5 years later

Five Years Later.....

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The city had moved on. Buildings shifted, cafés changed names, new people filled the streets. But not him. He hadn’t moved on at all. She was still here. Older, sharper, stronger perhaps — but to him, she was still the girl from that snowy night.

Five winters had passed since the night he first touched her hand in the snow — five winters of him trailing her shadow like it was the only map he needed. She never knew. She never saw. But he had been there. Always!!

For five years, he never let her slip away.

He learned her rhythms the way most people learn their own heartbeat. He knew which mornings she stopped for coffee, which nights she stayed late at work, which windowsill light flickered in her apartment when she couldn’t sleep. Every friend’s face, every place she thought was private — all of it catalogued, all of it his.

On birthdays, he stood across the street, watching her laugh with friends through the glow of restaurant windows. On lonely nights, he lingered outside her building, catching glimpses of her framed in lamplight, curled on her couch, reading. When she cried once, shoulders shaking in her car, he had been there too — so close he could have knocked on her window, but he didn’t. He simply clenched his fists until his knuckles went white, whispering to himself: I’m here. I’ll never leave you alone.

Every year, every season, she lived her life.

And every year, every season, he lived only to watch hers.

Tonight, snow fell again, just like that first night. She stepped out of a bookstore, scarf tight around her neck, a bag of books cradled to her chest — just like before. His heart slammed against his ribs. Time hadn’t dulled her, hadn’t changed the way she looked beneath the halo of winter streetlamps. To him, she was untouched by years, still glowing, still his miracle.

From across the street, his eyes never left her. He memorized the way her breath fogged in the cold, the way her boots pressed tiny marks into the snow. Five years of watching, and yet seeing her still felt like the first time — sharp, electric, suffocating.

He whispered under his breath, voice trembling.

“You don’t know it, do you? That every step you’ve taken, I’ve been behind you. That every night you thought you were alone, my eyes were on you. You belong to me still, just as much as that night you fell into my arms.”

She looked up suddenly, scanning the street as though she felt something — that weight of unseen eyes. His pulse froze. For the briefest second, her gaze seemed to land near him. He stayed perfectly still in the shadows, breath held, heart hammering.

And then she shook it off, pulling her scarf higher, walking on.

He smiled, stepping closer, just enough to keep her in sight.

Five years of silence had proven one thing: no matter how much time passed, no matter where she went, he would always be there. Watching. Waiting. Keeping her his.

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