The bridge stretched across the valley like a thread between two worlds—one of memory, one of possibility. Mist curled around its edges, softening the view, blurring the boundaries between sky and earth.
Aanya stood at the center, arms folded, watching the clouds drift below. She had come here every morning since Vihaan arrived, but today felt different. Today, she wasn't alone.
Vihaan approached slowly, his footsteps muffled by the damp wood. He stopped a few feet away, unsure whether to speak or wait.
"I used to think bridges were about crossing," Aanya said, not turning. "But maybe they're about pausing. About deciding whether to go forward or turn back."
Vihaan stepped beside her. "I've been standing on one for years. Between Meera and… everything else."
She looked at him. "And now?"
"I want to cross. With you."
Aanya's eyes searched his face. "Then tell me the truth. Not the poetic version. The real one."
Vihaan took a breath. "I loved Meera. Deeply. But I also loved the idea of her—the way she made me feel, the way I could write without fear. When she disappeared, I didn't just lose her. I lost the version of myself I liked best."
"And me?" Aanya asked.
"You make me want to be real. Not romantic. Not tragic. Just… present."
She nodded slowly. "I'm not asking you to forget her. I'm asking you to choose me without needing to rewrite the past."
Vihaan reached into his coat and pulled out a small envelope. "I wrote one last letter. Not to Meera. To myself."
He handed it to her.
> Dear Vihaan,
> She's gone. And you're still here. That means something. Stop chasing echoes. Start listening to the voice beside you. She's not Meera. She's Aanya. And she's real.
Aanya folded the letter, placed it in her journal.
"I'm scared," she admitted.
"So am I," Vihaan said. "But maybe that's how we know it's real."
They stood together, mist curling around them, the valley below silent and vast.
And for the first time, the bridge didn't feel like a question. It felt like an answer.