Introduction
Love is often celebrated for its joy, its passion, and its moments of togetherness. But what about the love that remains unspoken? The love that hides behind glances, thoughts, and silent prayers? The love that waits, quietly, for years, hoping for a chance that may never come?
Silent Eyes tells the story of Rahul and Pratigya, two young hearts bound by a connection that was never fully realized. It is a journey of one-sided love, missed opportunities, and the courage to face truth—no matter how painful it may be.
This story unfolds in the serene hills of Dehradun, where school corridors witnessed silent glances, unspoken words, and dreams nurtured in the heart. Rahul’s love for Pratigya was quiet yet powerful, filled with hope and longing, while Pratigya’s world followed its own course, unaware of the depth of emotions around her.
Through ten chapters, this book explores the intensity of unexpressed feelings, the heartbreak of realization, and the beauty of destiny bringing two souls together against all odds. It is a story for anyone who has loved silently, waited patiently, and believed in the power of connection—even when the world seemed to say otherwise.
As you read this book, you will witness the struggles, the heartbreak, and finally, the triumph of love that refuses to be silenced.
Because sometimes, the eyes speak louder than words.
______________________________________
About the Author
Monika Sharma is a storyteller at heart, passionate about exploring the depths of human emotions, relationships, and the unspoken truths that shape our lives. She believes that love, in all its forms, has the power to transform us—whether it is expressed boldly or whispered silently in our hearts.
Monika’s writing captures the delicate balance between hope and heartbreak, patience and longing, reality and dreams. Through Silent Eyes, she takes readers on a journey of one-sided love, missed opportunities, and the courage it takes to follow your heart, even against the odds.
When she is not writing, Monika enjoys reading, traveling, and observing the small moments of life that often go unnoticed but carry profound meaning. Her stories aim to touch hearts, evoke empathy, and remind readers that love is never wasted, even if it is unspoken for years.
_____________________________________
Chapter 1 The First Look
Rahul never believed that a single moment could quietly decide the direction of an entire life. Not loudly, not with drama or certainty, but softly—so softly that one doesn’t even realize something irreversible has begun. It was one of those moments that didn’t ask for permission. It simply happened.
The school in Dehradun stood calmly against the backdrop of the hills, its walls painted in a fading shade of cream, carrying years of echoes—laughter, footsteps, unanswered questions, and half-lived dreams. Every morning, the assembly ground filled with disciplined lines of students, crisp uniforms, and sleepy eyes trying to look awake. Rahul was always there on time, standing in his place, hands behind his back, eyes forward. At least, that’s where they were supposed to be.
But that morning, like many mornings after it, his eyes wandered.
He didn’t remember the exact date. He didn’t remember what the principal said during the assembly or which prayer was sung. What he remembered—what stayed—was a face he hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe he had, and it simply hadn’t mattered until that day.
Pratigya stood two rows ahead.
She wasn’t doing anything extraordinary. She wasn’t laughing loudly or trying to be seen. She stood quietly, her hair tied neatly, her posture relaxed but attentive. When she turned her head slightly, just for a second, Rahul felt something shift inside him—something subtle, unnamed, but deeply real.
Their eyes met.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t long. Just a brief moment, no more than a heartbeat. But Rahul felt as if time had paused, holding its breath. He looked away first, unsure why his chest suddenly felt heavy. He told himself it was nothing. Just coincidence. Just another face in a school full of faces.
But the problem with moments like these is that they don’t leave when you tell them to.
For the rest of the day, Rahul found himself distracted. The classroom felt unusually quiet, even with the noise of chalk on the blackboard and the murmurs of classmates. He stared at his notebook without writing, his pen resting uselessly between his fingers. Every now and then, his eyes would lift on their own, searching—not consciously, but instinctively.
And every time, as if fate was playing a quiet game, Pratigya would be looking too.
Not staring. Not smiling. Just looking.
Rahul didn’t know what it meant, but in his heart, he gave it meaning. He told himself that eyes don’t meet without reason. That repeated glances are never accidental. That if someone looks at you again and again, there must be something there.
He didn’t realize then how easily the heart fills silence with its own voice.
Days passed, and those brief moments became routine. Morning assembly. Corridor crossings. A shared glance during class change. Sometimes from a distance, sometimes unexpectedly close. Rahul began to wait for them. He would reach school and subconsciously search the crowd. If he didn’t see her, something felt incomplete, unsettled.
He began measuring his days in seconds stolen by those looks.
He never spoke to her. He didn’t know what her voice sounded like, what she liked, or what kind of thoughts lived behind her quiet eyes. But that didn’t stop his imagination. In his mind, she was gentle, thoughtful, someone who understood silence the way he did. Someone who saw him—not as just another student, but as someone different.
He didn’t question these assumptions. He accepted them as truth, because believing them made him feel alive.
Rahul had always been the quiet one. Not invisible, but not loud enough to be noticed easily. Teachers knew him as sincere. Classmates knew him as reserved. No one knew the noise that lived inside his chest—the thoughts he never shared, the emotions he never named.
Pratigya became the center of that noise.
Sometimes, when she looked at him, Rahul felt certain. Certain that she felt the same. Certain that there was something unspoken passing between them. Other times, doubt crept in quietly, asking questions he wasn’t ready to answer. But he pushed those thoughts away. Doubt was inconvenient. Hope was easier.
He started noticing details. The way she adjusted her bag on her shoulder. The calm expression she carried, even when surrounded by friends. The way she sometimes looked lost in thought, as if her mind lived somewhere far away.
He mistook observation for understanding.
One afternoon, as the school bell rang and students poured into the corridors, Rahul stood near the staircase, pretending to look for something in his bag. He knew she would pass that way. He didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast for something as small as a glance.
She walked past, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of her shampoo. For a moment, she turned her head, and their eyes met again. This time, she didn’t look away immediately. Neither did he.
That moment stayed with him for days.
That night, Rahul lay awake, staring at the ceiling of his small rented room. Dehradun wasn’t his hometown. His family had moved for work, and he had learned early how to adjust, how to stay quiet, how not to demand too much from people or places. But that night, his heart demanded answers.
Why did she look at him like that?
Why did it feel like she was trying to say something without words?
Why did silence feel so loud when it came to her?
He didn’t know that the mind, when left alone with feelings it doesn’t understand, begins to create stories.
From that day on, Rahul began living in two worlds. One was real—the school, the classes, the routine. The other existed only inside him, built from glances and assumptions. In that world, Pratigya cared. In that world, those looks meant something deeper. In that world, love was already quietly growing, even if it hadn’t yet been spoken.
He didn’t notice how one-sided that world was becoming.
Weeks passed, and the seasons began to shift. The air grew cooler, the mornings softer. Rahul felt as if he was changing too. He smiled more, even when there was no reason. He found himself writing her name absentmindedly in the corners of his notebook, quickly scratching it out before anyone could see.
He told himself he would talk to her someday. Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after. He wanted the moment to be perfect. He wanted the words to come out right. He feared that speaking might break something that existed only in silence.
Because silence, at least, felt safe.
He watched her from a distance, careful not to be obvious. He noticed how she laughed with her friends, how she listened more than she spoke. And every time she looked his way—even if it was brief, even if it was meaningless—Rahul’s heart took it as confirmation.
He never asked himself the simplest question: What if she’s just looking?
To him, every look was a promise.
One day, during a free period, Rahul sat by the window, watching the clouds drift lazily across the sky. He saw Pratigya in the courtyard below, talking to someone he didn’t recognize. He felt a strange unease, something unfamiliar tightening in his chest. But when she glanced up and their eyes met again, the feeling disappeared.
He smiled to himself.
That smile carried innocence, hope, and the quiet foolishness of someone falling in love alone.
Rahul didn’t know then that first love often begins not with words, but with misunderstandings. That the heart, when it chooses to believe something, doesn’t need proof. And that sometimes, the most painful stories begin with nothing more than a look that meant far less to one person than it did to the other.
As the school bell rang again, pulling him back into reality, Rahul picked up his bag and stood up. He walked toward his next class, unaware that this was only the beginning—that the first look had already written the opening line of a story that would follow him for years.
A story of silence.
A story of waiting.
A story of love that existed first—and longest—only in his heart.
Chapter 2
Eyes That Met Every Day
After the first look, nothing seemed different—yet everything was. Rahul continued waking up at the same hour, wearing the same uniform, walking through the same school gates. The world around him followed its usual rhythm, but somewhere inside him, a quiet shift had taken place. Something had started, and it refused to remain unnoticed.
Now, his eyes searched for Pratigya without effort. It wasn’t intentional anymore; it was instinctive. As soon as he entered the school premises, before greeting friends or checking the notice board, his gaze would scan the crowd. And almost every day, as if guided by some unseen thread, he found her.
Sometimes she stood near the corridor talking to her friends. Sometimes she walked alone, lost in her own thoughts. And sometimes—just sometimes—she looked straight at him.
Those moments became the center of Rahul’s day.
He began believing that their eyes met too often to be meaningless. Once or twice could be coincidence, but every day? That, he told himself, had to be something else. He convinced his heart that this silent exchange was their language, something private, something only the two of them understood.
In class, Rahul sat quietly, but his attention wandered. The teacher’s voice blurred into background noise as his mind replayed moments from the morning. She looked today, he would think. She noticed me.
Whenever he caught her looking, his heartbeat quickened. He never smiled openly, never waved or nodded. He was afraid that acknowledging it might break the spell. Silence, once again, felt safer than certainty.
Pratigya, on the other hand, remained unchanged in his eyes. She attended classes, submitted assignments, laughed with her friends, lived her school life as any other student would. Rahul observed her from a distance, filling the gaps with his own interpretations. He imagined her thoughts, her feelings, her reasons.
He never imagined that she might not be thinking about him at all.
Days turned into weeks. The glances didn’t stop. In fact, they seemed to grow more frequent. Sometimes she would look at him while passing by, sometimes from across the classroom. Rahul started waiting for those moments. If a day passed without them, he felt restless, incomplete, as if something essential was missing.
He began attaching emotions to routine.
A glance meant care.
A second longer look meant affection.
A sudden look away meant shyness.
He didn’t realize how easily the heart translates uncertainty into hope.
One afternoon, during lunch break, Rahul sat alone under a tree near the playground. He pretended to read a book, but his eyes kept lifting. He saw Pratigya sitting with her friends a little distance away. She laughed at something someone said, and for a moment, Rahul felt an unfamiliar ache. He had never heard her laugh up close, yet it stirred something deep inside him.
Suddenly, she looked in his direction.
Their eyes met again.
This time, Rahul didn’t look away immediately. Neither did she. The world around him seemed to fade—the voices, the movement, the noise. It felt as if that moment belonged only to them. When she finally turned back to her friends, Rahul felt a strange warmth spread through his chest.
She feels it too, he told himself.
That belief slowly began shaping his thoughts. He started imagining conversations they had never had, moments they had never shared. He pictured a future where this silence would eventually turn into words, where courage would replace fear.
But courage takes time, and Rahul was still learning how to trust his own voice.
Sometimes doubt crept in quietly. Late at night, when the school day ended and distractions faded, questions surfaced. What if I’m wrong? What if I’m imagining everything? Those thoughts scared him more than rejection ever could.
So he silenced them.
At school, Rahul became more careful, more aware of his presence. He straightened his posture, paid attention to how he walked, how he carried himself. Not because anyone asked him to—but because somewhere in his heart, he wanted to be worthy of what he believed was growing between them.
He noticed that Pratigya never approached him, never tried to talk. But he explained that away too. Maybe she’s shy, he thought. Maybe she’s waiting for me.
Hope, when unchallenged, becomes convincing.
There were moments when reality tried to intervene. When she spoke freely with others, laughed openly, lived without noticing his quiet devotion. Those moments unsettled him, but he quickly reminded himself that people can hide feelings well.
After all, he was hiding his.
The school corridors became witnesses to his silent longing. Every passing glance added another layer to his belief. He didn’t know that eyes can meet without intention, that sometimes people look simply because they sense being watched.
But Rahul’s heart had already chosen its truth.
By the time he realized how deeply he was involved, it was too late to step back. What began as a simple moment had grown into an emotion that followed him everywhere. He carried it in his books, in his steps, in his sleepless nights.
And Pratigya—unaware of the weight her ordinary glances carried—continued walking through his world without knowing she was slowly becoming its center.
Rahul didn’t know it then, but this daily meeting of eyes was quietly leading him toward a place where silence would no longer protect him—where truth, once spoken, would change everything.
Chapter 3
Love That Was Never Spoken
Love doesn’t always arrive with certainty. Sometimes it grows quietly, unnoticed, feeding on assumptions, surviving on hope, and hiding behind fear. Rahul didn’t realize the exact moment his feelings crossed the line from curiosity to attachment. There was no clear beginning, no confession even to himself. It simply happened—slowly, deeply, and without permission.
By now, Pratigya had become a permanent presence in his thoughts. He carried her name with him, silently, like a secret he was afraid to speak aloud. Every glance they shared added another unspoken sentence to a story only he believed they were writing together.
He wanted to talk to her.
The thought came to him often, especially when he saw her alone. His mind rehearsed countless beginnings—simple greetings, casual questions, excuses that sounded natural. Each time, fear stopped him. Fear of breaking the fragile world he had built. Fear that words might reveal a truth he wasn’t ready to face.
Silence, though painful, still felt safer than rejection.
Rahul began measuring courage in small acts. Standing a little closer when she passed by. Slowing his steps so their paths crossed. Sitting where he could see her without being obvious. None of it required words, and all of it felt like progress.
He convinced himself that one day, when the time was right, everything would fall into place.
Sometimes, during class, he caught himself staring for too long. He would quickly look away, heart racing, hoping no one noticed. When she looked back, confusion flickered across her face—brief, unnoticed by him, but real nonetheless. Rahul mistook that confusion for curiosity.
At night, when the world grew quiet, his thoughts grew louder. He imagined telling her how he felt—imagined her listening, understanding, smiling softly. In those imagined moments, she never turned away. She never questioned him. She never said no.
Reality was far less kind, but he avoided it carefully.
He didn’t talk about her to anyone. Love, for him, was private—too fragile to share, too precious to risk being misunderstood. His friends noticed his distraction, his silence, but he brushed it off. No one knew that his heart was constantly at war with itself.
Some days, hope felt heavy. Other days, doubt felt unbearable.
Once, during a school event, Rahul saw Pratigya laughing freely with her friends. Her smile was open, unguarded—so different from the quiet expressions he had assigned to her in his mind. For the first time, a sharp realization crossed his thoughts: What if she’s happy without me?
The question unsettled him.
He reminded himself that people can hide emotions in public. That smiles don’t always tell the full story. That hearts are complicated. He held onto these excuses tightly, because letting go meant facing a truth he wasn’t ready for.
He waited for a sign—something clear, undeniable. A word. A gesture. Something that would give him permission to speak. But signs, like hope, often appear only to those who are already looking for them.
One afternoon, while standing in the corridor, Rahul saw Pratigya walking toward him. His heart pounded. This was it, he thought. This was the moment. But as she came closer, she passed by without slowing down, without looking.
The disappointment hit him harder than he expected.
That night, Rahul realized how deeply he had attached himself to something that didn’t yet exist. He wondered if loving silently made it less real, or more. He questioned whether feelings that were never expressed could still leave scars.
Yet, even then, he didn’t stop loving her.
He chose patience over honesty. He chose waiting over risking everything. He told himself that some feelings are meant to be protected, even from the person they’re meant for.
What Rahul didn’t understand was that love, when kept unspoken for too long, begins to hurt the one who holds it.
And as days passed, his silence grew heavier, turning his affection into a quiet burden—one he carried alone, believing that someday, somehow, it would be understood without ever being said.
Chapter 4 The Day Everything Changed
Some days arrive quietly, pretending to be ordinary. They don’t warn you. They don’t announce themselves. They move like any other day—until they leave behind a crack so deep that life never returns to what it was before. Rahul didn’t know that the day waiting for him was exactly that kind of day.
The morning began like all others. The same school gate. The same corridors. The same unspoken search. Rahul’s eyes looked for Pratigya the moment he stepped inside, and there she was—standing near the far end of the corridor. For a second, their eyes met. That familiar pause. That familiar hope.
Rahul felt calm. Reassured.
He didn’t know that this reassurance was about to be taken away.
Classes passed slowly. His attention drifted more than usual, but not toward dreams—toward anticipation. There was a strange restlessness inside him, a feeling he couldn’t name. It was as if something was about to happen, something he wasn’t prepared for.
During the lunch break, Rahul walked toward the courtyard. The sun was gentle, the air unusually still. Students sat in small groups, laughing, talking, sharing pieces of their world. Rahul’s steps slowed when his eyes caught a sight that made his chest tighten.
Pratigya was sitting on a bench.
She wasn’t alone.
A boy sat beside her—close enough that there was no space between them. Their shoulders touched casually, naturally. He leaned toward her as he spoke, and she listened, her face relaxed, comfortable. Then, without hesitation, he reached for her hand.
She didn’t pull away.
Rahul stopped walking.
For a moment, his mind refused to understand what his eyes were seeing. It felt unreal, like a scene from someone else’s life that he had accidentally walked into. He stood there, frozen, watching as their fingers intertwined effortlessly—as if they belonged there.
Something inside him broke quietly.
His heart raced, not with excitement, but with panic. His breath felt shallow. He looked around, hoping this was some kind of misunderstanding, some moment that would correct itself if he waited long enough.
So he waited.
He watched them talk. He watched her smile—not the reserved smile he imagined, but a real one. He watched the ease between them, the comfort that comes from familiarity. Every second felt heavier than the last.
This was not silence.
This was truth.
Rahul felt small. Invisible. Every belief he had built over months began to collapse, one after another. The glances, the looks, the moments he had treasured—suddenly, they felt fragile, uncertain, almost embarrassing.
Was it all in my head?
The question hurt more than anything else.
He didn’t walk away. He couldn’t. His feet refused to move. Some part of him needed answers, even if those answers destroyed him completely.
After a while, the boy stood up. He said something to Pratigya that made her smile again. Then he left, disappearing into the crowd of students. Rahul watched him go, his heart pounding loudly in his ears.
Pratigya picked up her bag and stood up to leave.
That’s when Rahul moved.
He stepped forward and called her name softly, almost trembling. She turned, surprised. Her expression changed the moment she saw him—confusion, then mild discomfort.
“Who was that?” Rahul asked, his voice unsteady.
Pratigya frowned slightly. “Why do you want to know?”
The question stung.
Rahul swallowed hard. “Just tell me.”
She looked at him for a moment, her eyes searching his face, trying to understand the sudden intensity. “It’s none of your concern,” she said calmly.
The words felt like a wall.
Rahul felt his control slipping. He didn’t know where the courage came from, or why it chose this moment. His eyes burned, his vision blurred. He didn’t want to cry, but the tears came anyway—quiet, uncontrollable.
Pratigya noticed.
“What happened, Rahul?” she asked, her tone softer now. “Why are you crying?”
That question broke the last barrier.
“I love you,” Rahul said.
The words came out heavier than he imagined. They carried months of silence, hope, and fear. Once spoken, they couldn’t be taken back. He waited, his heart exposed, his world trembling.
Pratigya stared at him.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then she spoke, carefully, clearly. “I don’t love you, Rahul. I never did.”
Each word landed slowly, deliberately.
She continued, “The boy you saw… his name is Himanshu. He is the one I love.”
Rahul felt numb.
It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t disbelief. It was emptiness. A hollow space where something once lived. He stood there, unable to speak, unable to react, as if time had stopped only for him.
Pratigya adjusted her bag and took a step back. There was no cruelty in her eyes, only certainty. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, and then she walked away.
Rahul remained where he was.
The courtyard felt louder, brighter, crueler than before. Students passed by, unaware that something inside him had shattered. He didn’t move. He didn’t cry. He simply stood there, realizing for the first time that love, when misunderstood, doesn’t just fade—it wounds.
That day didn’t just change his feelings.
It changed him.
Chapter 5 Truth That Broke Him
After Pratigya walked away, Rahul did not follow. He did not call her name again. He stood there, rooted to the spot, as if moving even an inch would cause everything inside him to collapse completely. The courtyard slowly emptied, laughter faded into distance, but Rahul remained where he was, staring at the space she had just left behind.
The truth had been spoken.
And it hurt in ways he had never imagined.
He replayed her words again and again, each time hoping they would change their meaning. I never loved you. The sentence echoed relentlessly in his mind, stripping away every illusion he had so carefully protected. There was no anger in her voice when she said it, no hesitation. That certainty hurt more than cruelty ever could.
Rahul finally turned and walked away, his steps slow and heavy. The familiar school corridors felt unfamiliar now, almost hostile. Every corner reminded him of the glances he once cherished, the moments he believed were shared. Now they felt like quiet accusations.
You imagined it.
You were wrong.
In class, he sat at his desk, but he wasn’t present. The blackboard blurred in front of him. Voices passed through him without meaning. His hands rested on the desk, unmoving, as if he were afraid that any movement might release the pain he was holding in.
He didn’t cry.
Not yet.
The bell rang, announcing the end of the day. Students rushed out, eager to leave, eager to live. Rahul stayed seated until the room was almost empty. He didn’t want to face anyone. He didn’t want questions, sympathy, or curious looks. He wanted silence—pure, uninterrupted silence.
When he finally stepped outside, the sky was turning grey. Dehradun’s hills stood quietly in the distance, indifferent to the storm inside him. He walked without direction, his bag hanging loosely from his shoulder.
For the first time, he allowed himself to feel everything.
The pain came in waves—slow at first, then overwhelming. His chest tightened, his throat burned, and suddenly he couldn’t hold it anymore. He stopped near the roadside, away from people, and let the tears fall. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just silently, the way he had loved.
He cried for the boy who believed in something that never existed.
He cried for the courage that came too late.
He cried for the love that had nowhere to go.
That night, Rahul lay awake, staring at the ceiling, just as he had on the night of the first look. But everything was different now. The questions that once carried hope now carried pain.
How did I misunderstand so badly?
Why didn’t I speak sooner?
Was I ever visible to her at all?
He remembered every glance, every moment he had saved like a treasure. Now they felt heavy, meaningless. He wondered how something that felt so real could be so completely one-sided.
The next day, Rahul didn’t go to school.
He said he wasn’t feeling well, and for once, the words weren’t a lie. His body felt weak, but his heart felt worse. The idea of seeing her again—of walking past her as if nothing had happened—felt unbearable.
Days passed. Rahul returned to school eventually, but something had changed. He avoided places where he might see her. He stopped looking for her in crowds. When their paths crossed by chance, he looked away immediately.
The glances stopped.
Silence returned—but this time, it wasn’t comforting. It was empty.
He heard her name occasionally, spoken casually by others. Each time, it felt like reopening a wound that refused to heal. He never heard Himanshu’s name again, but he didn’t need to. The truth had already carved itself into his memory.
Rahul began withdrawing into himself. He spoke less. Smiled less. He moved through his days like someone carrying an invisible weight. No one knew what he was carrying, and he didn’t try to explain.
Some nights, he wondered if loving silently had been a mistake. Other nights, he told himself that at least he had loved honestly, even if it had been alone.
But honesty doesn’t always protect you.
As time passed, one thought began to take shape in his mind—slow, painful, unavoidable. He could not stay here. Every wall, every corridor, every memory pulled him back into a version of himself he no longer wanted to be.
The truth hadn’t just ended his love.
It had broken the place where that love was born.
And somewhere deep inside, Rahul knew that leaving was no longer a choice—it was the only way to survive.
Chapter 6 Five Years of Silence
Leaving did not happen all at once. It began as a thought—quiet, persistent, impossible to ignore. Rahul carried it with him through his final days at school, through half-filled classrooms and unfinished conversations. The place that once held his hopes now felt too small to contain his memories.
When he left Dehradun, he didn’t tell many people. There was no farewell, no explanation. He packed his belongings, closed the door on a chapter he didn’t know how to reread, and walked away. The city remained behind him, unchanged, while he carried its weight forward.
Silence followed him everywhere.
In the beginning, it felt unbearable. He woke up reaching for a world that no longer existed. He found himself searching crowds for a familiar face he knew he wouldn’t find. Nights were the hardest. Without distractions, memories grew louder, demanding attention he didn’t have the strength to give.
He tried to bury them.
Time passed—not gently, but relentlessly. Rahul enrolled elsewhere, built routines, learned new names, new streets, new habits. On the surface, life moved forward. Beneath it, something remained unfinished.
Five years went by.
In those years, Rahul changed. Not dramatically, not in ways others easily noticed. He became quieter, more careful with his emotions. He learned how to smile without revealing much, how to speak without saying what he truly felt. Love became a word he rarely thought about, and never trusted.
He never went back to Dehradun.
Not because he couldn’t—but because he didn’t want to reopen a wound that had learned how to sleep. He avoided places that reminded him of school, of innocence, of believing too easily.
Yet, despite everything, Pratigya’s name never disappeared completely.
It surfaced in unexpected moments. A familiar scent. A passing look from a stranger. A song that carried the weight of unsaid things. Each time, Rahul paused, just for a second, before reminding himself that some chapters are meant to stay closed.
He didn’t follow her life. He didn’t ask about her. But memories have their own way of surviving without permission. He remembered her eyes—not as they truly were, but as he had once believed them to be.
Meanwhile, Pratigya searched.
At first, she didn’t understand why his words stayed with her. She had spoken the truth that day, nothing more. Yet, his silence after that confession unsettled her. Rahul didn’t look at her anymore. Didn’t react. Didn’t exist in her world the way he once quietly had.
When she heard that he had left school, something stirred inside her.
She asked around. His name surfaced briefly, then disappeared. He wasn’t from Dehradun, they said. He had moved away. No one knew where. The finality of it surprised her more than she expected.
Years passed, and questions began to replace certainty.
Why had his confession affected her so deeply?
Why did his absence feel heavier than his presence ever had?
Why did she remember the way he looked at her—with sincerity she had dismissed too quickly?
She never found answers.
Rahul, on the other hand, learned how to live with unanswered questions. He built a life that looked complete from the outside. Education. Work. Responsibility. But something within him remained untouched—carefully protected, permanently guarded.
He didn’t fall in love again.
Not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to misread another silence. He feared his own heart more than rejection. He trusted distance. He trusted solitude.
Five years of silence changed him.
It taught him that some feelings don’t fade—they simply become quieter. That some people leave your life physically but remain where it matters most. And that love, once broken, doesn’t always ask to be healed.
As time moved on, Rahul believed that chapter was over.
He was wrong.
Because silence doesn’t mean the end.
Sometimes, it is only the pause before everything begins again.
Chapter 7 Searching For A Lost Name
Five years had passed, yet Rahul’s memories of Pratigya remained as vivid as the day he had first confessed. Every glance, every smile he had imagined, every silent moment—they had etched themselves deep into his heart. Life had moved forward around him, but he carried a part of the past that refused to leave.
Pratigya, too, could not shake him from her thoughts. The day Rahul had spoken his heart, and she had refused it, had left a strange, unhealed mark. She had moved on in the eyes of the world—finished school, begun college, and taken steps toward adulthood—but inside, a restless longing quietly persisted. Something unfinished lingered, like a question that had no answer.
Life, however, has its own ways of forcing confrontations with what has been left unresolved.
Rahul had moved to a different city after leaving Dehradun. He had built a routine, a semblance of normalcy, but even routine could not erase the echo of her presence. Social media had helped him keep distant tabs on old acquaintances, but he never searched for Pratigya. He didn’t dare. Yet, the world is smaller than one imagines.
One evening, a mutual friend from school, casually mentioning names over a phone call, slipped hers into conversation. “You remember Pratigya?” they asked. “She’s… she’s getting married.”
Those words hit him like a sudden cold wind. Married. The thought spun around in his mind, refusing to settle. Five years of distance, of silence, and he had never imagined this. She had moved on, and yet, just hearing it felt like a thread pulling him back to a life he had left behind.
Rahul felt a strange mixture of panic and urgency. His heart pushed him toward her, even as his mind told him to respect boundaries. He realized that he had spent years in absence, letting silence grow, and now, if he wanted closure—or perhaps more than closure—he had to act.
He began to search, cautiously at first. Friends, distant relatives, old schoolmates—anyone who might have known her whereabouts. Dehradun seemed far away now, but memories of its streets, the school corridors, the assembly grounds, came back with vivid clarity. Every step he had avoided in the past now called to him urgently.
Pratigya, meanwhile, lived unaware of his movements. Her days were filled with preparations, social calls, and the excitement that precedes a wedding. Yet, deep inside, there was a quiet unease, a persistent sense that something—or someone—was missing from the moments she was supposed to cherish.
It wasn’t regret. Not exactly. But questions, long buried under the surface of her busy life, began resurfacing. Why had Rahul left? Why had he never reached out? Was I too harsh? These thoughts lingered, unanswered, unsettled.
Rahul’s search was meticulous. He avoided drawing attention to himself, not out of shame, but out of fear of startling the delicate balance of her life. He wanted to see her—not for confrontation, not for drama—but to witness her, to understand if the feelings she had once evoked in him had any echo in her heart.
Every detail he learned about her life became a compass guiding him. The street she lived on, the coffee shop she frequented, the friends she confided in—small fragments, seemingly insignificant, but each one stitched together a map leading to her.
Meanwhile, the closer he got, the heavier the anticipation became. Five years of silence had built walls, yet each piece of information he uncovered felt like the possibility of breaking them down. He realized that these years of waiting had prepared him for this moment, for the moment when paths would finally converge.
But even in his determined search, fear lingered. Fear of arriving too late, of discovering that she had moved completely on. Fear of witnessing a life that no longer had room for him.
And yet, he could not stop. He had spent too long in absence, and now, the time to act had arrived.
Somewhere deep inside, both Rahul and Pratigya were inching toward the same moment—unaware of how close it already was. She, unprepared for his return; he, unprepared for what he might finally find.
And the city of Dehradun, quiet and indifferent, waited to witness what five years of silence would finally bring together—or tear apart.
Chapter 8 A Wedding Without A Goodbye
The day had arrived. The wedding decorations adorned the hall with flowers, lights, and colors that celebrated joy and new beginnings. Everywhere Pratigya looked, there were smiles, laughter, and congratulations—voices blending into the excitement of a day meant for happiness. Her dress shimmered softly under the hall lights, and every detail of her appearance had been meticulously arranged. She was ready to step into a life she had carefully planned.
Yet, beneath the surface, a restless knot lingered. Questions from the past, unanswered for years, stirred quietly in her mind. She tried to push them away. After all, today was meant to be about moving forward, about embracing what was to come. But sometimes, the past has its own way of inserting itself when least expected.
Rahul had arrived in the city earlier that day. He had learned about the wedding through whispers and messages, but no one had expected him to come. Yet, he was here. Without announcement, without permission, he had followed the map of memories and leads to this moment. The sight of the hall, the crowd, the anticipation—it all made his heart race.
He didn’t seek attention. He didn’t want confrontation. He simply wanted to see her, to know her, to breathe the same air, even if only for a moment.
Inside, Pratigya prepared for the ceremony, unaware that someone from her past had returned. Her focus was on the rituals, the sequence of events, the smiles she was expected to give. Her heart, however, felt strangely heavy. The echo of a name she had long tried to forget—Rahul—sneaked into her thoughts. She shook it away, telling herself it was only memory. It was only imagination.
The ceremony began. Guests took their seats. Musicians played soft melodies. Families exchanged greetings. And then, amidst the orderly progression of events, she looked up.
And froze.
There he was. Rahul. Standing in the hall, unnoticed by everyone else, but directly in her line of sight. The years had changed him, but the essence—the presence that had haunted her silently—remained unmistakable. His eyes met hers, calm, quiet, with a small, knowing smile that carried the weight of all those years of absence and unspoken words.
Time seemed to pause.
Pratigya’s breath caught. Memories flooded her mind—every glance, every imagined moment, every silent confession he had carried alone. The hall, the music, the laughter—they all faded into the background. The world had narrowed to the space between them.
She wanted to move, to run to him, to tell him what she had never said before. But her body froze, restrained by the presence of family, tradition, and the ritual she had long anticipated. The expectations of a wedding pressed down on her, silencing the voice that suddenly demanded to speak.
Rahul remained still, letting her see him fully. He didn’t move forward, didn’t speak. His presence alone carried the message that had been absent for years: he had returned. And with him came all that had been left unsaid.
Pratigya’s heart pounded. Her eyes blurred with tears she didn’t try to hide. Every effort to maintain composure faltered as she realized how profoundly she had missed him, how deeply she had longed for the person she had once dismissed.
As the ceremony progressed, Rahul didn’t leave. He watched silently, his patience unwavering. He understood the constraints of the moment. He understood that years of waiting required more than impulsive gestures. Yet, his presence spoke louder than words ever could.
She felt a pull she could no longer resist. It started as a quiet tremor in her chest, a gentle urging that grew stronger with every passing second. She wanted to run to him, to bridge the years of separation, to tell him that she couldn’t go through life without him.
But the wedding rituals, her family, the expectations—all held her back. For a few more minutes, she remained seated, caught between duty and desire, between the life she had planned and the life she had longed for.
And then, as Rahul turned slightly to leave, her instincts broke the chains. She couldn’t stay seated any longer. She rose, ignoring the murmurs around her, the shocked glances, and ran. Her steps carried the force of five years of unsaid words, five years of silent love, and five years of longing.
Rahul turned immediately, surprised but steady. Their eyes met once again, this time without hesitation, without distance. The hall, the wedding, the crowd—all disappeared. All that mattered was the moment they had both been waiting for, unknowingly, all these years.
Pratigya reached him. She stopped only when she was close enough to embrace him fully, to finally let her tears and words flow.
“I… I can’t live without you,” she whispered, her voice trembling, carrying all the emotions she had tried to suppress. “These five years… I have tried to move on, but I couldn’t. I looked for you everywhere, but you were gone.”
Rahul held her close, the weight of silence and years melting away. He didn’t speak immediately. He simply let her words fill the space between them. And in that moment, the world outside—rituals, expectations, arrangements—ceased to exist.
They were together again, and that was all that mattered.
The wedding, meant to be a new beginning with someone else, had become a stage for truth, for realization, and for a love that had never truly ended.
And somewhere in the crowd, family and friends looked on, realizing that sometimes, love finds its way—not through planning, not through expectation, but through the courage to show up, even when it seems impossible.
Chapter 9 The Escape That Wasn’t Planned
The moment Pratigya ran toward Rahul, the world around them seemed to disappear. The music, the crowd, the bright decorations—all faded into a blur. All that existed was the space between them, the distance they had spent five long years closing with hearts, memories, and longing.
Rahul instinctively opened his arms. When she collided into him, the hug was fierce and desperate, the kind that held years of unspoken words, heartbreak, and solitude. She buried her face in his chest, trembling, while he held her steady, as if grounding her in reality. For a moment, neither spoke. Words felt unnecessary; the embrace carried all the meanings, all the confessions, all the regrets that had never been voiced.
“I… I can’t do this anymore,” Pratigya whispered, her voice raw. “I’ve tried to live without you, Rahul. But I can’t. These five years… I’ve looked for you everywhere. I asked, I searched, I hoped… and you were gone.”
Rahul’s hand gently brushed her hair away from her face. “I never left because I didn’t care,” he said softly, his voice carrying the quiet strength of patience. “I left because it hurt too much to be near you and not be yours. I couldn’t bear seeing you with anyone else while I loved you silently.”
Tears streamed down Pratigya’s cheeks. Her body shook with a mixture of relief, guilt, and overwhelming joy. “I never knew…” she murmured. “I never imagined you felt the same way all these years.”
The wedding hall suddenly felt suffocating. The music continued, the rituals went on, and the guests watched in a mixture of shock and curiosity. But Rahul and Pratigya no longer belonged to that space. They were only present for each other, and everything else could wait.
Rahul’s eyes met hers, steady and reassuring. “We have to go,” he said. “I don’t want to waste another second. No more waiting. No more silence.”
Pratigya nodded, trying to catch her breath. She glanced toward her family and her fiancé, frozen in surprise. There was a moment of hesitation—a lifetime of duty and expectation clashing with a lifetime of love. She knew she could not explain everything immediately. There was no time for proper goodbyes, no room for polite words. The years of longing demanded immediate action.
Hand in hand, they began to move through the crowd. People murmured, guests turned to stare, and whispers spread like wildfire. But Rahul held her hand firmly, and she followed, trusting him completely.
Once outside, the cold air hit them. For the first time in years, they were free—free from misunderstanding, from expectations, from separation. The city lights of Dehradun flickered around them as if celebrating their reunion in silence.
They didn’t speak much on the way. Words weren’t enough. Every glance, every touch, every squeeze of the hand conveyed what had been unsaid for years. It was a language they had been practicing in their hearts since school days, perfected through longing and silence.
Eventually, they stopped near a quiet park, away from the eyes of the world. Pratigya looked at Rahul, searching his face for reassurance. “What about… everything?” she asked softly, her voice carrying the weight of reality.
Rahul smiled faintly. “We’ll figure it out. We don’t need answers today. We only needed this moment, and we have it.”
Pratigya let out a shaky laugh. “This… this feels like a dream.”
“Not a dream,” Rahul said, tightening his hold on her. “This is reality. It’s messy, yes. Unexpected, yes. But it’s ours.”
They sat together on the park bench, hands entwined, hearts finally aligned. The world could wait. The years of longing, the silence, the heartbreak—all of it culminated in this moment, fragile yet infinite.
For the first time, they allowed themselves to breathe freely, to exist without pretending, without fear, without hesitation.
The escape they had taken was unplanned, chaotic, and defiant—but it was perfect.
For Rahul and Pratigya, it was not about running away from life—it was about running toward each other, and for the first time in five long years, nothing else mattered.
Chapter 10 Finally Together
The city lights of Dehradun twinkled quietly as Rahul and Pratigya walked side by side, their hands still entwined, the chaos of the wedding fading behind them. Every step felt surreal—like a chapter of their lives that had been paused for five long years had finally resumed. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of pine and distant rain, but neither of them noticed anything except each other.
For Rahul, the journey to this moment had been long and painful. He had carried love silently, nurtured hope through years of separation, and endured heartbreak that had cut deeper than he could express. And yet, all that waiting had brought him here—to this clarity, this reunion, this completeness.
Pratigya walked beside him, her mind replaying the events of the day. She had come so close to accepting a life without him. The wedding hall, the ceremonies, the presence of another man—all of it had tested her resolve. And yet, when she saw Rahul, all the confusion, all the hesitation, dissolved instantly. She realized that no planning, no tradition, no expectations could compare to the love she had carried in her heart—love she had tried to ignore, love she had thought lost.
They reached a quiet spot by the river, where the water reflected the moonlight like scattered diamonds. Rahul stopped and turned to face her, his eyes searching hers, steady and unwavering. “After all these years, after everything,” he said softly, “I am finally here. And I won’t leave again.”
Pratigya’s eyes shimmered with tears, not of sorrow, but of relief and joy. She reached out, cupping his face with both hands. “I never realized how much I needed you,” she whispered. “These years… I thought I could live without you. I was wrong. I can’t live without you, Rahul.”
Their hands met, their foreheads touched, and for the first time, words were no longer necessary. The silence between them carried a thousand confessions, a thousand promises, a thousand dreams they had waited to share.
They sat together on the riverbank, talking quietly, laughing softly, and sharing memories of their past—some filled with longing, others with regret, and some simply sweet in their innocence. For the first time, they could be completely honest, completely open, and completely themselves.
The years of separation, the heartbreak, the misunderstandings—all of it had shaped them, but none of it could diminish what they felt now. Love, once unspoken, had finally found its voice.
As the first light of dawn began to touch the city, Rahul and Pratigya stood together, hand in hand. The river reflected not only the sky but also the promise of a new beginning. There would be challenges, yes—life always carried them—but they knew they would face everything together.
For Rahul and Pratigya, the story that had begun with silent glances and unspoken words had reached its most beautiful chapter. They had waited, they had endured, and finally, they were together—not in fantasy, not in imagination, but in reality.
The years of silence had ended. The years of longing had ended. And now, at last, love had won.
They walked forward, side by side, into a future that belonged to both of them, hearts finally free, and a lifetime of memories still to create.
No more waiting. No more silence. Only them—together, forever.