Doubts creep in, whispered by shadows. Love, once warm, grows unsure, burdened by unspoken questions and fear. He tries to keep their story alive, but she is turning away, slowly, silently.
She tells him love should be free, like a bird in the sky. He listens, but cannot understand.
Then comes the momentâwhen she leaves, when he watches, unable to grieve properly, unable to let go.
A single sentence, unfinished, lingers in the air:
"Some stories arenât meant to be told to the end."
Silences grew where words once flowed. Love, once warm, now lingers in hesitation. Was it ever ours to keep?