It was a Sunday morning in New Jersey. The kind of morning where sun cuts through frost, and everything feels a little softer. Shruthi sat by her window, coffee in hand, staring at the half-empty street - quiet, yet aching with stories.

A ping.

"Just made sambar. Added too much tamarind again. You'd have laughed."

- Arjun.

She smiled through the screen.

"Did you at least roast the masala like I taught you?"

"Of course. You think I want to ruin my marriage again?"

A pause. Then:

"Hey?"

"I meant that as a joke."

But it wasn't just a joke.

That day, both hearts were heavy - with what wasn't said and what was almost lost.

Shruthi sat on her bedroom floor, laptop in front, scrolling through old photos. Their first road trip. The silly anniversary cake Arjun baked. The train ride where he didn't let her fall asleep just so they could talk.

Her eyes brimmed.

How did they let this love become a routine instead of a reason?

Later that evening, Shruthi walked into a store. In the greeting card aisle, she saw one that simply read:

"Some loves don't fade. They just need to be remembered."

She bought it.

Wrote only one sentence inside:

"Come find me."

And the next day, she mailed it.

Back in India, Arjun received it three weeks later. The handwriting was hers. Still the same - like tiny ripples across paper.

He read it again and again.

"Come find me."

His heart didn't race.

It knew.

Like it always had.

Sometimes, when love gets too quiet, all it takes is one heartbeat, one letter, one whisper -

To remember:

It never truly left.

It was waiting.