Chennai, 2021.

The room was small, cluttered, and full of laughter. Arjun and Shruthi sat cross-legged on the floor of their newly rented apartment. A half-open pizza box lay between them, untouched, as they flipped through wedding photos on Shruthi's laptop.

"Look at your face here," she teased, pointing to a blurry candid. "You look like you're already regretting marrying me."

"I wasn't regretting," Arjun chuckled, "I was wondering if I could survive your mom's glare through the entire ceremony."

Shruthi threw a cushion at him, laughing.

Love was loud back then. Loud and soft, all at once - in shared playlists, weekend bike rides, late-night dosa cravings, and texts that said "reached?" even when they'd just parted ways minutes ago.

They had fought hard for each other. Shruthi's parents had refused to attend the wedding. Arjun's mother had silently disapproved for months. But love had triumphed - or so they thought.

They lived simply. Two salaries, one bedroom, a car, but hearts that beat in sync.

At night, they planned dream vacations to Meghalaya and Kyoto, argued about baby names, and debated whether the TV should go above the shoe rack or beside the bookshelf. Arjun would sometimes photograph her when she wasn't looking - her hair falling across her face, her brows furrowed while reading.

He loved her in the quietest ways.

And she - Shruthi - loved him fiercely. She left sticky notes in his wallet, packed his Favorite coffee sachets during trips, and memorized every lyric to his Favorite Tamil rock songs just to surprise him at karaoke.

But beneath all that laughter, the world outside waited.

One evening, as they sat watching reruns of "Friends," Shruthi turned to him, hesitant.

"Arjun? I got the offer."

He blinked. "What offer?"

"California. 2 years. Product design lead. It's? big."

He didn't speak for a moment.

Her eyes searched his.

"Will you be okay if I go?"

He swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "Of course. You have to. We've always said we'd support each other."

She nodded. "It's only two years. We'll video call every night. I'll come back. Or you'll come there."

And just like that, the world they built together began to change - not with a storm, but a soft breeze carrying her name across the ocean.

That night, they held each other tighter than usual. But neither said what they feared most.

Because when love is young, you think distance is just geography.

Not knowing, sometimes it becomes a silence.