26/05/2025
"The Last Letter"
Aarav always sat by the lake every evening with a diary in his hand. The townspeople often saw him staring into the sunset, whispering words that vanished with the wind.
Years ago, he met Alina by this very lake. She was an artist, painting sunsets, while he was a writer, capturing feelings in words. Their connection was instant â like a story already written in the stars.
Days turned into months. They shared coffee-stained notebooks, late-night walks, and silent smiles that spoke volumes. But one winter evening, Alina had to leave for Paris for her art dreams. "Iâll write to you," she had said, eyes filled with hope.
And she did â every week, a letter came. Until suddenly, they stopped.
Aarav waited. One week. Two. A month. A year.
He never got another letter. No explanation. No goodbye. Just silence.
But he never stopped writing to her â in his diary, by the lake, every evening.
One day, a girl approached him. She looked like Alina â same eyes, same smile. "Are you Aarav?" she asked.
"Yes," he whispered.
"I'm Alinaâs sister," she said gently. "She passed away two years ago. But before she died, she wrote a last letter for you. I found it just last week."
With trembling hands, she handed him an envelope. Inside was a single line:
"Even when Iâm gone, Iâll live in every sunset you watch by this lake. Forever yours, Alina."
That evening, as the sky turned orange and gold, Aarav smiled through his tears â because love never truly ends. It only changes form.
â Mili Sarkar
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