Every evening, Rohan placed a cup of tea on the chair by the window.
The chair was empty.
It had been empty for three years.
Before that, his mother used to sit there every sunset,
watching the sky turn orange,
telling him stories from her childhood.
"Promise me," she once said,
"you'll never let this chair feel lonely."
He promised.
After she passed away, the house became quiet.
Too quiet.
Friends told him to move on.
To change the furniture.
To forget.
But every day at 6 PM,
Rohan made two cups of tea.
One for himself.
One for the chair.
Sometimes he spoke to it.
"Today was hard, Ma."
"I wish you were here."
The tea always went cold.
One evening, as the sun set,
a small breeze moved the curtain.
For a moment, Rohan felt warmth beside him.
He smiled with wet eyes and whispered,
"I kept my promise."
The chair remained empty.
But love never really leaves.