By Humaira Jasim
It was one of those evenings when time didn’t move—it just breathed, slowly and painfully. Aira sat on the floor of her living room, legs folded beneath her, cocooned in a shawl. Her half-finished coffee sat cold beside her. The silence around her was thick—thicker than the fog that pressed against her windows.
It had been a month since Aarav left. No proper goodbye. Just a text: “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore.” No explanations. No answers. It echoed in her mind more than any I love you ever did.
The doorbell rang.
She stiffened.
It was past 9 PM. No one came this late. Not here.
She crept to the door and peered through the peephole. A tall man stood outside. His face was partly hidden by a scarf and the hood of his gray coat. He didn’t knock again. Just stood there—calm, almost too calm.
Aira’s heart thudded.
She wasn’t sure why, but something in her told her not to shut the door just yet.
She opened it a crack.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry to bother you,” the man said gently. “My car broke down. I’ve been walking for twenty minutes. I just need to borrow your phone. My battery’s dead.”
His voice was firm, but polite. No pleading. No strange smile.
Aira hesitated. “You have ID?”
He chuckled softly. “No. But you can take a photo of me. I’m not here to rob you. Just... cold and unlucky tonight.”
She scanned him. Sharp features. Clean hands. No visible weapons.
Still, she held her ground. “You can use the phone from here. I’m not letting you in.”
“Fair enough,” he said, and stayed at the threshold.
She handed him her phone and watched as he dialed. “Hey. It’s me. Yeah. No, I’m okay—just stranded. A place near the old church road. Yeah. Soon? Thanks.”
He handed the phone back.
“Rayaan,” he said, offering his name without her asking. “I’ll just wait on your porch. Hope that’s okay.”
“It’s freezing.”
“I’ll survive.”
Aira stared at him for a second longer. “Fine. Come inside. But stay by the door.”
He stepped in cautiously, leaving the door slightly open behind him. He stood like someone used to not belonging in people’s homes.
“I’m Aira,” she said finally.
He gave a nod. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for not slamming the door in my face.”
She half-smiled. “Still considering it.”
Rayaan grinned. “That’s fair.”
They stood in silence for a moment. She watched him observe her space. His gaze lingered on a painting hung above the fireplace—a stormy ocean, dark and haunting.
“You painted that?”
Aira nodded.
“Most people paint calm seas,” he said. “You painted the part most people fear.”
“Because I’ve lived it,” she replied quietly.
He turned to her, something flickering in his eyes. “Me too.”
She wasn’t sure why, but that line hit her harder than expected.
“Want tea?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“Only if you’re making it anyway.”
She left for the kitchen, wondering why she was being this... open. He was a stranger. And yet, it didn’t feel that way.
---
Fifteen minutes later, they sat at the edge of the couch, tea warming their hands.
“Bad breakup?” Rayaan asked gently.
Aira gave a humorless laugh. “That obvious?”
“It always is.”
She looked at him. “You ever loved someone who didn’t know how to stay?”
“Yes,” he said without pause. “And I’ve also been the one who didn’t know how to stay.”
Aira sipped her tea. “Why do people leave without explaining?”
“Sometimes they think silence is mercy.”
“But silence burns more.”
He nodded. “I know.”
For a moment, she saw it—his pain, neatly tucked beneath his calm. He looked like someone who had carried guilt for too long.
“What were you really doing here?” she asked suddenly. “This road doesn’t lead anywhere.”
Rayaan didn’t answer immediately. He looked at her for a long second. Then: “Maybe I was looking for a sign. Maybe this was it.”
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed.
He glanced at it, then at her. “That’s my ride. I should go.”
He stood and walked to the door, but paused. “Thanks for the warmth. And... for not asking too many questions.”
She followed. “You’re still a mystery.”
He smiled faintly. “Maybe that’s the only way I know how to be.”
He stepped out, and the cold rushed in behind him.
---
Three days later, a letter slid under her door.
No return address. No sender name.
Just a line on the envelope: “What was real never leaves.”
Inside was a folded sheet of music—familiar piano notes that once played in Aarav’s room. Except this time, someone had written lyrics between the bars in neat, slanted handwriting.
A mistake is only a mistake
If you never knew the truth.
I left, but maybe I was sent—
To help you heal, not to stay.
Aira’s chest tightened.
She reread the lines over and over. And then she noticed—on the bottom right corner, in barely visible ink:
R.
---
She didn’t know why it mattered, but it did. Rayaan hadn’t just stumbled onto her porch. Something about him had always felt too calm. Too timed. Too... placed.
The next week, she walked the street where he claimed his car had broken down.
There was no sign of a breakdown. No report. No one had seen anyone that night.
She searched the lyrics online.
Nothing.
The melody? Untraceable.
He had left behind a ghost of a song—and a string of questions.
And somehow, she wanted to find him more than she had ever wanted closure from Aarav.
---
It was on a quiet Sunday afternoon, in a bookstore café she rarely visited, that she heard it.
The melody.
Soft, from the corner. Someone was playing it on the piano near the shelves.
Her heart froze.
She turned slowly, her eyes locking onto the figure seated at the piano bench.
Rayaan.
Same coat. Same silence.
As if the universe had paused, just for this moment.
She walked toward him. He didn’t look up, but his fingers faltered on the keys.
“You wrote this,” she said quietly.
He finally turned to her. “I did.”
“Why?”
Rayaan exhaled. “Because I needed to leave something behind that wouldn’t hurt.”
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t explain.”
“You knew me.”
“I knew of you.”
Her chest tightened. “Aarav?”
“He was my cousin.”
The air left her lungs.
“I saw what he did. How he disappeared. He was scared of your depth. He didn’t think he could love someone like you and not drown.”
Tears stung her eyes. “So you came... what? To fix what he broke?”
“No,” Rayaan whispered. “I came because he left behind someone worth knowing. And I didn’t want her to believe that love always runs.”
Aira looked at him—really looked. His eyes weren’t calm anymore. They were pleading.
For a moment, the noise of the café—the murmurs, the clinking cups—faded away.
Rayaan reached out gently, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
Her breath hitched.
“I know I’m a stranger,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “But maybe... maybe I don’t want to be.”
Aira’s heart thudded so loud she feared he could hear it.
The distance between them shrank.
His hand lingered on her cheek, warm and steady.
Her eyes fluttered closed.
And then—
His lips brushed hers, tentative at first, like testing the waters of something unknown but deeply desired.
Aira’s hands found his wrists, steadying herself, and she leaned into the kiss.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t loud or desperate. It was slow, a quiet promise wrapped in softness and need.
A kiss that said: I’m here. I’m real.
When they pulled apart, both were breathless.
Rayaan rested his forehead against hers.
“Whatever comes next,” he murmured, “we face it together.”
Aira smiled—small but real.
Maybe this stranger wasn’t just a stranger anymore.
---
They stayed there for a long time, in that little café, letting the music and silence fill the spaces between them. And as the evening slipped into night, Aira realized that sometimes, what feels like a stranger’s knock on your door is really the universe giving you a second chance to find what was real all along.
End
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