Morning sunlight crept into my room quietly, the same way a new day enters your life when your mind is still stuck in yesterday. I sat on the edge of my bed, rubbing my eyes, trying to remember if the strange heaviness in my chest was a leftover from sleep… or a leftover from her last message.
It didn't take long to realize—
it was her.
Her words.
Her sudden distance.
Her quiet goodbye.
They still echoed inside me like an unanswered knock on a closed door.
I got up slowly, splashed water on my face, brushed my teeth, and tried to push her words out of my mind, but they followed me like shadows that refused to detach.
The house was already awake by the time I stepped outside my room. My mother was cutting vegetables with the speed only mothers seem to have, my brother was packing his school bag hurriedly, and my sister was humming some random tune while trying to tie her hair for school.
The everyday noises of home should have grounded me. Should have brought me back into normal life.
But nothing felt normal.
Not after the night she told me goodbye. Not after the silence that followed.
I tried to help my mother arrange the utensils, but my thoughts wandered before my hands did. She looked at me once, noticing the dullness on my face but choosing not to ask questions she knew I wouldn't answer honestly.
"Eat something," she said gently.
I nodded, though I didn't feel hungry.
After breakfast, when everything settled and the house grew calmer, I stepped outside into the sunlight. The air felt warm already, even though the day had barely begun. The lane outside my house looked the same—kids running, someone washing their scooter, an uncle reading a newspaper in the corner chair—but somehow it all felt different to me.
Maybe because I was different now.
Or maybe because she changed something inside me without even meaning to.
The thought kept looping in my head.
How can a girl come quietly into your life, touch something invisible inside you, and then walk away like nothing happened?
I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to steady my thoughts. I told myself to move on, to focus on the future, to focus on studies, on everything waiting for me.
But then a familiar voice echoed in my ears, cutting through all the noise inside me.
"Niks!"
I turned around.
Shivis.
His energy hit me like a breath of fresh air. His smile, his relaxed shoulders, the carefree way he walked—he was the exact opposite of what my mind felt like.
He came closer, noticing my expression.
"What happened to your face?" he asked.
"You look like someone stole your scooter."
I forced a smile. "Nothing happened."
He didn't believe me for a second.
But he also didn't push.
He put a hand on my shoulder. "Bro, listen. We have to go to my uncle's place. There's something important."
I frowned. "Now?"
"Yes, now."
I didn't argue. Maybe I needed a distraction.
We began walking slowly toward his house—our houses were close, just a few lanes apart, and the walk usually took five or six minutes. But today I walked slower, my steps heavy, my mind floating somewhere far.
Even the sound of our slippers brushing against the ground felt unusually loud. Birds flew overhead, children chased each other near the temple boundary, and shopkeepers opened their shutters with the usual morning energy.
Yet my world felt muted.
When we reached his house, his mother smiled and gave me water. I sat down quietly in his room while he collected his bag and some papers.
Then, suddenly, he turned to me and asked softly, "She said something yesterday, right?"
I didn't look at him.
I didn't need to answer.
My silence was enough.
He understood.
"Bro," he said gently, sitting next to me, "don't think too much. Girls say things in the moment. They get scared. They overthink. You know how they are…"
But I shook my head slowly.
"No, this was different."
I didn't tell him the full conversation.
I didn't repeat her message.
But the moment I said those words, I felt something inside me loosen a little, like I finally admitted the hurt I was pretending didn't exist.
We left his house after a few minutes and walked back toward the main road. The morning sun had grown brighter, and the heat clung to our skin. Shivis kept talking about the future—about exams, apartments, new routines, the excitement of living alone for the first time.
I listened half-heartedly.
But somewhere inside me… something awakened.
A thought I had pushed aside suddenly stood tall in my chest.
Maybe leaving this place…
leaving this town…
might actually be good for me.
A fresh start.
A new city.
A new life.
Far from the confusion she had left behind.
I kept walking, letting the thought grow.
By the time we reached the main market, the idea had taken shape:
I would move to the new city.
Study seriously.
Build something meaningful.
Focus on myself.
Not on someone who couldn't decide what she wanted.
Not on someone who blocked me one day and smiled the next.
Not on someone who pulled me close but pushed me away the moment the exam ended.
Maybe distance was exactly what I needed.
I didn't tell Shivis this.
Not yet.
But the decision settled quietly inside me.
He looked at me suddenly. "Bro, what are you thinking?"
I took a breath.
"Maybe… it's time to leave this place."
He stared at me for a few seconds—and then nodded.
"Yes. That's what I've been saying all this time."
We walked in silence for a few minutes.
But inside me, something new was forming.
A resolve.
A direction.
A next step.
Not because of anger.
Not because of heartbreak.
Not because of running away.
But because the silence she left behind showed me something:
I needed to find myself before I tried understanding anyone else.
Her goodbye hurt.
Her distance confused me.
Her silence followed me like a long shadow.
But maybe…
maybe this silence was telling me to move forward.
Not backward.
Not toward her.
Not toward old patterns.
Forward.
Into a new city.
A new life.
A new version of myself.
Without waiting for a message.
Without hoping for closure.
Without expecting her to return.
For the first time since last night, I felt my breath become steadier.
We walked back to my house so I could tell my mother about the plan. The walls of home felt familiar but slightly different, as if they already sensed I would be leaving soon.
My mother was standing near the stove again, stirring something in a steel pot, the aroma of mustard seeds filling the room. My sister was drying clothes on the rope, and my brother had spilled half his cereal and was trying to hide it before she scolded him.
The scene was painfully ordinary.
And yet…
today it felt like the last page of one chapter
and the first line of another.
I stepped inside slowly.
My mother looked up at me. "Where did you go early morning?"
I took a breath.
This was it.
"Ma… I have to go to the city to prepare properly."
She didn't react with shock.
She simply stared at me for a moment, as if she already knew this was coming.
Then she nodded with a small, understanding smile.
"If it's for your future… then go."
That one sentence felt like a blessing.
Like permission to take the next step.
Not away from home—
but toward myself.
Shivis leaned on the doorway, his eyes full of silent encouragement.
My mother returned to stirring the pot. The smell of fresh spices filled the room. My sister asked me to fix the clothespins. My brother asked me to help find his lost pencil.
Life continued.
But inside me…
something had just changed forever.
I didn't know what the new city would bring.
I didn't know whether she would ever message me again.
I didn't know if our paths would ever cross.
But I knew this—
The silence she left behind wasn't an ending.
It was a beginning.
Of something unexpected.
Unplanned.
And deeply important.
The journey ahead would not erase her from my story.
But it would teach me how to carry myself in it.
Whether she returned or not…
I would move forward.
And that was enough for now.