The morning light crept through the thin curtains of Ashburn's room, landing softly on the wooden desk scattered with papers and receipts. He sat quietly, pen in hand, staring at two blank envelopes. The faint sound of his mother calling him for breakfast echoed from the kitchen, but he didn't move. His fingers tapped against the desk once, twice, before he finally began to write.
His handwriting was neat, deliberate, like every word carried weight. One letter for Aisha — firm yet gentle. The other for Kainat — calm and full of understanding. He didn't write long sentences, only what truly mattered. Gratitude, admiration, and the truth that he couldn't choose between them — not because he didn't want to, but because both were part of his life's rhythm now. When he sealed the letters, a strange peace settled in his chest.
His mother's voice broke the silence again.
"Ashburn, breakfast is getting cold!"
"Coming, Ma!" he replied, slipping the letters into his coat pocket.
Downstairs, the smell of parathas and chai filled the small kitchen. His father was already dressed, reading the morning paper. His younger sister, a little whirlwind of chatter, swung her legs under the table.
"Bhai, are you going to bring sweets for New Year?" she asked with hopeful eyes.
Ashburn smiled and ruffled her hair. "Only if you promise not to eat them all before dinner."
She giggled, nodding fast.
After breakfast, he left home, letters safe in his pocket, the cool morning breeze brushing his face. The city was waking up — rickshaws honking, vendors calling, people rushing toward their shops. When he reached Khan General Store, Aisha was already inside, arranging invoices near the counter.
"Good morning," she said without looking up.
"Morning," he replied, placing the letter quietly beside her notebook before heading toward the storeroom. She didn't notice it right away.
Later, while checking deliveries, he stopped by Kainat's charity kitchen. She was there as always, sleeves rolled up, hair tied neatly, directing volunteers. He waited until she turned around, smiled, and greeted him.
"You're early today."
"Just came to see if everything's running smoothly," he said, placing a small envelope near the donation register. "And maybe steal a cup of tea."
Kainat laughed. "You don't even need to ask."
They talked briefly about supplies and upcoming New Year events before he left, heading back to the shop.
By noon, Aisha received a call from Horizon's delivery manager — one truck delayed due to engine trouble. She frowned. The stock for Kainat's kitchen would be late, and there was no one else to coordinate the issue. Without thinking twice, she drove to the kitchen herself.
Kainat was surprised to see her arrive, holding delivery receipts and a determined look.
"I heard about the delay," Aisha said. "Thought I'd help out."
"That's kind of you," Kainat replied, smiling warmly. "Come, you can check the goods with me. The volunteers are busy."
For a moment, there was tension — polite, careful — but as they worked together, it began to melt. Both women moved with quiet efficiency, occasionally stealing glances at each other.
"You're good at this," Kainat admitted while arranging boxes.
"I've been handling deliveries for months," Aisha replied with a faint smile. "Ashburn can't be everywhere at once."
"True," Kainat said softly. "But he tries anyway."
The sun climbed higher, and the kitchen filled with the sound of laughter and clinking pots. Aisha helped serve food to the visitors. When they finally sat outside under the awning, tea steaming in front of them, the conversation drifted to him again.
"He's too dedicated," Aisha said, stirring her cup slowly.
Kainat smiled. "He's built like that. When he sets his heart on something, he doesn't stop."
"Sometimes I wish he would," Aisha murmured. "Just… rest, for once."
Kainat looked at her, sensing the emotion beneath her words. "You care for him deeply."
Aisha met her gaze. "And you don't?"
Kainat didn't answer immediately. She only smiled, a little sadly. "Maybe more than I should."
The air between them grew still, but it wasn't heavy. It was understanding — two hearts quietly realizing how similar they were.
As the day ended, Aisha returned to the store. Ashburn was there, organizing the new display shelves.
"How was it?" he asked casually.
"Good. Everything settled," she said, glancing at him, wondering if he had expected her to go. "By the way, your handwriting's terrible."
He turned to her, surprised, then smiled faintly. "So you read it."
"I did." She didn't say more, but her tone was soft — almost affectionate.
At home that night, Aisha couldn't sleep. The letter lay open on her desk, the words looping in her mind. She remembered the first day she met Ashburn at university, how serious he always was about his dreams. Somewhere along the way, that seriousness became something she admired — and maybe something more.
Across the city, Kainat sat near her window, reading the same kind of letter. Her parents were asleep, the kitchen below dark. She thought about how Ashburn had supported her dream, invested in her cause, stayed beside her when others wouldn't. Her heart felt full, conflicted, but certain of one thing — she couldn't imagine her days without him anymore.
And then, as if the universe was listening, the electricity went out.
The city dimmed into silence. No hum of fans, no flicker of bulbs — only moonlight spilling through the windows. Aisha stepped outside her room, the cool air brushing her face. Somewhere, she thought, Kainat must be seeing the same moon.
Both women, in different corners of the city, stood under that silver light, lost in their thoughts. They didn't need to say it aloud — the decision had already formed quietly within them.
Meanwhile, Ashburn sat at his desk at home, lamp light faintly glowing on his new laptop screen. He was updating the sales records when the power went out. For a moment, he sighed, then leaned back, gazing out at the dark sky.
He didn't know that somewhere, two hearts had already chosen him.
The moonlight rested gently on his face, and in the stillness, everything felt like it was about to change.