Time passed slowly after the exhibition, as if the universe had decided to punish Jawad for every moment he neglected his heart and every chance he ignored the pure love that came to him… and left wounded.
He sat in the café near his home, the same place he used to sit with Ruba a year ago.
He ordered his usual coffee, but it didn't taste the same.
Had the flavor changed?
Or was it his heart that no longer tasted anything?
⸻
A few minutes later, a man in his forties sat at the table across from him.
He looked like a stranger, but his eyes seemed oddly familiar.
They exchanged a silent greeting, and then the man spoke:
— "You know, son… emotional losses are never truly forgotten.
We just arrange them inside us like a library full of ghosts."
Jawad smiled bitterly and replied:
— "And do ghosts ever leave?"
The man answered:
— "No… but they do quiet down, if you let them speak."
Jawad was silent for a moment, then asked:
— "Have you ever loved someone?"
The man said:
— "I did. And I lost.
But I learned to value the ones who stayed after love… not the ones who disappeared with it."
⸻
That night, Jawad returned home, unable to sleep.
He stood in front of the mirror, staring at his face as if seeing it for the first time.
He wasn't looking for features—he was searching for something deeper… something that had been lost.
He opened a small box and took out an old photo.
He and Ruba, at the beginning of their relationship, laughing as if the whole world didn't matter.
He whispered with a broken voice:
— "Who is this person?
Where did that smile go?
And where did you go?"
Then he murmured:
"If time could turn back… would I still choose silence?
Or would I run to you and hold you like there's no tomorrow?"
⸻
The next morning, he went to the sea.
The sea had always been his silent mirror… listening without interruption.
He sat on the sand and pulled out a small notebook.
He wrote his first sentence in months:
"I'm not writing to you… I'm writing about me—
about the person I've become after you."
He continued:
"Tell me, Ruba…
how can we love with honesty… then forget?
Or is forgetting not a choice at all, but a mask we wear every morning so we don't fall apart in front of others?"
⸻
Before closing the notebook, he wrote at the bottom of the page:
"I don't hate you, Ruba…
But I hate living a half-life after you."
He closed the notebook, stood up, and gazed at the sea one last time.
Then he said:
"Ruba is gone…
but the regret isn't."
He whispered it quietly, then placed the notebook in his bag and stood up.
Before he walked away, he noticed a girl sitting not far from him, holding a camera, capturing photos of the sea.
She was calm-looking, with tied brown hair and eyes full of strange comfort.
She looked at him and asked:
— "Do you write poetry?"
Surprised by the question, he replied:
— "No… I only write what I can't say out loud."
She smiled and said:
— "Then we're alike.
I take pictures of what I can't explain."
He asked:
— "Why don't you explain them?"
She answered softly:
— "Because some things… if we try to explain them, they lose their meaning."
⸻
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
Then she asked:
— "Did it hurt you?"
He didn't answer, but his eyes were enough.
She smiled sadly and said:
— "It's okay…
Sometimes, we meet people who inspire our most beautiful chapters…
and then leave before they ever read them."
⸻
On his way home, Jawad opened his old email account, one he rarely checked.
He was shocked to find an unread message—dated three months ago.
It was from Ruba.
With trembling hands, he opened it.
"Jawad…
I know you probably won't read this, or maybe you'll read it when it's already too late.
I just wanted to say…
I never needed an apology.
I just needed to see you fight for me."
"Yes, I was testing you…
Not out of cruelty, but out of fear.
I wanted to know if you would notice me fading and stop me.
But you stayed silent."
"Silence doesn't protect, Jawad…
It kills—slowly."
Goodbye,
Ruba.
⸻
He closed the message, feeling like his heart shattered a thousand times in one moment.
The voice inside him screamed again:
"If only I'd opened the email earlier…
If only I'd said something…"
He threw his phone to the ground and fell to his knees.
Regret now wasn't just a feeling…
It was a nightmare that wouldn't end.
⸻
The next day, he saw the girl with the camera again.
She offered him a cup of coffee and said:
— "You don't look okay."
He replied:
— "Sometimes, the words we never say become a curse."
She smiled and said:
— "Or maybe… a chance.
To write a book that helps others avoid the same mistake."
⸻
The day ended.
But inside him… nothing had.
He knew Ruba wouldn't come back.
But what she left behind was still very much alive.