8: Meeting Mira

It was a warm afternoon when I saw her again—Mira. She was sitting on the same library bench, sunlight draping her like a soft shawl. This time, she wasn't reading. She was just staring out the window, fingers resting on an unopened book.

For a moment, I stood still, unsure.

She looked different—less guarded, but not lighter. Like someone who'd stopped running, but hadn't yet decided if she wanted to stay.

I approached her slowly.

"Rumi again?" I asked, nodding to the book.

She turned, surprised. A flicker of recognition crossed her face, like she'd seen me before but wasn't sure from where. Maybe I'd become a familiar shadow in the corners of her routine.

She gave a small smile. "It's comforting. Even when it hurts."

I sat on the bench beside her, leaving space.

"I know this is unusual," I said. "But I met Rohan recently."

Her posture stiffened. Her fingers curled slightly around the book's edge.

"I didn't plan to," I continued, gently. "I wasn't trying to find him. I just... found a story I couldn't walk away from. And both of you were part of it."

She didn't look at me. Just kept her eyes on the sunlight playing across the tiled floor.

"I don't know what he told you," she said. Her voice was steady, but worn. "But that part of my life is... folded away now."

"I understand," I said. "I'm not here to unfold anything. Just to ask something."

She finally turned to face me. Her eyes were tired, but clear.

"He still loves you," I said simply. "And he knows he failed you when it mattered most."

Mira didn't speak. Her face didn't change. But something in the silence shifted—like a wind moving through an old, locked room.

"He thought giving you space was mercy," I said. "But he knows now that it felt like absence."

Her voice came quiet, almost like breath. "I didn't want a savior. I just didn't want to be alone in the dark."

We sat there, the weight of those words settling between us.

I didn't push. Didn't tell her to forgive, or call, or even hope.

I just said, "He still waits. Not with expectation. Just... with something left to give."

And then I stood, thanked her for listening, and walked away.

I didn't look back. She needed space too—this time, the kind that gives someone a choice, not a void.

---

I didn't know what would happen next.

But for the first time, I had done more than observe a story.

I had walked inside it, quietly, and lit a candle in the dark.