The morning air was sharp, crisp with the kind of chill that slips beneath the skin, refusing to leave. She sat upright on the bed, dark circles shadowing her eyes, her body aching from the tension of a night spent sleepless and questioning.
Reyan.
His name echoed in her mind like a soft song left unfinished.
She looked at the violin case sitting by the door. It hadn't moved since last night, and neither had she. The thought of smashing it in anger had tempted her. That single object—his last remnant—became a vessel for all the confusion, pain, and rejection she felt.
But in the end, she couldn't do it.
Something inside her whispered: He didn't mean to hurt you.
That didn't stop the ache. After all, who was she to him? A stranger. A passing soul in a shared moment of vulnerability. Yet, what they had shared that day—those glances, the laughter, the silence that didn't feel empty—it had meant something. At least to her.
She hugged her knees to her chest, face buried between them, muttering, "What did I do wrong?"
She had offered him her thoughts—her raw, broken, hidden thoughts. And in return, he ran.
But she wasn't going to let this end with unanswered questions.
She stood up, washed her face, changed into something warm, and stepped outside. The Sahana breeze brushed against her cheeks, the sky above tinged with a golden hue. Her feet moved before her thoughts caught up. She wandered through the stone-paved paths of the quiet town, past weathered walls and flower stalls beginning to bloom with festival garlands.
As she turned a corner, the sound of chimes and voices greeted her. A colorful banner stretched across the square:"Sahana Festival – Welcoming the Light of Spring."
Her eyes widened slightly. She remembered overhearing about it—how the locals celebrated this festival with dances, fire lanterns, and wishes whispered into the wind.
The thought stirred something in her.
Maybe… if he's still here, he'll come to the festival too.
With that faint hope, she asked a local artist about where one might stay near the cliffs or streams. No one recognized the name "Reyan." Her heart sank each time. But she didn't stop.
Meanwhile, Reyan sat alone on the very hill where it all began.
His fingers trembled in his lap, a crumpled piece of paper—her napkin, with a photo she'd printed of a moment they shared—lay beside him. He hadn't gone home. He didn't even know where to go.
He wanted to believe he did the right thing. That running away protected them both. But guilt weighed heavier than ever.
"I broke it again," he whispered to the wind. "I ruined something pure again."
His mind replayed her voice over and over—the way she'd described feeling two emotions, as if her soul was split. The way her eyes had looked right into his. The way her smile had warmed the frozen edges of his mind.
She knew.
And she didn't run.
He remembered the way she had stared at the sky that day, her words soft yet strong: "I feel like I've cried the tears of two hearts."
How had she known?
His grip tightened on the violin he had retrieved after she left it with the caretaker nearby. It was the only thing he had left of his father—and now, the only link he had to her.
Maybe he wasn't ready to let go. Maybe… he needed her more than he was willing to admit.
That evening, the streets of Sahana transformed into a world of lights. Lanterns swayed with the mountain breeze, their golden glows dancing on smiling faces. Children laughed, vendors handed out sweets, and music floated across the town like the hum of an ancient lullaby.
She stood among the crowd, camera around her neck, but not using it. Her eyes searched. Every flicker of dark hair made her heart leap, only to fall again.
Just before the lantern release, the festival bell rang.
She stepped forward, placing her lantern beside the river. "Please," she whispered into it, hands trembling, "let me see him again. Just once."
Unbeknownst to her, on the other side of the river, Reyan placed his lantern on the water too. His eyes were hollow, but his heart raced with the same desperate prayer.
And then—it happened.
She turned to leave, and from across the bridge, he saw her.
Frozen.
She hadn't seen him yet, but he saw the way her fingers trembled, how her head drooped a little lower than yesterday, how her shoulders carried the weight of unspoken sorrow.
He stepped forward.
She turned around.
Their eyes locked.
The crowd disappeared. Time stood still.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. His legs wanted to run again, but this time, something stronger held him still.
A force neither of them could name.
She took a step forward, then paused, her heart hammering in her chest.
He finally spoke, voice soft, almost breaking, "I'm sorry."
She didn't say anything. She just stared. Her lips trembled.
And then, she smiled.
Not the wide, camera-ready grin, but a quiet, knowing smile.
He took another step, tears in his eyes. "I thought… I thought I didn't deserve to feel happiness again."
"And I thought I lost someone I never even had," she replied softly.
The lanterns floated down the river, the town bursting into applause and cheer. But the world had narrowed into that moment, between them.
A whisper between two hearts that finally met again.