Chapter 1 – Shadows of Love

They say life is a string of moments, some filled with laughter, some soaked in sorrow, and some so intense that they burn into memory forever. For me, love was never a bright, sweet melody; it was a haunting song that echoed in the dark corners of my soul.

I first saw her on a rainy evening. The world was blurred behind the curtain of water, yet she stood clear to me, as though time had parted just for her. Her black umbrella tilted, raindrops sliding down its edge like falling tears. She looked fragile, but there was something in her eyes—something sharp, like a wound still bleeding. When our eyes met, I felt both pulled in and warned to stay away.

We met again, by chance or fate, I’ll never know. It was at the old library, where silence hung heavy, broken only by the rustle of pages. She sat across from me, lost in a book of poetry. I could not resist asking her favorite verse. She looked up, her lips curving into a faint smile, and whispered, “Love is sweet when it begins, but it always tastes of ashes in the end.” I laughed softly, though her words left a shadow in my heart. That was the beginning.

Our moments together were unlike anyone else’s. We never talked of forever; we talked of endings, of fragile hearts, of the beauty of things destined to break. She loved walking in graveyards at night, calling them “gardens of memories.” She would trace her fingers on the old names carved in stone and tell me, “One day, we’ll be here too, just another story no one remembers. But until then, let’s live enough to be worth forgetting.” It was strange, yet with her, even darkness felt alive.

There were happy moments too, though twisted in their own way. She would laugh when thunder shook the sky, gripping my hand like a child afraid of losing her balloon. We shared coffee at midnight, sitting by her window, the city asleep but us awake in our little world of shadows. She painted my name in black ink across her wrist, not as a tattoo but as something temporary—reminding me that nothing lasts, not even love. And yet, those moments felt eternal.

But love that blooms in the dark rarely survives the morning light. I began to notice the distance in her eyes, like she was already halfway gone. One night, when the rain was falling harder than ever, she pressed her head against my chest and whispered, “Promise me, when I leave, you’ll keep me alive in your words. That will be enough.”

I didn’t want to hear it. I held her tighter, trying to keep her from slipping away, but love is not a cage. It is a flame, and flames always fade. A week later, she disappeared without a word. No note, no trace—just silence. Only her shadow remained in my memory, echoing through the empty streets we once walked together.

And yet, she is still with me. In the sound of rain against glass. In the smell of old books. In the taste of coffee at midnight. Every moment of my life is touched by her absence. Strange, isn’t it? How someone can be gone, and yet remain everywhere.

This is not a love story with a happy ending. It is a story of moments—dark, fragile, unforgettable. A reminder that sometimes, the most beautiful things in life are the ones that cannot last.

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