At first, it was almost unnoticeable.
A missed good morning text.
A shorter reply.
A smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
But I ignored it.
Because when you're happy, truly happy, you convince yourself the weather is always going to be like spring. You forget that seasons change.
She still laughed at my jokes. Still held my hand.
But something in the air felt different—lighter, as if she was slowly lifting off the ground.
I told myself it was just stress. Exams. Family pressure.
She wasn't the kind to bring her burdens out loud.
But I noticed.
She'd pause longer before answering questions.
She stopped mentioning the future.
Our long walks became shorter, as if time itself had grown shy between us.
Then came the day I'll never forget.
She stood beside me during lunch—quiet, distant. I offered her her favorite samosa, joking the way I always did.
She smiled.
But it was… empty.
"You okay?" I asked.
She nodded too quickly.
"Just tired."
And I knew.
The winds were changing.
Days passed. I found myself trying harder. Talking more, hoping my words would hold her back. Planning small surprises. Waiting longer outside her classroom.
And yet, I could feel her slipping like sand between fingers no matter how tightly I held on.
One evening, we sat at our usual bench—the one near the tree with the crooked trunk.
She didn't speak. Neither did I.
She just stared at the sky, and I stared at her.
And in that silence, I felt it.
I was losing her.
Not because of some fight. Not because of a mistake.
But because sometimes… love isn't enough against life's storm.
She looked at me, finally, and said something simple:
"Do you ever think… people can love each other and still grow apart?"
I wanted to scream, "Not us!"
But I just said, "I don't know."
Because I didn't.
But I knew what I was feeling.
That helpless ache when you realize someone you considered your whole world might be slowly turning into a memory.
This was the start of goodbye—silent, slow, and utterly heartbreaking.