The email arrived on a quiet morning, tucked between newsletters and spam. Aanya almost missed it.
Subject: Creative Director Offer – Mumbai Design Collective
She read it twice. Then again. It was real. A position she'd dreamed of for years—leading a team, shaping campaigns, mentoring young designers. The kind of role that didn't just build a career, but a legacy.
She stared at the screen, heart thudding. The offer was generous. The team was brilliant. The city was… not Bengaluru.
Later that day, she met Vihaan at Cubbon Park, beneath the gulmohar trees that had begun to shed their blooms.
"I got an offer," she said.
Vihaan smiled. "That's amazing."
"In Mumbai."
His smile faltered. "Oh."
They sat on the same bench where they'd once talked about bridges and beginnings. But this time, the silence was heavier.
"I want it," Aanya said. "I've worked for it. Dreamed of it."
"Then you should take it."
"But I also want us."
Vihaan looked at her. "Then what do we do?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. Long distance? Visits? Letters?"
He laughed softly. "I've written enough letters."
She reached for his hand. "I don't want to choose between love and ambition."
"Maybe you don't have to," Vihaan said. "Maybe we just have to choose each other. Every day. Even when it's hard."
Aanya nodded. "But what if choosing you means losing part of myself?"
"Then I don't want to be chosen that way."
They sat in silence, the wind rustling the trees like a whisper.
"I leave in two weeks," Aanya said.
"Then let's make them count."
And sometimes, love isn't about finding the perfect path. It's about walking together, even when the road splits.