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She sat by the window every evening, watching the sunset alone. The chair beside her remained empty for years ever since he left and never returned. Each sunset painted the sky with colors of memory, and every shadow whispered his name. She had learned to live with the silence, but never with the absence.
Lately, the weight of the years pressed heavier on her shoulders. She was tired—not just in body, but in soul. Tired of waiting, tired of hoping, tired of pretending she was whole. The silence no longer felt peaceful; it screamed with the echo of everything she missed. And in the quiet, her heart ached not just with love, but with longing too deep for words.
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