Time didn't stop, even though a part of me hoped it might. Life went on — loud, relentless, unromantic. But every so often, I'd find her in quiet places: in the scent of rain on concrete, in the half-smile of a stranger passing by, in songs I didn't even know she liked.
I dated others. I moved forward. But I never moved on completely. Because some people don't leave a gap; they leave a presence.
Zahra wasn't my great love. She wasn't even mine to begin with. But she left something behind — a kindness, a warmth, a memory that refused to fade. And maybe that's what we're really after: not forever, not guarantees… just someone who lingers, long after the door has closed.
Years later, I saw someone who looked like her. Same eyes. Same quiet magic. But when she smiled, it wasn't quite the same. Close, but not Zahra.
Still, I smiled back — because some memories deserve to be honored, even when they don't return.
And hers? Hers stayed.