The World That Existed Only for Them - Part 13

 

Distance That Did Not Diminish

Aarav left on a morning that looked like any other.

No dramatic farewells. No one standing at the platform with unspoken words hanging in the air. He boarded the train with a small bag, his mother’s instructions echoing behind him, his sister’s casual wave hiding concern.

Ananya knew the day.

She didn’t go to the station.

Instead, she taught her classes as usual. Explained a lesson twice. Corrected a mistake patiently. She lived the day fully, because that felt like the right way to let him go.

That evening, a message arrived.

Reached safely.

She stared at the screen for a moment before replying.

Good.

It was enough.

They didn’t speak every day. They didn’t fill silence out of obligation. But when they did speak, it was unhurried.

“How’s work?”
“Busy.”
“Eating properly?”
“Mostly.”

Sometimes weeks passed.

Yet when Ananya stood near the notice board or sat on the old bench alone, she didn’t feel abandoned. She felt accompanied—by memory, by trust, by something that hadn’t demanded proof.

Aarav, in the new city, found himself steadier than he expected. On difficult days, he thought of her quiet confidence. On good days, he wished she were there—not to celebrate, but to witness.

They were not waiting.

They were living.

And somehow, that made all the difference.