In a quiet land lived a girl.
She never believed in love.
Not the kind that moved mountains,
not the kind that stayed.
But all of that changed
the moment she saw him.
He didn't do anything grand —
no heroic gestures, no dramatic confessions.
Just a glance, a smile,
a presence that made the world feel softer.
And suddenly,
she loved him.
Madly.
Quietly.
Completely.
She thought about him day and night,
a name etched behind every thought.
She would have done anything for him —
and perhaps, in her own way,
she did.
Years passed,
but her love never faded.
And one day, with hands slightly trembling,
she decided it was time.
Time to finally tell him.
The journey was long.
Miles and miles of road behind her,
but her heart carried her through —
every step pulled forward
by the weight of her devotion.
She arrived at last.
Exhausted.
Windswept.
Determined.
In her hands, a small bouquet —
nothing extravagant,
just his favorite flowers,
still fresh with morning dew.
She knelt down slowly,
and placed them in front of him.
A gravestone.
Weathered by time.
Carved with the name she had whispered in her dreams
for twenty-five long years.
"I didn't forget you, my love,"
she said softly, tears clinging to her lashes.
"I still love you…
even now.
Even after all this time.
Even after 25 years
since you passed away."
And for a moment,
in the hush of the wind,
it felt like he was listening.