It had been three weeks since Akif left Bokaro.

Three weeks since Zoya watched him walk away with fire in his eyes and her name in his heart. The silence in her room felt loud now, even when the house was full of voices. She had returned to the same four walls she once called a prison.

But she was different now.

She was someone who had tasted freedom, someone who had been loved with depth, someone who had dreams.

And she was holding onto that.

---

Every night, without fail, a message came through.

Akif: “Jaan, I hope today didn’t feel too heavy. I missed you in every corner of my world.”

Sometimes it was a picture of his study notes with a small post-it that said “Zoya was here” just to make her laugh.

Sometimes it was a song link.

And sometimes… it was a voice note.

Zoya saved every single one.

---

One night, curled beneath her blanket, she opened her gallery.

A folder named “My Sky”.

His blurry selfies, videos of his smile, screenshots of late-night calls, and that one picture from the park when she hugged him like the world would fall apart.

She clicked record.

Zoya’s Voice Note:

“I wore your sweatshirt today. It still smells like you… that warm, rainy scent. I don't know how long this will last, but I’m not afraid anymore. Because even in distance, you make me feel like I’m loved. And that’s more than anyone ever gave me before you. Goodnight, Akif. I hope your dreams are soft.”

She didn’t wait for a reply.

She just held the phone to her chest and closed her eyes.

---

Meanwhile, back in Mumbai...

Akif sat alone in his room, laptop open, documents sprawled across the bed.

His eyes were tired, his heart heavier.

But he smiled when her voice filled the air through his phone.

“I wore your sweatshirt today…”

His fingers curled around the phone tightly.

It was 3 AM, and he still hadn’t slept.

Instead, he opened his diary—one he never told her about—and wrote:

> “She’s still mine. Even in silence. Even when I’m buried in responsibilities. She keeps me alive in a way nothing else can.

She deserves the stars. I’ll build her a galaxy.”

---

Zoya began writing letters.

Not the ones you post. Not the ones you show.

But the kind that live inside notes app drafts, unsent, unread, raw.

> Dear Akif,

Today I laughed at dinner. My cousin said something silly, and I actually laughed. Then I stopped midway because I missed your laugh more. Why do you always echo in my head?

> Dear Akif,

There’s a new bruise on my heart today. Not because anyone hit me… but because I miss your voice and you don’t even know how much.

> Dear Akif,

I will wait. I will wait even if I get old waiting. Just don’t forget me, okay?

She would delete some. She would rewrite others.

But every word was soaked in love.

---

One weekend, her cousin Nida entered her room with snacks and a smile. “Guess what?”

“What?” Zoya asked flatly.

“You’re having a video date. Right now.”

Zoya blinked. “What?!”

“I may or may not have already texted Akif that you’re free tonight. He said he’s been dying to see you.”

Zoya’s heart skipped.

Ten minutes later, her phone rang.

And there he was.

Hair messy. Hoodie loose. Eyes soft.

She froze. “You look…”

“Tired?” he laughed.

“Beautiful,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

His smile bloomed slowly.

“I can’t wait to hold you again,” he said softly. “Not just hug. Hold. Like I used to when you’d cry into my chest and tell me your fears.”

Tears stung her eyes.

“Don’t say it like that… I’ll start crying again.”

“Cry if you want. I’ll collect every tear and build you a story with it.”

She sniffled. “Drama king.”

“You love it.”

“I love you.”

Silence.

His breath caught.

She didn’t regret it.

He placed a hand over his heart. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

His voice cracked. “God, Zoya…”

And just like that, distance didn’t feel so cruel anymore.

---