The night descended slowly over the small town, bringing with it a soft breeze that rustled the leaves in Saraswati's yard. The stars had yet to emerge, but the moon had already begun casting its gentle glow through wisps of cloud. In the warmth of her living room, Saraswati sat alone, staring at an old photo—one of her, Raga, and little Amara, smiling in a moment of long-gone joy. Her fingers gently traced the edges of the frame, as if afraid that touching it too hard would cause it to shatter.
Her heart was a storm of doubt—and hope.
It had been days since her conversation with Boase's mother, Ratri. The woman's words still echoed in her ears like a song on repeat, persistent and impossible to ignore. "Your happiness is not a betrayal. It is a form of survival."
That single sentence had shaken the walls she had built around her heart. For years, she had lived under the shadow of sorrow and guilt, convincing herself that joy was something she no longer deserved.
But what if that wasn't true?
She looked out the window as the sound of a motorbike approached in the distance. Her heart began to beat faster. She didn't need to look to know who it was.
Moments later, the doorbell rang.
She stood up, her steps slow but certain, and opened the door.
There he was—Boase, standing under the porch light, his jacket damp from the evening dew, hair slightly tousled, and the familiar, sincere smile that never failed to calm her nerves.
"Hey," he greeted softly.
"Hey," she replied, her own voice barely a whisper, trying to steady her rapidly beating heart.
"I was just passing by," Boase said, holding up a small box of her favorite strawberry pastries. "Thought you might need a little company tonight."
Saraswati opened the door wider. "Come in."
He stepped inside, placing the box on the table and sitting on the sofa. Saraswati joined him, keeping a slight distance. For a while, they sat in silence, the air between them filled with unspoken emotions.
"There's something I need to say," Saraswati finally spoke, her voice calm but heavy with meaning.
Boase nodded, his expression attentive and kind.
"I've spent so much time hiding my heart. Suppressing the pain. Denying myself the right to feel joy because I thought... I wasn't worthy of it anymore."
Boase said nothing, but his eyes never left hers.
"Since Raga died," she continued, her voice catching slightly, "I've lived like a shadow. Every smile felt like a betrayal. Every moment of happiness, like I was erasing his memory."
Boase looked down, his hands clenched loosely on his knees, but still he didn't interrupt.
"But then you came," Saraswati said, her voice cracking as tears welled in her eyes. "You never asked me to forget him. You never tried to take his place. You just stood there—beside me. Quietly. Patiently. You stayed. You held my pain without trying to fix it."
Boase turned to her slowly, his eyes glistening now, filled with the weight of his own emotions.
"I still love Raga," Saraswati said, placing a hand over her heart, where the necklace with Raga's ring still hung. "That love will never disappear. But I've come to realize... my heart is big enough to carry two kinds of love. One for the past, and one for the future."
Boase inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as he fought to hold back his emotions. "Saraswati..."
"I love you, Boase," she said, finally letting the truth fall from her lips. "I don't know when it started. Maybe it was when you waited outside the school just to make sure Amara was safe. Or when you stood by me in silence while I cried. Or when you made that terrible omelet and still smiled when Amara called you a kitchen disaster."
Boase chuckled through his tears.
"But I know now," she said firmly. "I know this love is real. And I want to give it space to grow. I want to live again. Not just for Amara. Not just to survive. But truly live. For myself. For us."
Boase couldn't hold it in any longer. He reached out and took her hands in his. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I know how much this means. I know how hard this decision is for you. And I promise—I'll never take it for granted. I will honor Raga's memory, just as you do. I will never try to erase your past. I only want to build a future—with you."
Saraswati smiled through her tears. A smile she hadn't allowed herself to feel in so long—a smile of true release.
"Amara likes you," she said, laughing softly. "She said you look funny when you cook."
Boase laughed too. "She's the only one who doesn't make fun of my burnt omelets."
They both laughed together, the kind of laugh that feels like exhaling after years of holding one's breath. In that moment, the world felt softer. Lighter.
Then, with a bit of hesitation, Boase reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small blue box.
"This isn't an official proposal," he said quickly. "Not yet. I know you need time. I want to give you that. But this... this is a promise. That I'm serious. That I'm here. That I'll wait—however long you need."
Saraswati opened the box. Inside was a delicate heart-shaped pendant made of moonstone, soft and shimmering. On the back, engraved in tiny letters, were the words: "To live—not just to survive."
Tears fell freely now. "It's beautiful," she whispered.
"Just like you," Boase replied, and this time, he held her hand with certainty and care.
They sat in silence for a while, fingers intertwined, breathing in the peace that settled between them like a warm blanket. The past would never be forgotten, but it no longer had to haunt every moment of the present.
Later that night, as they sipped warm tea together, Boase looked at her and said, "Do you think... someday... we could start dreaming together?"
Saraswati looked at him, her eyes soft. "We already are."
Outside, the wind danced through the trees. Inside, in that little living room filled with memories, pain, laughter, and new beginnings, two hearts had found their rhythm again.
Saraswati knew the road ahead wouldn't be perfect. There would still be grief. Still be days when she missed Amran so fiercely it would hurt to breathe. But now, she had someone willing to walk that road with her. Someone who didn't ask her to forget—but invited her to feel again.
And perhaps, just perhaps, that was what love truly meant.
Not replacing.
Not erasing.
But growing.
Together.