Preface

  Love is often painted as a force that conquers all, an unshakable bond that defies time, distance, and even fate itself. But the truth? Love is not always about winning. Sometimes, it is about losing.

  This is not a story of a love that triumphed against all odds. It is a story of love that existed in fleeting moments, of stolen glances and whispered confessions, of promises made only to be broken. It is about a love that, despite its depth, was never meant to last.

  I once believed that if you loved someone enough, you could hold onto them forever. But life taught me otherwise. Love does not always mean being together—it sometimes means letting go.

  And so, this is my story. A story of love, loss, and the cruel hands of fate. A story of a woman I once loved… and a daughter I now cherish.

  Because not all love stories are destined to last. Some are simply Destined to part.

  People believe in destiny—that somewhere out there, a soulmate is waiting, the one they are meant to love. The world teaches us that if you love someone, you must fight for them, hold on no matter what, even if it destroys you.

  But the truth? Love isn’t always about holding on. Sometimes, it’s about letting go.

  Fate brings two souls together, but it doesn’t always keep them that way. Some destinies are written side by side, intertwined forever. Others are meant to meet, to love, and then to part—leaving only memories behind. It is not only destiny to be together but also destiny to be apart.

  I suck at cooking. Just this morning, I burned another pancake. That’s how my breakfast ended—ruined, as usual.

  I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Siddharth. I’m an office worker here in Japan, though I’m originally from India. It’s been three years since I moved here. Every day, I take the train from Shibuya Station to Akihabara, where I work. The routine is simple—late hours at the office, a late dinner, and then my day ends, only to repeat the same the next day. It’s hectic, sure, but I don’t hate it. I try my best to enjoy life, to make the most out of every moment, even in the chaos.

  Like every other day, I got home late. Dinner was quick, and the usual cleaning up followed. I was exhausted, but there was something that caught my eye. A new email popped up in my inbox.

  The subject line read: “Ananya.”

  For a moment, my heart stopped. Ananya. She was the crush I had carried through my college days. We had gotten along well, and I knew she was aware of my feelings for her. But I had always been afraid to confess, terrified of rejection. So, I never did. I let those feelings fade into the background as I moved on with life, convincing myself that it was for the best.

  But now, here I was, staring at an email from her. I froze. My mind raced, but my body was still. I opened the email, my hands shaking slightly.

  It was simple, but the words hit me like a jolt. She was in Japan on a trip and traveling alone. She hoped to see me if possible and needed help navigating the country.

  Without thinking, my fingers moved to reply. I wrote that I’d be happy to help her, eager to make it happen. The moment I hit send, my mind began to spiral.

  Was I being too forward? Too eager? Was it cheesy to offer my help without even considering her situation properly? What if she thought I was coming on too strong?

  I couldn’t sleep that night. I debated with myself, deleting the message and rewriting it over and over, trying to make it sound just right. I convinced myself that maybe I had gone too far. Maybe I should have waited for a clearer sign from her. But in the end, I couldn’t undo it.

  The night passed in a blur of self-doubt, unanswered questions, and restless tossing and turning.

  The next day, I couldn’t focus on anything other than the thought of talking to Ananya. We exchanged messages all day, chatting about her trip, the places she had visited, and what she planned to do next. After a few hours, we decided to meet. She would be in Japan for two weeks, and we agreed to meet in Kyoto at a café near the station.

  I took the day off from work. Dressing up felt strange, like I was trying too hard, but I wanted to look good. I doubted my fashion sense, unsure of what would impress her. After a moment of indecision, I picked out something simple yet neat, hoping it would be enough.

  The journey to Kyoto was a long two-hour ride. My mind raced the entire time, full of excitement and nervousness. I barely remembered the details of the trip, only that my thoughts kept circling around the moment I would see her again.

  When I finally arrived, I was relieved to spot the café near the station. I took a deep breath before walking in. There she was, sitting by the window,

  As I walked toward the table, my eyes couldn't help but be drawn to her. She sat near the window, bathed in the soft, golden light of the afternoon. The sunlight played in her hair, a cascade of dark waves that shimmered like silk. It framed her face perfectly, falling gently over her shoulders, a few strands catching the light as if they had their own glow.

  Her eyes were what caught me first, though. They were deep—like the kind of ocean you can never fully understand, pulling you in with their quiet intensity. They held a certain warmth, yet there was a glimmer of mystery behind them. Those eyes had always been a riddle I couldn’t quite solve, but now they felt like home.

  Her smile was subtle, but it could make everything around her fade away. It wasn’t loud or forced—it was natural, like the way the first blooms of spring appear after a long winter, soft and gentle, but undeniable in their beauty.

  Her dress was simple but elegant—something that seemed both timeless and effortless. It was a soft shade of blue that complimented the warmth of her skin, and the fabric swayed gently as she shifted in her seat. She wasn’t trying to stand out, but everything about her presence made it impossible not to notice her.

  I couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment. She was right in front of me, yet it felt like I was looking at something too beautiful to be real. She looked like the kind of person who existed in poetry, someone whose very essence could be captured in verses but never truly understood.

  We talked for hours and hours, as if time itself had no hold over us. It felt so natural, so easy, as if we were catching up after years instead of just meeting again after so long. There was something about her—something that made everything else fade away when she spoke, when she smiled, when she simply existed beside me.

  As the days passed, I made a decision. I wanted to be with her for every moment she was here. So, I used up all my vacation days of the office. Every single one. I didn’t care about anything else—just being with her was enough.

  For those two weeks, we lived a dream. We explored the entire country, from the serene temples of Kyoto to the neon-lit streets of Tokyo. We took trains to distant cities, wandered through gardens in the rain, and ate at the tiniest, hidden restaurants only locals knew. It was as if we had traversed Japan from top to bottom, collecting memories along the way.

  But time, as it always does, moved faster than we wished. Those two weeks felt like they had slipped through our fingers in the blink of an eye. What seemed like endless days of laughter, discovery, and connection had suddenly turned into the last night of her stay.

  It was raining heavily that evening, the sky a canvas of thick clouds and cascading droplets. Ananya’s flight back to India was scheduled for the morning, and it seemed the universe wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. With the storm showing no signs of letting up, she decided to stay at my house for the night.

  At first, I wasn’t sure how to react. My heart raced with a mix of emotions—nervousness, excitement, and the ever-present weight of the inevitable goodbye. But I pushed it all aside. This was our last night together in Japan, and I didn’t want to spend it worrying about what tomorrow might bring.

  So, I opened the door wider, letting her in from the rain, and we spent the evening in the warmth of the apartment, surrounded by the quiet hum of the city outside.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  She stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself. There was something about the way she looked at her reflection, like she was searching for something that wasn’t there. Her fingers brushed through her hair, and she sighed softly.

  "I don’t look the same," she murmured, almost as if speaking to herself. "I’m not as pretty as I was before."

  I was caught off guard. How could she say that? In my eyes, she was more beautiful than ever, but the words didn’t come out immediately. I didn’t know how to explain it. How could I?

  So, I just blurted out, "No, you look more beautiful."

  She looked at me through the mirror, her lips curving into a subtle, almost knowing smile. "What makes me beautiful?" she asked, turning her gaze toward me, her voice light and curious.

  I froze for a second. What was it that made her beautiful? I couldn’t pinpoint it with words. There was no simple answer. How could I explain something so deep, so rooted in everything I felt? I didn’t have the vocabulary for it.

  But somehow, I said it anyway, even though I wasn’t sure where the words were coming from.

  "I don’t know how to describe it in words," I said, almost shyly. "But I can tell you a poetry I wrote for you."

  Her eyes widened, and I could see the surprise in them, followed by a spark of curiosity. "A poetry?" she asked, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. "You wrote a poetry for me?"

  I nodded, though the nerves were starting to rise within me. It felt strange to admit it, but now that the words were out there, I couldn’t take them back. "Yes," I said. "If you want to hear it."

  She smiled then—warm, inviting, the kind of smile that made everything in the world feel right. "Of course, I want to hear it."

  And in that moment, with her expectant gaze fixed on me, I knew I couldn’t back out. So, I took a deep breath and prepared to speak the words I’d been keeping inside.

  "In the silence of a thousand words,

  I find your beauty, like a song unheard.

  Not in your eyes, though they shine like stars,

  But in the spaces where our hearts are.

  Your smile is the dawn, soft and true,

  It paints the sky with shades of blue.

  Your voice is the wind, gentle and light,

  Whispering secrets in the quiet night.

  Beauty, they say, is a fleeting thing,

  But with you, it's the eternal spring.

  Not bound by time, not bound by fate,

  It’s in the love that we create.

  So when you ask what makes you shine,

  Know, it’s in every moment you are mine.

  Not in the mirror, but in my heart,

  You are the piece I never want to part."

  There was a deep silence. The world around us seemed to dissolve into nothingness. The only thing that remained was her—just her. An unbreakable eye contact held us together, as if time itself had paused to watch. I was sinking into her gaze, drowning in the depths of emotions that neither of us dared to speak.

  Then, she reached for me. Her touch was soft, yet it sent a wave of warmth through every inch of my skin. I could feel her—every heartbeat, every breath—so close, so impossibly real. The moment felt fragile, like something that could vanish in an instant, yet so infinite that I wanted to be lost in it forever.

  And then, without a word, she kissed me.

  It was soft at first, hesitant, almost like a question. But in that instant, the world around us ceased to exist. It felt surreal, like a dream I had longed for but never dared to believe would come true. If there was ever a moment I wanted to hold onto, to keep locked away in time, it was this.

  But then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over.

  She pulled away, a sharp intake of breath breaking the silence. Her eyes darted away as if she had crossed an invisible line. "I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice trembling. And before I could say anything, she turned and hurried toward the balcony, her steps uncertain, her emotions unreadable.

  I stood there, frozen. My heart pounded against my ribs, caught between joy and fear.

  If I let this moment slip away, if I didn’t say it now—I would never be able to confess.

  I finally said it.

  The words had been trapped inside me for years, buried beneath fear and hesitation, but now they were free. I told her—I like you. No, I’ve always liked you. From the very first moment, back in our college days, I had been hers before she even knew it.

  She smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of smile I had hoped for. It was bittersweet, heavy with something unspoken. And then, she said it.

  "I like you too," she whispered. "I always have."

  For a brief second, my heart soared. The world felt weightless, as if everything had finally aligned in the way I had always dreamed. But then she spoke again, and in that instant, it all shattered.

  "But we can’t be together," she said, her voice softer now, almost fragile. "I’m engaged to someone else."

  The air left my lungs. My heart, once so full, now felt hollow. It was as if the universe had played a cruel trick on me—giving me everything I ever wanted, only to rip it away the next second. My mind refused to accept it, but reality stood in front of me, undeniable.

  The world around me blurred. It felt like I was standing on cracked ground, breaking apart beneath my feet. My hands trembled, my chest ached, but more than anything—I felt helpless.

  I wanted to be with her. That was the only thought that remained. It didn’t matter how, it didn’t matter for how long.

  And before I even knew where the words came from, I found myself saying them.

  "Then… can we be together until you get married?" My voice was quiet, almost desperate. "Just for a little while?"

  She looked at me, surprised, and for a long moment, she didn’t say anything. I thought she would refuse, that she would walk away and leave me with nothing but regret.

  But then she agreed.

  We made a promise.

  We promised that we wouldn’t get too attached. We swore that this was temporary, a fleeting moment in time. And above all, we vowed that if one of us ever asked to stay together, the other would be the one to stop them because we were never meant to be.

  Our destiny was not to be together.

  Our destiny was to part.

  And just like that, our long-distance relationship began.

  We talked for hours, sometimes through endless messages, sometimes through late-night calls that stretched until dawn. No matter how far apart we were, she was always just a call away. There were times when she flew to Japan to see me, and times when I traveled to India just to be with her, even if only for a short while.

  Every time I saw her, the same thought echoed in my mind—I have her now, so why can’t we be together?

  But I never said it.

  We had made a promise, after all. A promise that felt like an invisible chain wrapped around my heart, keeping me from crossing the line we had drawn for ourselves.

  For a while, everything felt fine. Almost happy. Almost normal. As if we had found a way to cheat destiny, even if only for a little while.

  Then, one day, she said it.

  "My wedding is next week."

  The words came so casually, as if she were talking about the weather. But to me, they were a death sentence.

  I felt the ground beneath me give way. My mind went blank, my hands turned cold, and my heart—my foolish, hopeless heart—shattered into a million pieces.

  I didn’t even think. I didn’t even breathe.

  Before I knew it, I had booked a flight back to India.

  I don’t know why I did it. Maybe because she would never expect me to be there. Maybe because, deep down, I still believed I had something left to say. Maybe because a part of me still wanted to see her one last time, even if it meant watching her become someone else’s forever.

  I had no plan, no reason, no hope.

  All I had was the unbearable ache in my chest and a plane ticket to a wedding I had no right to attend.

  The wedding hall was grand—ornate chandeliers glowed softly above, casting golden reflections on the polished marble floor. Rows of flowers lined the pathway, their fragrance blending with the scent of incense, filling the air with a bittersweet warmth. The sound of distant laughter and wedding rituals echoed through the vast space, but my world had gone silent.

  And then, I saw her.

  Draped in a deep crimson lehenga embroidered with gold, she looked nothing short of celestial. The soft shimmer of her dupatta cascaded down her shoulders, framing her face in an ethereal glow. Heavy kohl lined her eyes, making them look deeper, darker—oceans that I had drowned in a thousand times before. Her jewelry, intricate and delicate, adorned her like she was born to wear it. The maang tikka rested perfectly on her forehead, a mark of a bride, a mark that should have made her look complete—yet her eyes spoke otherwise.

  That day, more than ever, she was breathtaking.

  That day, more than ever, I fell for her the hardest.

  She saw me. And in that instant, something shifted.

  Without a word, she moved, walking through the crowd, past the guests, past the rituals. She reached me, grabbed my hand, and pulled me away—to a quiet corridor where no one could see us.

  Her grip trembled. Her breath was unsteady.

  And then, she said something I never thought I’d hear.

  "I can’t do this," she whispered. "I can’t hold back anymore. I want to be with you."

  For a moment, my heart stopped. Every wall I had built around myself crumbled. I wanted to believe it—I wanted to give in, to hold her, to say yes.

  But how foolish would that be?

  How selfish would I have to be to let her throw everything away?

  I closed my eyes, swallowed the ache clawing at my throat, and forced a smile—one that hurt more than anything I had ever endured.

  "Do you remember the promise?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "If one of us insists on being together, the other will stop them."

  Her breath hitched. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  I gently pulled my hand away from hers, feeling the warmth slip through my fingers like sand.

  And then, I turned.

  Step by step, I walked away—from her, from the love I had dreamed of, from the life we could never have.

  She cried. I heard it in the silence that followed.

  And I cried too. But no one saw.

  I walked back into the wedding hall, where fate had already decided how this story would end.

  And just like that, in front of my eyes, my world was collapsing.

  Every step she took away from me felt heavier than the last. It was as if the air around me had thickened, trapping me in the unbearable weight of my own choices. The sound of wedding bells, the murmur of guests, the priest chanting sacred verses—none of it reached me. The only sound I could hear was the fading echo of her footsteps, carrying her further and further away.

  I stood there, frozen, watching the love of my life walk toward a destiny that did not have me in it. A love that was never meant to be, yet burned deeper than anything I had ever known.

  She never looked back. And I—I didn’t dare to stop her.

  That night, I left without a word.

  Years passed.

  She became a mother. She gave birth to a beautiful daughter—a piece of her that walked this earth, carrying the same warmth, the same eyes that once held me captive. From afar, I knew she poured all her love into that little girl. Perhaps, in some way, she tried to build a life where love wasn’t a tragedy.

  But happiness is fleeting.

  A few months later, the news reached me.

  She had divorced her husband. The marriage that separated us had fallen apart, leaving her alone with her daughter. I wondered if she had found peace in that solitude, or if she had regretted the choices life had forced upon her.

  And then—fate struck its cruelest blow.

  A car accident.

  A moment of chaos. A twist of destiny that no one could undo.

  She was gone. Just like that.

  The woman I had loved all my life, the one who once stood in front of me, trembling with unsaid emotions, was no longer in this world.

  But her daughter survived.

  A piece of her remained. A heartbeat,