I didn't mean to become a quiet detective. But when someone's story clings to you, you start noticing things you'd normally walk past. Glances, pauses, absences.
Rehan and Mira weren't loud people, but their love had left echoes in places I was now learning to listen to.
I started with the park.
There's a spot near the lake—half-hidden behind two large oak trees—where a wooden bench faces the water. I'd walked past it a dozen times before without giving it much thought. This time, I saw initials carved into the wood: R + M, small and worn.
Someone had also scratched the word "still" beneath it, as if it were a question or a plea.
I sat there for a long while.
---
Later that week, I returned to the florist. The woman—Saira, I learned—was closing up early and seemed happy to talk.
"I think Mira stopped coming after her sister passed," she said. "She used to bring Rohan with her at first, but after the funeral, I only saw him a few times. He always asked for lilies. Never said much."
She sighed. "He looked... unfinished. That's the only word I can think of."
I asked gently if she knew more.
She hesitated, then said, "I know Mira was the one holding it together. Her sister was young—cancer. It happened fast. Rohan was there, but grief's tricky. He pulled away when she needed him closest, I think."
That made something click in my chest.
The argument I saw, Mira's words—"I waited"—they weren't just about romance. They were about abandonment. About showing up when it mattered most.
---
I finally found someone who knew Rohan personally, who worked at a small print shop near the station. Rohan had helped him design posters once. I recognized him from a distance and struck up a conversation under the pretense of needing flyers.
When I mentioned Rohan's name, his face changed.
"Good guy," he said, slowly. "Quiet. Bit of a ghost these days."
I asked, cautiously, if he knew about Mira.
"Yeah," he said. "They were good together. The kind of couple that made you think they'd outlast the noise. But when her sister died, Rohan shut down. I don't think he knew how to carry her pain without losing himself in it."
"Did he try to fix things?" I asked.
Azeem shrugged. "Too little, too late, maybe. He didn't cheat or lie. He just... disappeared emotionally. She stayed longer than most would have."
That stuck with me more than anything.
Not all heartbreak is loud. Sometimes it's just someone leaving the room slowly while you're still speaking.
---
By then, I had more than fragments.
I had a story: two people who had once loved each other in quiet, steady ways. Then life pulled the ground out from under them. Mira needed someone to anchor her. Rohan floated away instead.
But here's the thing that wouldn't let me sleep:
Neither of them had let go.
Not really.
And somehow, I started to believe they weren't meant to.