The morning was perfect.
The kind that felt deliberately crafted—cool air brushing the skin, sunlight filtering through the trees in soft gold, birdsong echoing gently across the park. A 35-year-old man completed his usual run, his breathing steady, a light sheen of sweat clinging to his forehead. He settled onto a bench nearby, stretching his legs, inhaling deeply.
Moments like these were rare.
He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the calm.
Then a voice shattered it.
"You always do this, Arnav!"
The sharpness cut through the serenity like glass. The man on the bench opened his eyes and leaned back slightly, his gaze shifting toward the source.
A young woman—barely in her twenties—stormed across the path, her steps quick and furious. Every movement radiated frustration; every word carried hurt.
"It feels like you don't care about me at all!"
She spun around abruptly, forcing the man following her to stop short. Arnav exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, as if trying to collect both his thoughts and his patience.
"That's not true, Preeti," he said, keeping his voice calm, though desperation crept through. "I care about you. More than you think."
She laughed bitterly.
"Oh really?" she demanded. "Then tell me—how many times have you ignored me? How many times have you stood me up?"
Arnav looked away for a moment. Guilt flickered across his face before he met her eyes again.
"I know," he admitted quietly. "But it's not like I choose this. Every time I plan something with you, work drags me back. I'm helpless too."
For a brief second, her anger wavered.
Then it collapsed into something heavier.
"I understand responsibility," Preeti said, her voice softening. "I really do. But I want time, Arnav. I want you. Work isn't everything."
She swallowed, her voice trembling.
"I don't want grand gestures," she added.
"I just don't want to feel invisible when I'm standing right in front of you."
Arnav stepped closer, honesty burning in his eyes.
"I want that time too," he said. "I'm trying. I swear I am."
He hesitated, then lowered his voice.
"Every time I choose work, I tell myself it's temporary. I just… I didn't realize how lonely it was making you."
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then frustration surged back.
"Trying?" she scoffed. "Then why does nothing change? Why does it always feel like I'm the only one fighting for this relationship? All you care about is your work!"
Irritation flashed across Arnav's face.
"And who do you think I'm working this hard for?" he snapped. "For us. For our future!"
"But what about now?" she shot back. "Am I supposed to wait forever?"
Their voices rose, hurt colliding with pride. The calm of the park faded as their storm consumed everything around them.
From the bench, the man observed quietly.
His posture remained relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, catching every shift in expression, every tremor in their voices. A faint, unreadable smile touched his lips.
Finally, Preeti's voice broke.
She looked at Arnav for a long moment—as if hoping he would say something, anything, that would stop her.
Then she exhaled shakily.
"Enough," she said, her voice trembling with heartbreak.
"You need to choose, Arnav. Me… or your work. And if you can't—let's end this. Let's break up."
Arnav froze.
The words struck him like a physical blow.
"What?" he whispered. "Have you lost your mind?"
A soft chuckle interrupted them.
Both turned sharply.
The man on the bench had laughed—quietly, thoughtfully. Sunlight caught the simple ring on his finger as he stood.
"Why are you laughing?" Preeti snapped. "Do you find this funny?"
"I didn't mean to overhear," the man said calmly. "But honestly… yes. A little."
"What exactly is funny?" Arnav asked sharply.
"How easily people are ready to destroy something beautiful," the man replied gently,
"over something so small."
Preeti's eyes narrowed.
"Feeling ignored. Questioning your worth. Does that sound small to you?"
"Pain is never small to the heart," he said. "But reactions decide how big it becomes."
He paused, eyes distant.
"Small cracks destroy buildings not because they're big… but because they're ignored."
"You talk like you know us," Arnav muttered.
"You're right," the man replied. "I don't know your names, your past, or your future. But I do know this—you're hurting in the same way, just from opposite sides."
Arnav's patience snapped.
"You're getting on my nerves, uncle. Mind your own business."
"I am," the man said calmly. "You just don't like what you're seeing."
Preeti crossed her arms.
"We didn't ask for your help."
"Most people don't," he replied. "Truth is rarely invited."
She stiffened. "What truth?"
His expression turned serious.
"That neither of you truly understands love. Not yet."
The words hit harder than the argument itself.
"So you're judging us based on half a conversation?" Preeti shot back. "You know nothing about our sacrifices."
"I'm not judging," he said evenly. "I'm observing. Look at yourselves—ready to walk away instead of fixing what's broken."
"Who are you to lecture us?" Arnav snapped.
"It's not a lecture," the man replied. "It's a question."
He looked directly at Arnav.
"What do you think love is?"
Arnav opened his mouth—then stopped.
The man raised a hand gently.
"If you're about to talk about happiness, romance, or spending time together—don't. That's not what I'm asking."
He leaned back slightly.
"Because if you can't define it," he added softly,
"you'll keep hurting each other while calling it love."
Silence fell.
"You don't have to answer me," the man continued. "But ask yourselves. Can you?"
Preeti swallowed.
"Then… do you know what love is?" she asked quietly.
He smiled.
"That's a question no one can answer for you."
Disappointment flickered across her face.
"I can't give you the answer," he continued gently. "But I can help you search for it."
"How?" Arnav asked.
The man's smile deepened.
"Through a story."
"A love story?" Arnav asked skeptically.
"Not a fairy tale," he replied. "A real one."
He stepped closer, his voice lowering.
"Sometimes, a simple story can answer what arguments never can."
They exchanged uncertain glances.
"Do you want to hear it?" he asked.
Slowly, they nodded.
The man returned to the bench, his gaze drifting somewhere far away.
He paused for a moment, his eyes distant, as if drawing memories from a place far beyond time.
"This is the story of a young couple—much like you—who faced life and death together," he said slowly. "They loved fiercely, fought relentlessly for each other, and held on until their very last breath. And as fate would have it…"
He tapped his chest lightly.
"I happen to be the host of this story."
Arnav and Preeti leaned forward. The anger that had fueled their argument moments ago dissolved, replaced by pure, unfiltered curiosity.
Without another word, the man's tone shifted. His voice grew calm, rich, and mesmerizing—like someone opening a door long kept shut.
"So," he said softly,
"let's begin the story."
They held their breath.