The old wooden box sat quietly on the dusty table, untouched for years, yet holding an entire lifetime inside it. Aisha’s trembling hands hovered over it as if opening it would reopen every wound she had spent years trying to heal. Outside, the rain lashed against the window, the sound blending with the quiet ache inside her chest.
Her fingers finally unclasped the lid. Inside were fragments of a love she once believed would last forever—old photographs, handwritten letters, movie tickets, seashells from their favorite beach, and the dreams they once built together. Each piece told a story. Each one cut a little deeper.
She picked up the first letter, the one Arman had written when he left for the city. The paper was worn and the ink slightly smudged, but she could recite every line by heart:
"Aisha, wait for me. I promise I’ll return soon, and then we’ll begin the life we’ve always dreamed of. Until then, keep smiling for me."
She smiled faintly, but her eyes burned with tears. That promise was three years old now.
Arman had left to chase his dreams, and at first, everything was beautiful. He called every night, sent her pictures of his new life, and told her how much he missed her. But slowly, things changed. The calls became shorter, the texts less frequent, until one day they stopped entirely. Aisha had told herself he was busy, that he was building their future. She clung to hope, because hope was all she had.
But hope can be cruel.
Just last week, she learned from a mutual friend that Arman was married now. Married… to someone else.
That night, she couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt heavy, like the weight of a thousand storms had crashed down on her. But she didn’t cry—not then. Instead, she smiled weakly and whispered to herself, “If he’s happy, that’s enough.”
Now, sitting alone in the dimly lit room, she held an old photograph of them together. It was taken by the sea, the day Arman promised her forever. She remembered his laughter, the way the wind tangled his hair, and how he held her hand so tightly as if he’d never let go.
"We’ll always be together, no matter what," he had said.
But forever didn’t last.
Aisha’s tears finally broke free, falling silently onto the photograph, blurring their smiles. She whispered into the emptiness, “Why did you promise me a lifetime when you couldn’t even give me a few years?”
The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second reminding her that time had moved on—everyone else had moved on. Except her.
She placed the letter back inside the box carefully, almost tenderly, as if she were laying a piece of her soul to rest.
Before closing the lid, she whispered softly, “Be happy, Arman… that’s all I ever wanted for you.”
But as the words left her lips, her voice cracked, betraying the truth her heart still carried: she wasn’t ready to let go.
Outside, the rain had stopped, and the sky had cleared. But inside Aisha’s heart, the storm raged on—quiet, endless, and unspoken.
