Days turned into weeks.
Weeks stopped counting time.
And Meera stopped feeling like she was part of the world.
After Rani left, everything looked normal from outside.
She still attended classes.
She still answered her parents.
She still smiled when required.
But inside…
she was empty.
Not broken loudly.
Just quietly erased.
Every place reminded her of Rani.
The empty classroom.
The bus stop.
Even the silence between people laughing.
It all carried her absence.
Meera stopped checking her phone every minute.
Because hope was becoming painful.
But some nights, her fingers still opened old chats—
then stopped before reading.
Because even memories had weight.
And Rani…
Rani had disappeared into distance.
No calls. No messages.
Only silence.
A silence that didn't feel like peace.
It felt like punishment.
But life never truly stops for heartbreak.
It only changes direction.
One morning, Meera collapsed in class.
Not dramatically.
Just… suddenly unable to breathe properly.
The teacher called her name.
But she didn't respond.
Because her body had finally started reacting to what her heart had been hiding.
Stress.
Exhaustion.
Emotional breakdown.
She was taken to the hospital.
White walls.
Beeping machines.
Too much silence.
Her mother sat beside her bed, worried but confused.
"You're not eating properly," she said softly.
Meera didn't answer.
Because "not eating" wasn't the problem.
Losing someone you can't speak about was.
That night, Meera opened her eyes alone.
And for the first time…
she didn't cry.
Not because she was okay.
But because she had run out of tears.
Meanwhile…
Rani was somewhere else in the city.
Working late at a small shelter office.
Helping strangers.
Listening to other people's pain so she wouldn't have to hear her own.
But even there…
Meera followed her.
Not physically.
But everywhere.
Rani would pause mid-task.
Stare at nothing.
And whisper to herself:
"Did I do the right thing?"
But there was no answer.
Only silence.
One evening, Rani walked past a bookstore.
And stopped.
Because inside the glass window…
was Meera's book.
Her name wasn't on it.
But Rani knew.
She always knew.
She stepped closer.
Read the title again:
Voices That Were Never Heard
Her hand slowly touched the glass.
And for the first time in weeks…
her control broke.
Just slightly.
"I didn't leave you because I stopped loving you," she whispered.
"I left because I didn't know how to survive loving you."
A tear fell.
Then another.
But she didn't wipe them.
Because pain finally had a place to exist.
Back in the hospital…
Meera turned her face toward the window.
Rain started outside.
Slow. Soft.
Like the world was finally feeling something too.
She whispered into the empty room:
"Rani…"
No answer.
Of course not.
But somewhere deep inside her…
she still felt her.
Not gone.
Just far.
And that was the most painful part.