Two weeks had passed since their last encounter.
It wasn't a proper farewell, nor a new beginning…
It was an old wound reopened—not to heal, but to remind.
Jawad sat in his room, in front of a window that opened to a grey sky, as if winter itself was trying to console him.
He held his phone, scrolled through old messages, his thumb hovering over the chat titled "Ruba", and then closed it without typing a word.
In his heart, a single question echoed:
"Was she waiting for me to ask her to stay? Or was it all just a test?"
But he didn't dare answer himself.
One early morning, Jawad received an invitation to attend an architecture exhibition organized by a university in London.
Normally, he wouldn't have gone.
But this time… he did.
He entered the grand hall in his black suit—elegant as always—but his face was pale, and his eyes heavy from sleepless nights.
He walked among the models and designs, observing in silence, until he stopped in front of a small structure…
And beneath it, the name:
Ruba K.
He froze.
He hadn't expected to see her here.
Nor for her to see him.
She stood in the corner, adjusting some papers. She turned around slowly.
Their eyes met.
She didn't smile.
She didn't flinch.
It was as if she had known he would come.
He approached her slowly.
In a low voice, he said:
— "Your work is beautiful… just like you."
She replied without looking up:
— "But unlike your heart."
Silence.
She continued, scribbling something in a small notebook:
— "Jawad, don't come to me still unsure.
If you're here to apologize… you're too late.
If you're here to love me… love has changed shape inside me."
He stepped a little closer and said:
— "I didn't know your worth until I lost you."
Finally, she looked at him and said, her tone steady:
— "That's what real regret is… seeing the picture clearly only after it has burned."
Jawad left the hall with the weight of her words crushing his chest.
For the first time in his life, silence wasn't a choice—it was punishment.
But just as he stepped outside, he heard footsteps behind him.
He turned around and saw Ruba, standing a few meters away.
Her eyes were cold. Her voice, sharper than he remembered.
She said:
— "Trying to fix what's broken is a foolish idea, Jawad.
Let it die.
If it had any good in it… it wouldn't have ended."
Then she turned and walked away.
He looked up at the sky and whispered to himself:
"Ruba is no longer the girl I knew… and I was never the man she deserved."
Perhaps between love and regret, lies a space that can't be told—
But it is felt… it hurts… and it follows you… forever.