Chapter 1: The Day He Left
I waited at the café for two hours.
The small bell above the glass door rang every time someone walked in, and each time my heart jumped—only to sink again when it wasn't him. The café smelled of roasted coffee beans and vanilla syrup, a comforting scent that usually made me feel safe. Today, it felt heavy, like a memory I didn't want to carry.
The cup in front of me had gone cold. I wrapped my fingers around it anyway, hoping the warmth would return, the way I hoped he would.
Arjun promised he would come. He always did.
That was the thing about him—he never broke promises. Not once in the three years we had been together. When he said he'd call, he called. When he said he'd meet me, he was there before me, smiling like the world had no problems at all. That was why I wasn't worried when he was late by ten minutes.
Then twenty.
Then forty.
I checked my phone again. No new messages. No missed calls.
Maybe he's stuck in traffic, I told myself. The city was unpredictable, and Arjun worked on the other side of town. I typed a message—Where are you?—then deleted it. I didn't want to sound impatient. I wanted to be the calm, understanding girlfriend I had always been.
Around me, life went on.
A couple laughed at the corner table, their hands intertwined, sharing a slice of chocolate cake. A group of college students argued loudly about exams and future plans. A waitress walked past me twice, giving me a polite smile that slowly turned into curiosity.
"Would you like a refill?" she finally asked.
I shook my head. "I'm waiting for someone."
She nodded, understanding without asking more. People in cafés were always waiting—for friends, for lovers, for endings, or beginnings.
I glanced at the wall clock. Two hours.
That was when worry began to creep in, slow and sharp. Arjun wasn't the type to forget. And he definitely wasn't the type to ignore me. I opened our chat window, scrolling through old messages without meaning to.
Good morning, beautiful.
Did you eat?
I can't wait to see you tonight.
The last message was from the night before.
Tomorrow will change everything. Trust me.
I smiled at the memory. He had sounded excited, almost nervous, when he said it. I thought he was planning something special—maybe a surprise, maybe news about a new job. For a moment, I even wondered if he was going to propose. The thought had made my cheeks warm and my heart race.
I checked my phone again.
Nothing.
That was when the message finally arrived.
Not an apology.
Not an explanation.
Just a single line.
I'm leaving the city. Don't wait for me.
My hands shook as I read it.
I read it again, hoping I had misunderstood. Maybe it was meant for someone else. Maybe it was a joke—one of his terrible jokes that always went too far. I typed his name, then erased it. My vision blurred, and I realized tears were gathering faster than I could stop them.
Leaving the city?
Without telling me?
Without saying goodbye?
I called him.
Once.
Twice.
The call went unanswered.
I sent a message. What do you mean? Where are you going?
The ticks turned blue.
No reply.
People around me laughed, talked, lived their lives—while mine slowly fell apart. The café suddenly felt too loud, too bright. Every sound echoed inside my head, mixing with questions that had no answers.
Did I do something wrong?
Was I not enough?
Or was I just easy to leave behind?
I remembered the way he looked at me the first time we met—like I was the only person in the room. I remembered rainy evenings, shared umbrellas, late-night phone calls where we talked about dreams and fears. He knew everything about me—my favorite song, my fear of thunderstorms, the scar on my knee from when I fell as a child.
How could someone who knew me so completely leave so suddenly?
My chest tightened, each breath painful. I stood up too quickly, my chair scraping against the floor. The waitress hurried over.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
I forced a smile that didn't feel real. "Yes. I just… need some air."
Outside, the evening sky was turning orange and purple, the city glowing as lights flickered on. It was beautiful—one of those moments Arjun and I would have stopped to admire together. I hugged my arms around myself, feeling colder than before.
I checked my phone one last time.
Still nothing.
That was when it hit me.
This wasn't a misunderstanding.
This wasn't a delay.
He was really gone.
My heart broke quietly, the way glass does when it cracks from the inside. No dramatic sound. No warning. Just pain spreading everywhere.
No explanation.
No goodbye.
Just silence.
And as I walked away from the café—alone, confused, and shattered—I had no idea that this broken promise would one day lead me to a love I never expected.
But that day, all I knew was this:
Some endings don't come with closure.
They come with silence.