pay bills.” “You ever think about just… running away from it all?”


 Kian asked, gazing out the window into the blur of night. “All the time,” Aarohi admitted quietly. “But then I remind myself—running away doesn’t mean the emptiness won’t follow.”

 Their eyes met in the dim light, the hum of the train filling the silence that followed. It was strange—how much they had revealed in just a few hours, how much lighter she felt with him than with people she had known for years.

 The clock ticked past midnight. Aarohi leaned against the window, her eyelids growing heavy. She fought the pull of sleep, not wanting the conversation to end, not wanting to lose this strange connection that had bloomed in the middle of nowhere.

 “Sleep,” Kian said gently. “I’ll wake you when we’re close.” “You don’t even know where I’m getting off,” she murmured, her voice slurred with drowsiness. “True,” he admitted with a grin. “But I’ll figure it out. Call it intuition.” She smiled faintly, her lashes brushing her cheeks as she drifted off.

The last thing she remembered was the sound of his voice humming some tune she didn’t recognize, steady and comforting against the backdrop of the rattling train.

 When she woke at dawn, the sun spilling gold through the window, Kian was gone. His seat was empty, his bag no longer by his side. For a moment, she thought she had dreamed him.

 But then she noticed the folded napkin on the seat. Her name was scrawled on it. “You looked like you could use a friend. Maybe the train wasn’t just coincidence. If you ever want another conversation that lasts till midnight—here’s my number.”

 Beneath it was a series of digits, hastily written but clear. Aarohi stared at it, her heart pounding in a way she hadn’t felt in years. For some reason, her lips formed a whisper she didn’t understand yet. “Please… don’t let this be the last time.” ✨ End of Chapter 1


 Chapter 2 – Coffee Dates and Confessions


This chapter will show how Aarohi decides to reach out to Kian, leading to their first proper “date” — funny, awkward, and quietly emotional. Chapter 2 – Coffee Dates and Confessions Aarohi stared at the napkin on her desk for three days. It sat there like a dare, folded neatly beside her laptop, the digits glaring up at her every time she tried to ignore them.

Her cousin’s engagement was over, her family had returned to their routines, and yet her thoughts kept circling back to the stranger on the train.

 The one who had made her laugh so easily. The one who had looked at her as if he already knew her heart.

 The one who was either just a fleeting encounter—or the beginning of something she couldn’t yet name. On the fourth day, she caved.

 She typed his number into her phone and stared at it for another ten minutes before sending a simple message: “This is Aarohi. You left me a napkin.” Her thumb hovered nervously over the screen until it buzzed. “Ah, the girl who nearly judged me for not sharing samosas. Thought you’d never text.” A smile tugged at her lips before she could stop it. “And you’re the guy who thinks running through a station with fried food is attractive.” “Worked, didn’t it?” came his reply.

 She rolled her eyes, but warmth spread through her chest. Two days later, they met at a coffee shop near her office. Aarohi had chosen it because it was familiar, her comfort zone. Yet as she sat at the corner table, her hands fiddling with the sugar packets, she felt anything but calm.

 Then Kian walked in, and the nervousness shifted into something lighter. He looked just as she remembered—messy hair, slightly crooked smile, eyes that seemed too honest for their own good. He spotted her immediately, waving as though they were old friends.


 “You came,” he said, sliding into the seat across from her. “You texted me twelve times to remind me,” she countered. “Details,” he said with a grin. “What matters is—you’re here.” They ordered coffee. Kian insisted on something overly sweet, while Aarohi stuck to her plain cappuccino.

 “Let me guess,” he said, tapping his chin dramatically. “You’re the type who believes coffee should taste like punishment, not dessert.” “And you,” she shot back, “are the type who thinks whipped cream counts as personality.” He laughed so loudly that people turned to stare.


Aarohi felt her cheeks warm, but secretly, she liked the sound. It was big, unrestrained—like him. The conversation flowed just like it had on the train, zig-zagging between jokes and surprising confessions. Kian told her about his interview in Delhi, how it hadn’t gone as planned. “They wanted someone ‘serious,’” he said, making air quotes.
“Apparently, smiling too much doesn’t scream professionalism.” “You? Serious?” Aarohi teased. “Impossible.” “Hey, I can be serious,” he argued, leaning forward, lowering his voice with mock gravity. “For example… I take dessert very seriously.” She rolled her eyes, trying not to laugh. But then he surprised her.

 “Truth is, I’m figuring things out. I don’t know if I want to chase some big career or just… find something that makes me feel alive.” The shift in tone caught her off guard. There it was again—that flicker of vulnerability beneath all the jokes. “And what makes you feel alive?” she asked softly.

 His eyes lingered on hers for a moment too long. “Conversations like this,” he said. Her breath caught. She looked away quickly, pretending to focus on the swirl of foam in her cup.

 By the time they left, the city lights had blinked awake. Outside, Kian walked her to the bus stop, hands shoved in his pockets. “You know,” he said casually, “I’m glad you texted. I was starting to think maybe I imagined you.” “You don’t have that much imagination,” she teased, though her voice trembled.

 He chuckled. “True. But I do have enough to imagine seeing you again.” Aarohi raised a brow. “That’s your way of asking me out?” “Depends. Did it work?” She shook her head, but a smile betrayed her. “Maybe.”

 As her bus pulled up, she climbed the steps, her heart strangely lighter. Through the window, she caught Kian’s eyes one last time.

 He mouthed something she almost didn’t catch. “Don’t disappear.” Aarohi sat down, hugging her bag to her chest. For the first time in a long while, she wasn’t dreading tomorrow. ✨ End of Chapter 2 –


  Chapter 3 – Love, Laughter, and Late Nights


 It started with coffee. Then turned into walks. And before long, it became late-night calls that neither of them could let go of. Aarohi wasn’t sure how it happened, only that it did—her phone would buzz after dinner, and there he’d be, asking ridiculous questions like, “Do you think pigeons gossip about us?” Or confessions like, “I tried cooking pasta today. It turned into soup. Don’t ask how.” What began as banter turned into ritual. By midnight, they’d be knee-deep in conversations that felt endless—sometimes silly, sometimes heartbreakingly honest.

 One night, Aarohi sat curled in her blanket, phone pressed to her ear, listening to Kian’s laughter ripple through the line. He had just told her about an awkward run-in at the grocery store where he accidentally called a stranger “mom.”

 “You didn’t!” she gasped, clutching her stomach. “I did,” he groaned, but she could hear his grin. “In my defense, she had the same handbag my mom uses. I panicked. The worst part? She patted my cheek like I was five years old.”

 Aarohi laughed so hard she had tears in her eyes. “You’re impossible.” “And yet, here you are. Still talking to me at 1 a.m.,” he said smugly. Her smile softened, unseen. “Yeah. Here I am.”

 Their conversations weren’t always funny. Sometimes, silence stretched between them before one of them filled it with something raw. “I feel like I’ve been drifting,” Kian admitted one night.

“Like everyone else has their life mapped out, and I’m just… floating.” “You’re not floating,” Aarohi said quietly. “You’re searching. There’s a difference.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he whispered, “You make it sound less scary.” And sometimes it was Aarohi who shared the things she usually kept buried.

She told him about her failed relationship from two years ago, about how betrayal had left her wary of love. “It’s easier to keep people at a distance,” she said.

“That way, they can’t hurt you.” “What about me?” Kian asked softly. She hesitated. “You snuck past the distance.” The line went quiet. When he spoke again, his voice was low, steady. “Then I promise—I’ll be careful with the space I’ve been given.” Her heart ached at his words, a mixture of fear and something warmer she didn’t want to name.

 They began meeting more often—after work, on weekends. Sometimes they sat in crowded cafes, teasing each other over pastries. Sometimes they walked through parks, arguing about who would win in an arm-wrestling match (Kian insisted she’d beat him because she “looked like a secret assassin”).

 Aarohi found herself laughing more in weeks with him than she had in years. But it wasn’t just laughter—it was the way his eyes softened when she spoke about her passions, the way he remembered little details she thought she had said in passing.

 Once, she mentioned her love for sketching during their first coffee. The next week, he showed up with a small sketchbook.

 “For when words aren’t enough,” he’d said, shrugging as if it wasn’t the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for her. She carried it everywhere after that.

 One evening, they sat on a bench near the river, the city lights shimmering on the water. The air was cool, their shoulders brushing every now and then. “You ever think about the future?” Kian asked.

 “Sometimes,” Aarohi said. “Mostly I try not to.” “Why not?” “Because whenever I did, it never turned out the way I imagined.” She hesitated, then added, “It’s easier to just… stay in the moment.” Kian nodded slowly. “Then let’s stay here. Just… this moment.”

 Aarohi looked at him, at the curve of his smile, at the gentleness in his gaze. And for the first time, she let herself admit what she already knew. She was falling for him. That night, lying in bed, she stared at the sketchbook he had given her. On the first page, she drew two figures on a train, sitting opposite each other, smiling in the dim light. Beneath it, she wrote in small, careful letters: “Some strangers feel like home.” ✨ End of Chapter 3 


 Chapter 4 –  The First Goodbye 

The message came on a Tuesday evening. Aarohi was sketching in the little book Kian had gifted her, absently shading the outline of a coffee cup, when her phone buzzed. “Got the job. Abroad.

Can you meet me tonight?” Her pencil froze mid-stroke. Abroad.

The word was small, but it stretched into something vast, something that echoed like a hollow space opening between them.

 She typed back quickly: “Where?” “London.” Her chest tightened. London wasn’t just far—it was oceans, time zones, and silence disguised as distance.

 Still, she replied: “Yes. Where should we meet?” They met at the riverside bench where they’d laughed and dreamed just days before. Kian was already there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his posture restless. When Aarohi arrived, he smiled—but it was thinner than usual, weighed down with nerves. “You got it,” she said, trying to sound proud, but her voice cracked anyway.

 “Yeah,” he breathed out. “They called today. It’s everything I thought I wanted. A chance to… start over. To prove myself.” “That’s amazing, Kian,” she said.

And she meant it. She really did. But the word “amazing” felt heavy on her tongue, like a stone she couldn’t swallow. He looked at her then, his expression raw.

“But it means leaving. In two weeks.” The silence between them stretched. Aarohi’s fingers tightened around her sketchbook, nails digging into the cover.

 Two weeks. That was all they had. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The river rushed quietly behind them, the city lights blinking indifferently.

 Finally, Aarohi forced a smile. “Then you should go. You’d be stupid not to.” Kian let out a soft laugh, but his eyes stayed on hers. “You always say the right thing, you know that?” “I’m just saying what you already know,” she said. But inside, her heart was screaming.

 Don’t go. Stay. Choose me. The words lodged in her throat, stubborn, refusing to come out. The days that followed felt like countdowns. Every moment together carried the weight of goodbye—every laugh, every touch, every shared silence.

 They went out for pani puri, like two reckless teenagers daring the world to catch them. They walked aimlessly through crowded markets, joking about buying each other the ugliest souvenirs.

They spent nights on the phone, talking until one of them fell asleep mid-sentence.

 But beneath it all, an unspoken truth pulsed: this is temporary. On his last night before leaving, they met at the train station—the same place they had first met.

Aarohi almost laughed at the irony. “Full circle,” Kian said, noticing her expression. “Yeah,” she whispered.

 He looked at her for a long time, his gaze soft, searching. “You know, if I’d missed that train, I never would’ve met you.” “And if I hadn’t judged your samosas,” she said with a shaky smile, “we might never have talked.”

 Kian chuckled, but it faded quickly. “Aarohi… thank you. For making these months feel like… like I wasn’t just floating anymore.” Her throat tightened.

She wanted to say so much, but the words tangled inside her. So she did the only thing she could—she hugged him. Hard. Longer than she should have.

Her face pressed against his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt. “Go,” she whispered into the fabric. “Be everything you want to be.” He closed his arms around her, his voice breaking as he replied, “I’ll come back. I promise.” And then, just like that, he was gone—his train carrying him away, leaving her standing alone on the platform.

 Aarohi held her sketchbook to her chest, whispering into the night what she couldn’t say to his face: ” ✨

 End of Chapter 4

Chapter 5 – Letters Across Oceans of Please Do Not Leave Me. 

 At first, the distance felt almost romantic. Aarohi would wake up to an email from Kian, his words brimming with stories of London—his tiny apartment with creaky floors, the bakery downstairs that smelled like heaven, the rush of the city that both thrilled and exhausted him.

 She replied with details of her world—her sketches, her projects at work, her mother’s endless questions about “future plans.” She told him about the stray cat that had started waiting outside her office every evening, about the monsoon that flooded her street and left her wading through knee-deep water in sandals.

 Their words became lifelines, strings stretched across oceans. Dear Aarohi, Today I walked across Tower Bridge. It was freezing, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop smiling. Maybe because in my head, I imagined you teasing me for taking too many tourist photos.

 —Kian Aarohi, Your sketch of the cat made me laugh so hard my colleague thought I was losing it. Can you name him after me? Then at least some version of me gets to stay with you. —Kian Sometimes, they still managed late-night calls, one of them half-asleep, the other too wide awake.

 The time zones were cruel, but they fought them anyway. “You sound tired,” Aarohi whispered once, listening to his heavy breathing through the phone. “I’d stay awake forever if it meant hearing you,” he replied drowsily.

 Her heart clenched, and for a moment, the distance didn’t feel so wide. But as weeks turned into months, the silences began to grow. Emails took longer to come.

Calls became shorter, squeezed between Kian’s long work hours. Aarohi told herself he was busy, that he was building the life he had dreamed of.

 But at night, staring at her sketchbook, she felt the ache of absence. One evening, after waiting hours for his reply, she scribbled in frustration: Why does it feel like I’m losing you to the city? Why does it feel like I’m writing to someone who’s slipping through my fingers? She didn’t send it. Instead, she drew another sketch—two people on opposite sides of the globe, tied together by a fragile string.

 Then came his letter—longer than usual, but somehow distant.

 Dear Aarohi, Things are moving fast here. Work has been overwhelming, but in a good way. I’m learning so much, meeting people, seeing places I only dreamed of before. Sometimes I wish you could be here to see it with me… She read that line again and again. Sometimes I wish. Not I need you here or I miss you every second. Just sometimes.

Her chest tightened.

She pressed the paper to her lips, whispering into the quiet of her room, “What about all the time, Kian?” That night, she wrote him a letter she never sent.

 Dear Kian, I’m happy for you, truly. But some days, I feel like I’m cheering for you from the shadows, while you’re out in the light. I promised myself I wouldn’t be selfish, but is it selfish to want more of you? Please… don’t let distance turn us into strangers. She folded it carefully, tucking it into the back of her sketchbook, where all her unsent words lived. Days stretched, then weeks. The replies came slower, thinner. Aarohi began to fear the silences more than anything he could say. And one evening, after reading his newest email—a simple two-line apology for being too busy to write—her tears spilled freely onto the page of her sketchbook. She traced the words she had drawn weeks before: Some strangers feel like home. Now, she added beneath it: And some homes slip quietly away. ✨

 End of Chapter 5

 Chapter 6 – Silence Grows Between Us

 The first time Aarohi noticed it, it was subtle. A missed call here, a delayed reply there. The kind of things that could be explained away by time zones and busy schedules.

 But soon, the silence wasn’t occasional. It was constant. Kian’s emails became shorter, rushed, like hurried notes scribbled between meetings.

“Sorry, crazy day. Will call soon.” “Work’s piling up. Miss our talks.” “Will write properly tomorrow.” Tomorrow rarely came.

 Aarohi tried to fill the gaps with patience, convincing herself that this was just a phase, that once things settled, he’d find his way back to her words.

But as the days stretched, her patience turned into restlessness, her restlessness into quiet despair. One evening, she sat at her desk, staring at the blinking cursor of an email draft. She had typed: How are you really? Do you still think of me?

 Her fingers hovered over the send button, but she couldn’t press it. Instead, she deleted the words, replacing them with something safer: Hope you’re eating properly. Don’t forget to rest. She pressed send, but the hollowness remained.

 Her sketchbook began to carry the weight of what she couldn’t say. Page after page filled with drawings—of clocks with melting hands, of phones with silent screens, of a girl reaching out toward a figure blurred by distance.


 Sometimes she wondered if he still kept the sketch of the stray cat she’d once sent him. Or if it was buried beneath piles of new memories she wasn’t part of. When his calls finally came, they were brief.

 “Hey, sorry, can’t talk long. Just wanted to check in,” he’d say, his voice rushed, distracted. “It’s okay,” she always replied, even when it wasn’t. And then the call would end, leaving her staring at her phone, replaying his tone—searching for warmth, finding only exhaustion. Her friends noticed the change before she admitted it to herself.

 “You’re quieter these days,” her colleague Riya said over lunch. “Just tired,” Aarohi lied. But the truth was, she was carrying the weight of conversations that had stopped happening, of laughter that had been replaced by static silence.

 One night, after another empty inbox, Aarohi scrolled back through his old messages. She found the one that had once made her heart race: “Don’t disappear.” Her chest tightened. She whispered into the dark, “You’re the one disappearing, Kian.”

 The breaking point came a week later. She sent him a long message—telling him about her day, about a small victory at work, about how she had finally tried cooking pasta (and failed spectacularly). She added a line at the end: “Wish you were here to laugh at me.” Hours passed.

Then a day. Then three. His reply, when it came, was three words: “Sorry, so busy.” That was it. No questions about her. No mention of missing her. Nothing. Aarohi stared at the screen until her vision blurred. For the first time, she didn’t cry. She just felt… empty.

 That night, she pulled out her sketchbook. Instead of a drawing, she wrote a single line across the page: Silence is louder than any goodbye. And though she hadn’t said it aloud, a whisper coiled in her chest, fragile and desperate: Kian, please… do not leave me. ✨

End of Chapter 6 

 Chapter 7 – Please Do Not Leave Me 

  Aarohi had written letters before. Some were funny, some were sweet, and many never left the safety of her sketchbook. But this one was different. This one felt like her last lifeline. The night was quiet, broken only by the faint hum of the ceiling fan. Aarohi sat at her desk, the lamp casting a warm pool of light over the blank page.

Her hands trembled as she picked up her pen. For a long moment, she just stared at the paper. Then, slowly, the words began to flow. Dear Kian, I don’t know where to start, so I’ll just say the thing I’ve been afraid to say: I’m scared of losing you. When you left, I told myself I’d be strong.

That distance wouldn’t matter if we kept our promises. But now, the silences feel longer than the words we share. And in those silences, I hear everything I’m afraid of. Do you still think of me when you see something funny? Do you still want to tell me about your day? Do you still remember the girl on the train who teased you about samosas?

 Or has London taken those memories and replaced them with new ones I’ll never know? She paused, her chest heaving, tears spilling onto the page. The ink smudged beneath her fingers, but she didn’t stop.

 I keep telling myself you’re busy, that this isn’t your fault, that love is supposed to survive things like this. But some days, Kian, it feels like I’m the only one holding on. And it’s exhausting, waiting for a message, a call, a reminder that I still matter to you.

 Please don’t let this be the way our story ends. Please don’t let silence take the place of us. I can live with distance.

 I can live with time zones. But I can’t live with the thought that you’re slipping away and I’m just… watching it happen. So I’ll say the one thing my pride tried to stop me from saying—Please do not leave me. Not like this. Not when I’ve only just found home in you. She dropped the pen, her hand shaking, her tears blurring the last words.

 For a long time, she sat there, staring at the letter. Part of her wanted to tear it up, to hide it in the sketchbook like all the others. It was too raw, too desperate, too vulnerable. But another part of her whispered that maybe, just maybe, he needed to see her truth.

That if she didn’t send this, she would regret it forever. Aarohi folded the paper carefully, slipping it into an envelope. Her heart thudded as she wrote his address.

With every letter of his name, she felt like she was carving out a piece of herself. By the time she sealed it, her decision was made. This letter wouldn’t stay hidden.

This one would reach him. Later that night, lying in bed, Aarohi pressed her sketchbook to her chest, whispering into the dark: “If you love me still, you’ll come back.

If you don’t… then this will be my goodbye.” Her tears soaked into the pillow, but her heart felt strangely lighter. For the first time in months, she slept with the window open, as though letting the night carry her words across oceans.

End of Chapter 7

Chapter 8 – The Return

 The letter had been sent. Days turned into weeks, and still, no reply came. Aarohi told herself she had expected this. That silence itself was an answer.

Yet every time the postman passed her gate, every time her phone buzzed with a notification, her heart leapt with a hope she hated herself for. Until one ordinary evening, everything changed.

 She was leaving her office, sketchbook tucked under her arm, when she saw him. Kian. Standing by the gate like he had never left, his hair longer, his face thinner, his eyes searching the crowd until they landed on her.

 Aarohi froze. The street blurred, the noise of traffic drowned in the sudden rush of her heartbeat. “Kian?” Her voice cracked, half-question, half-breath. He smiled faintly, almost shyly. “Hi.”

 Just one word, but it undid her. Months of silence, months of waiting, unravelled in that single sound. She didn’t run into his arms. She didn’t even move closer. Instead, she tightened her grip on the sketchbook, her body rigid. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

 Her tone was sharper than she intended, but she couldn’t stop it. “I read your letter,” he said quietly. Her throat tightened. “And?” “And I realized I couldn’t stay there anymore.” He took a hesitant step toward her. “Aarohi, I thought I was doing the right thing—building a future, becoming someone you could be proud of. But all the while, I was losing the one thing that made it matter.” Her eyes stung. “Then why the silence, Kian? Why did you let me feel like I was begging for scraps of you?” His face crumpled. “Because I was scared.

 I didn’t want you to see me tired, lost, barely holding things together. I thought if I kept my distance, you’d remember me as the version of me who made you laugh, not the one drowning in deadlines.”

 Aarohi shook her head, her tears finally falling. “I didn’t need the perfect version of you. I just needed you.” For a long moment, they stood in the middle of the bustling street, their silence speaking louder than the honking cars around them.

 Then Kian stepped closer, so close she could feel the warmth of him again. His voice was raw when he spoke: “I came back because I can’t do this without you. Aarohi… please don’t let me go. Please don’t let that letter be the last thing between us.”

 Her heart twisted. She wanted to fall into his arms, to believe his words, to let herself hope. But fear still lingered, sharp and stubborn. “What if you leave again?” she whispered. He reached out, gently brushing a tear from her cheek.

 “Then I’ll come back again. And again. Until you believe I’m not going anywhere.” Something inside her cracked open then—not fully, not yet forgiveness, but the faintest spark of the faith she thought she’d lost. She let out a trembling laugh, half-broken, half-relieved.

 “You’re impossible, you know that?” Kian smiled, the kind of smile that reached his tired eyes. “And yet, here I am. Still yours—if you’ll have me.”

 Aarohi didn’t answer with words. She simply stepped forward and let herself fall against him, her sketchbook pressed between their chests, her tears soaking into his shirt just like that night at the train station.

 This time, she whispered into his ear, “Please… don’t leave me.” And his arms tightened around her, steady and certain. “Never again.”

 End of Chapter 8

 Chapter 9 – Storm Before the Calm 

 For a few weeks, it felt almost like a dream. Kian was back. They fell into old rhythms—coffee dates, walks by the river, late-night talks that stretched until sunrise. Aarohi began to believe again.

 That love could survive oceans, silence, and even her own doubts. But happiness, she knew too well, was fragile. It started with a phone call.

 Aarohi had gone to the kitchen to make chai when she heard his voice from the living room. His tone was low, urgent, the kind she hadn’t heard directed at her since he came back. “I know… I’ll figure it out soon… I just need more time.” She froze, cup halfway to the counter. Her chest tightened. Figure what out? She waited, straining to hear. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell her. But not yet.”

 The cup slipped from her hand, shattering against the tiles. Kian rushed in, startled. “Aarohi? Are you okay?” She forced a smile, though her hands trembled.

“Fine. Just clumsy.” But inside, her thoughts spiraled. Tell her what? Not yet? That night, she couldn’t sleep.

 Every word of his conversation replayed in her head. Tell her. Not yet. More time. The doubts she thought she had buried rose again, sharp and insistent. What if he was planning to leave again?

What if his return was only temporary, a pause before the inevitable? Her chest ached with the weight of it. The next day, she tried to ignore it, to trust him.

But trust, once cracked, whispered like shadows. When he smiled at her, she wondered if it was real. When he held her hand, she wondered how long before he let go. By evening, she couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Kian,” she said quietly as they walked home from the café.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” He blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?” “I heard you on the phone yesterday,” she admitted. Her voice shook, but she pushed through.

“You said you’d ‘figure it out soon.’ That you’d ‘tell her, but not yet.’ Was that… about me?” His expression softened with realisation. “Oh.” “Oh?” Her voice cracked, anger and hurt rising together. “That’s all you have to say?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Aarohi, it wasn’t what you think. I wasn’t hiding another goodbye. I was talking to my landlord. About extending my stay. About… staying here.” Her breath caught. “Staying… here?” “Yes.”

 He stepped closer, his voice steady. “I didn’t want to tell you until it was certain. I didn’t want to give you hope and then disappoint you. I was trying to protect you.”

 Her eyes filled with tears—half relief, half frustration. “Protect me? By making me believe you were lying to me again?” “Aarohi—” “No,” she said sharply, her voice trembling. “I can’t keep living in half-truths, Kian. If you love me, I need all of you. Not pieces. Not silence. Not secrets.”

 The words hung between them, raw and unyielding. Kian looked at her, his own eyes glistening.

“You’re right. No more secrets. No more half-truths. You want all of me? Then here it is—I’m not leaving again. Not now. Not ever. I want my future here. With you.” Her tears spilled over. She wanted to believe him. Her heart screamed to believe him.

 But trust was not built in declarations. It was built in time, in choices, in staying when it was easier to run. So she whispered, almost afraid, “Then prove it.”

 For the first time, Kian didn’t reply with promises. He simply nodded, his hand finding hers, holding it not with desperation but with quiet determination.

 And in that silence, Aarohi realized—this storm might not break them. It might be the beginning of calm.

 End of Chapter 9 


Chapter 10 – The Choice

 The days that followed were quieter. Not cold, not distant—just quieter. Kian stopped making grand declarations. Instead, he began to show up. He waited outside Aarohi’s office when she worked late.

He cooked her dinner—terrible pasta that tasted more like soup, but it made her laugh until she cried. He accompanied her on errands, held her hand without asking, and stayed through silences without trying to fill them. It wasn’t perfect.

But it was steady. And steadiness, Aarohi realized, was what her heart had been craving all along. One Saturday, he invited her out without telling her where they were going.

 She narrowed her eyes as they boarded a familiar train. “If this ends with bad samosas again, I’m disowning you.” Kian grinned, his eyes twinkling.

“Trust me.” The train rattled along the tracks, and as the city blurred past the window, Aarohi felt a strange rush of déjà vu. When they stepped off at the station, she froze. It was the same platform where they had first met.

The same chaotic crowd, the same vendors shouting, the same sense of possibility that had started everything.

 Her throat tightened. “Why here?” Kian turned to her, his expression soft, vulnerable. “Because this is where you changed my life. Where a stranger became home. And I need you to know—I’m not running from home again.” He pulled something from his pocket—not a ring, not yet, but a folded piece of paper. Her heart skipped as he handed it to her.

She unfolded it with trembling fingers. It was her letter. The one she had written, smudged with her tears. Please do not leave me.

 Her chest ached at the sight of her own words, so raw, so desperate. “I read this,” Kian said quietly. “And it broke me. Because I realized I had left you long before I got on that plane. With my silences.

My fear. My half-truths.” He took her hands in his, his voice trembling. “So here’s my answer, Aarohi. I’m not leaving. Not now, not ever. Not in silence. Not in distance. Not in fear.”

 Her tears blurred everything, but she laughed through them anyway. “Kian…” He smiled, brushing a tear from her cheek. “So, please—don’t leave me either. Stay.

Even when I mess up, even when I fail. Stay, and I’ll spend every day proving I’m worth it.” The platform bustled around them—people rushing, announcements blaring, life moving forward.

But for Aarohi, the world narrowed to just him. This boy she had met on a train. This boy who made her laugh until she couldn’t breathe. This boy who had hurt her, left her, come back, and now stood before her with nothing but the truth.

 And somehow, that was enough. She squeezed his hands, her voice steady despite the tears. “I was never leaving, Kian. Even when I wanted to. Even when it hurt. I stayed. And I’ll keep staying.” For the first time in months, the weight between them lifted. He pulled her into his arms, holding her as if he finally understood what it meant to never let go.

And she held him back, her heart no longer begging but simply beating—steadily, surely, against his. As the train roared into the station behind them, Aarohi whispered against his shoulder, half-smiling through her tears: “Some strangers feel like home.

And some homes… are worth fighting for.” Kian kissed her hair, his own voice breaking. “Then let’s fight. Together.”

End of Chapter 10