The card sat beside Arjun's pillow every night - Come find me.
It echoed louder than all the silence they had shared in the last two years.
One rainy afternoon, he opened his laptop and searched flights to New Jersey.
Not out of impulse.
But from a deep knowing:
Some journeys aren't planned.
They're answered.
Meanwhile in the U.S., Shruthi checked her mailbox every evening, hoping for a reply that never came. Still, she smiled.
She didn't need confirmation.
She knew his silence now - not as absence, but as a decision in motion.
She cleaned her apartment that week like she was preparing for something sacred - not for a guest, but for home to walk back in.
She lit incense she'd brought from India.
Hung the photo of their wedding garlands over the bed again.
She even stocked up on filter coffee, though she rarely drank it alone.
On the day of departure, Arjun stood at the airport gate holding a simple backpack and a folded piece of paper - the first letter Shruthi had sent in her journal years ago. The one that read:
"Even when I say nothing, know that my heart is screaming your name."
He looked out at the runway.
His palms weren't sweating.
His heart wasn't unsure.
Because this time, it wasn't a risk.
It was returning.
In New Jersey, Shruthi woke up suddenly at 3 AM. No calls. No texts.
Just an unexplainable flutter.
She walked to the mirror.
Touched the pendant he gave her on their first anniversary.
Closed her eyes.
"Come find me," she whispered to the quiet room.
At 8:47 AM, her doorbell rang.