Genre: Romance / Emotional Fiction
By Laxthara
---
I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I promise.
I had come early that day — too early—for the farewell party at the café where we both worked.
After five years of shared shifts, burnt coffee, inside jokes, and unspoken things, it was my last day.
I was leaving the city for good.
New job. New life. New beginning.
I stepped into the back corridor of the café, where the storeroom led to the kitchen, carrying a bag of decorations. That’s when I heard it.
The door was half-closed, but his voice carried through the small slit between the hinges.
Aadhi.
“I know she’s leaving, Riya,” he said. “And maybe this is stupid. Maybe too late. But I think I’ve loved her since the day she spilt sugar all over my apron in 2019.”
I froze.
My fingers still gripping the party balloons, my heart somewhere between stopping and sprinting.
“She never looked at me like I was special,” he continued. “She treated me like I was just… real. Like I didn’t have to perform. She made everything feel lighter. Even when I was falling apart.”
Riya chuckled softly. “Then tell her, you idiot.”
“I can’t,” he replied. “She’s leaving tomorrow. And I’m not part of her future. I never was.”
---
I should’ve walked in.
Should’ve said something.
But all I could do was breathe.
The kind of breath that comes after you’ve been underwater too long.
I turned and walked away silently, balloons in hand, heart in pieces.
---
The party was small. Close friends. Familiar laughter.
I smiled, cut the cake, and posed for pictures.
But Aadhi didn’t meet my eyes the whole time.
And I didn’t force it.
Because how do you speak when the words feel like glass?
---
Later that night, after everyone had left, I found myself back in the storeroom. Alone.
Aadhi’s denim jacket still hung on the hook near the door. I hesitated. Then reached for it.
And in the pocket, I found a folded sheet of paper.
My name is on it.
I shouldn’t have read it.
But I did.
---
> “Thara,
I was going to give you this at the party, but I chickened out. Again.
This is me — raw, late, and maybe selfish.
I love you.
I know I never said it. I joked too much. I teased. I stayed quiet when it mattered. But it’s true.
I love you in small ways.
The way you hum when you’re frosting cupcakes.
The way you always rearranged the menu board without anyone asking.
The way you notice when people are tired, even if they pretend they’re not.
I don’t know if you’ll ever feel the same.
But if you do — if you ever think of staying —
I’ll be right here.
A.”
---
I read it twice.
Then again.
And still, it didn’t feel real.
He loved me.
The one I’d been in love with for years — silently, stubbornly, stupidly — loved me back.
But I was leaving.
---
The next morning, my bags were packed.
The taxi was waiting.
I sat on the edge of my bed, the letter in my lap.
And suddenly, everything I had planned — the job, the apartment, the independence—felt quiet.
Not wrong. Just… unfinished.
Like a sentence missing its last word.
---
I picked up my phone.
I typed: “Can we talk?”
Then deleted it.
Typed again: “Aadhi. I heard what you said to Riya.”
Deleted that too.
Finally, I just sent: “Hey. You free?”
The reply came in one minute.
Aadhi: “For you? Always.”
---
We met at the place where it all started — the old, quiet rooftop above the café. Where we’d once sat eating leftover pastries during lockdown.
He was already there, sitting with a coffee mug that said Let’s Not Talk Before Coffee. I gave him a half-smile.
“I found your letter,” I said, gently.
He winced. “You weren’t supposed to…”
“I overheard you yesterday.”
His eyes widened slightly.
“Oh.”
Silence fell between us. Not uncomfortable. Just real.
I took a breath.
“You were wrong, though,” I said, “about one thing.”
He looked up.
“You said you weren’t part of my future.”
He didn’t respond.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a train ticket. Folded it neatly and placed it beside him.
“Departure: Next Week.”
His brow furrowed.
“I postponed my move,” I whispered.
“Why?” he asked, softly, barely above a breath.
I smiled.
“Because maybe… the life I planned didn’t include you. But the life I want does.”
---
Aadhi didn’t say anything. He just stood up, walked toward me slowly, as if afraid this was all a dream.
Then he touched my hand.
And in that simple touch, all the years, the silences, the unsaid things, melted.
---
That night, we walked home together under quiet skies.
Not everything was perfect.
We didn’t kiss under the stars. There was no music swelling.
Just two people are finally on the same page.
Two hearts that had waited too long to speak.
And finally — finally — we were being heard.
---
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