My blank love

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My Blank Love –

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"Some letters are never posted, they just stay buried in the folds of the heart."

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The evening light had begun to fade.

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Zoboria was still sitting by the same bench,

her face resting on her knees,

and the tears from her eyes were soaking into the soil —

the same soil where Abu Zarr’s footsteps once left their warmth.

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She wished time would pause —

or rewind.

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Just once…

if only once, Abu Zarr had turned back to ask:

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> “Are you still waiting for me?”

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🌬️ "The wind and a forgotten moment"

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Just then, the wind picked up again — a little stronger this time.

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A torn page from a nearby old book fluttered to her feet.

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With trembling fingers, Zoboria picked it up and read:

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> “The kind of love that lives outside of words

often lies silent in a forgotten corner.”

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Her heart skipped a beat.

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It was Abu Zarr’s handwriting —

just the way he used to leave notes in his old notebooks.

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📬 "An unfinished letter"

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She rushed to the bench

— the place where she had first seen the flicker of his presence.

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Underneath, a small envelope lay pressed into the wood.

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No address.

Only one line scrawled on the front:

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> “To Zoboria — The One I Could Never Say Goodbye To”

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With shaking hands, she opened it.

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Inside was a letter —

a voice frozen in a broken moment.

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✉️

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> “Zoboria,

I know when you read this,

I won’t be standing in front of you anymore.

But not once have I forgotten you.

You were in every line of every book,

and your name echoed through every silent night.

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I never left you…

I left only to protect you

from a love I had no right to offer —

nothing but more wounds.

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I was afraid, Zoboria.

Afraid of that trust in your eyes

that I had never held even for myself.

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But if you ever find your way back…

I will still be there —

where you last stopped searching for me.

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— Abu Zarr.”

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💔 "He had never left..."

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Zoboria froze.

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She clutched the book tightly to her chest,

as if his final breath still lived in its pages.

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She understood now —

what she had felt wasn’t a dream.

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Abu Zarr had never truly left.

He had always remained

right where she’d last let go of his memory.

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🛫 "An unfinished flight, and a new departure"

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That evening, she tore up her university resignation letter.

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She didn’t go back to the hostel.

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Instead, she booked a new flight —

not to India this time…

but to Cappadocia.

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Because Abu Zarr had once said:

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> “If we ever get lost…

meet me on that mountain where the sky touches the earth.”

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> “Sometimes the one who loves you the most is the one you understand the latest.”

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📚 "Safwan’s Library"

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The old university library —

it no longer felt filled with books.

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Every corner now seemed haunted

by the soft laughter of Zoboria.

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Safwan sat on an empty bench —

the same one where he had first seen her.

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That moment lived in his memory —

Zoboria in a blue saree,

half her face hidden behind a book,

like an unfinished poem waiting to be read.

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Now, the bench held nothing.

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No book.

No girl.

No words.

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Just silence.

And in Safwan’s eyes —

a fading hope he wasn’t ready to bury.

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> “Zoboria…” he whispered,

like a name long forgotten suddenly found again.

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🕰️ "Time had stopped there"

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His eyes searched for her everywhere.

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Behind the shelves,

at the bend in the staircase,

in the soft light falling through the corridor windows…

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Everywhere, he only saw one face —

Zoboria’s.

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> “Where did you go?”

“Why did you leave without a word?”

“All I ever wanted… was for you to pause and look my way.”

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He walked toward the bookshelves.

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There — tucked in a corner —

was Ghalib’s Ghazals.

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Zoboria’s favorite.

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He opened it gently.

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Inside, a folded paper was pressed between the pages.

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📝 "An unfinished line"

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In her handwriting, only one line:

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> “If someone grows tired waiting for you…

will you still call them back?”

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Safwan’s eyes welled up.

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For the first time,

he realized he had never really seen Zoboria.

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Not her silence,

not her loneliness,

not the fears she had hidden inside every smile.

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🌧️ "The first drops of rain"

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Rain began to fall outside the library window.

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Safwan stood there,

his finger tracing the line she had written.

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> “I used to think you never understood my love…”

“But maybe… you did. You were just afraid.”

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He stepped out of the library.

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The paper still in his hand.

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He knew she wasn’t there anymore.

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Maybe in another city.

Maybe in another silence.

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But her name —

had now become a prayer in every breath he took.

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🏙️ "The one who left — but never really left"

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That evening, Safwan stood on the university terrace

and looked up at the sky.

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He whispered:

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> “God, if You won’t return her to me…

at least give her peace from her questions.

Wherever she is —

let her be free.”

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And in that very moment —

on the mountaintop of Cappadocia…

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Zoboria heard a voice echo softly:

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> “You were always my truest story, Zoboria.

And if you allow it…

I want to begin again —

from the place you stopped writing.”

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💫 "Stories always return to where they began"

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On one side was Safwan —

the one who understood too late…

but loved truly.

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On the other, Abu Zarr —

the one who left…

but never let go.

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And in the middle stood Zoboria —

no longer begging to be loved,

no longer asking to be seen.

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She now longed for just one thing:

A space where her love could be understood —

not rewritten.

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🌌 "My Blank Love — still unfinished, but finally real."

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