Days passed. Ayaan remained distant, but something had changed - subtly, quietly.
He noticed Zoya's limp as she moved through the house, how she winced every time she knelt to pick something up. Yet she never complained. Never asked for help.
He'd expected her to cry, to beg, maybe even to break down. But instead, she greeted him each morning with the same soft voice:
"Good morning, Ayaan."
And that same smile - calm, unshaken, full of light.
It irritated him. It confused him.
---
One evening, Zoya set up a small table on the terrace. Lanterns hung low, and two plates were placed side by side. She waited with hope fluttering like wings in her chest.
Ayaan stepped out, frowning. "What is this?"
"Just dinner," she said, standing. "You work so hard. I thought... maybe we could sit together, even for a few minutes."
"I'm not hungry," he replied, but his voice lacked the usual bite.
She nodded. "It's okay. I'll keep it warm."
He turned away - but before he walked off, he looked back once. She was already seated, smiling at the empty chair beside her.
---
Later that night, he passed the terrace again. The food was gone, the lanterns turned off. But something sat on the table - a napkin, with a single line written in delicate ink:
"Even stars take time to shine. I can wait."
---
Ayaan stared at the words longer than he meant to. His fingers touched the paper, but he didn't take it.
In the guest room, Zoya was curled up with her diary. Her ankle still ached, but her heart still believed. She had no promises. No reassurances. Only a quiet hope.
And a love that refused to fade.
---
Ayaan couldn't sleep that night.
He kept hearing her laughter in the garden. Her footsteps on the stairs. That smile in his mind - not mocking, not weak, just… there.
Unshaken.
Why doesn't she leave? he wondered. Why doesn't she hate me?
But deep down, a darker question rose: What if I don't want her to?