Years had passed. Arjun's company had grown from a small idea into a respected enterprise, known for innovation and integrity. Yet, despite all the success, he remained the same at heart—quiet, thoughtful, and devoted to the memories that had shaped him.
Sometimes, in the quiet of his office, he would glance at his old notebook, where he had copied snippets of their chats, ideas for stories, and arguments over plotlines. Her words still made him smile, laugh, and think.
Colleagues often asked about his personal life, about love, about family. He never gave them much. In truth, he didn't need anyone else. She had taught him that some connections were rare, precious, and worth preserving in their purest form.
Arjun's heart remained loyal to their shared world—the universe of stories, debates, and quiet confessions. It was a love that didn't need a title or presence; it was eternal in memory, imagination, and the life he had built.
And as he looked out over the city from his office, watching the sun set, he smiled softly. Somewhere, in another city, she was living her life. And somewhere in his heart, their stories were still being written.