In a village hugged by weary hills and a river that wept in silence, Arav and Mehroosh found each other under a sky heavy with unshed tears. Arav, a boy with eyes too soft for the world and hands scarred from years of breaking soil, carried a heart that ached for something more. Mehroosh, a girl with a voice that trembled like a fragile bird and a smile that flickered like a dying flame, was the light he never knew he needed.
It was a brittle autumn day when their paths crossed—her, stumbling through the market with a basket of wilting flowers, him, hauling a load of firewood that bowed his back. She tripped, and he caught her arm, steadying her with a quiet, “Careful.” Her eyes met his, and in that fleeting moment, the world stilled. From then on, they were inseparable. By the river’s edge, they’d sit, her fingers brushing his as she sang of lost love, his voice breaking as he promised her forever. He carved her name into a tree, and she pressed a daisy into his palm, whispering, “This is us—small, but alive.”
But forever is a fragile vow. Mehroosh’s father, a man hardened by life, had bartered her future to a stranger—a cold, wealthy man from a city that swallowed dreams. The news came like a blade, sharp and sudden. Arav begged her to run with him, tears streaking his dirt-streaked face, but she shook her head, sobbing, “I can’t break them too.” The night before she left, they clung to each other by the river, her cries muffled against his chest, his hands trembling as he tied a threadbare ribbon around her wrist. “Keep me here,” he choked out. She slipped a crumpled note into his hand—I’ll always love you—and pressed her lips to his one last time, tasting salt and sorrow.
Morning tore her away, the cart’s wheels grinding her silhouette into dust as Arav stood rooted, clutching the note until his knuckles bled. She was gone, swallowed by a life she didn’t choose, her ribbon fraying with every mile. He stayed by the river, day after day, whispering her name to the water until his voice cracked and his knees gave out. In the city, Mehroosh sat by a window she couldn’t open, tracing the ribbon’s faded threads, her songs now silent, her eyes hollow with a grief too deep to name.
Years later, word reached the village—Mehroosh had faded, her body too frail to carry the weight of a broken heart. Arav, now a shadow of himself, walked to their tree, her name still etched there, and sank to the ground. He pulled her note from his pocket, worn to tatters, and let the wind take it as tears carved rivers down his face. “I kept you,” he whispered, “but I lost me.”
Two souls, bound by love, shattered by fate, left only with a ribbon and a note—proof of a love that burned bright, then burned out, leaving the world colder for it.
