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The bakery doorbell rang again.
The man — who had been standing near the door until now — paused for a moment, then slowly walked out.
On the blanket of snow, his footprints remained visible for a short while… then the wind covered them.
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Ehsan closed the door without saying anything, but his hand lingered on the latch for a few seconds, as if trying to hold on to an invisible weight.
Inside, the aroma of coffee now felt cold.
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Zoboria kept working on the bills — her hands moved quickly, as if the rustle of papers could suppress the unrest inside her.
Ehsan looked at her… her face now felt like an open book with a fresh page, but the words had not yet been written.
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After a moment of silence, Ehsan spoke—
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> “He’s gone.”
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Without lifting her gaze, Zoboria replied—
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> “Some people are not meant to return, Ehsan.
They just… make the mistake of coming in the first place.”
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She placed the last receipt on the counter and took a deep breath.
For the first time, her eyes met Ehsan’s — there was weariness in them, but also a quiet strength.
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> “I’m no longer afraid of someone leaving.
But… I want whoever stays, to truly want to be here.”
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Ehsan gave a faint smile, as if this was exactly what he had been waiting to hear.
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> “I’m not going anywhere, Zoboria.
But perhaps… it’s time we let the season change.”
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Outside, the snow had stopped falling.
Soft rays of sunlight peeked through the clouds — as if someone had slightly opened the door after a long winter.
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Zoboria picked up the photo frame from the counter and placed it by the window.
This time, she didn’t turn it over, didn’t look at the date… she just left it there, as if giving the past its own place.
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Ehsan turned on the coffee machine, and between them spread a new, quiet fragrance —
a fragrance that hinted at a new season.
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The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock.
Zoboria sat silently across from him, her eyes full of questions, but her lips sealed.
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Ehsan lowered his gaze, as if descending into the depth of a memory.
His voice was soft — the voice of someone afraid to let out a pain that had been buried in his chest for years.
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> “Zoboria… there was a time when I loved someone with all my heart.
She was in my prayers, in every dream… in every moment.”
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His fingers tapped lightly on the table, as if playing the music of restlessness.
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> “She left… so far away that maybe even the thought of returning never crossed her mind.
But… I don’t know why… I’m still searching for her.
On the streets, in crowds, in the faces of strangers… I feel like somewhere, I’ll find her.”
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Zoboria lowered her eyes.
In Ehsan’s gaze was a strange mix of light and sorrow —
a love that hadn’t ended, just remained unfinished.
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> “I thought time would heal it… but time only deepened her absence.”
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The room was wrapped in silence,
broken only by the sound of their hearts beating.
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Zoboria broke the silence, her eyes still fixed on Ehsan’s face.
Her voice was soft, as if carefully turning the pages of an old book—
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> “I’d like to hear… about the girl you still haven’t forgotten.
What… was her name?”
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Ehsan stayed quiet for a moment. In his eyes, a distant image began to form —
a faint smile, rain-soaked hair, and that gaze… that held both strangeness and familiarity.
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His throat tightened slightly, then he spoke softly—
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> “Her name… was Gul Mehar.”
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Zoboria repeated the name, tasting its sweetness—
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> “Gul Mehar…”
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Ehsan took a slow breath.
“She was like her name… she came into my life and flowers bloomed all around me… and one day, just like her name, she scattered her fragrance and left…”
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He paused, as if finding words was difficult.
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“Gul was my laughter, my peace… I was ready to fight the world for her… but fate seemed to take that right away from me.”
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Zoboria felt an unfamiliar ache rise in her chest. She asked softly,
“Why didn’t you stop searching for her…?”
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Ehsan’s eyes were fixed somewhere far away, in the empty sky.
“Because… some people are not meant to be let go, Zoboria. No matter how far they go… there’s always a corner of your heart where they stay alive. Gul… is still there.”
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His words carried a strange weariness and longing, as if he had been carrying the weight of an unfinished prayer for years.
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Zoboria’s gaze stayed on Ehsan’s face, as if trying to read every layer hidden behind his words.
Ehsan remained silent for a moment, then took a deep breath — his eyes seemed to hold many seasons at once.
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> “Gul…”
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Just one name, but it carried so much love, so much pain, that Zoboria felt even the air had paused to listen.
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> “She was like her name… when she came into my life, she spread colors and fragrance everywhere… and when she left, it was as if the garden inside me had withered.”
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Zoboria asked quietly—
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> “The first time… how did you meet her?”
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Ehsan’s gaze drifted far away, as if opening the door to some old, dusty memory.
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That day was just like this —
a cool morning after rain, when the sun peeked gently through the clouds.
Ehsan was standing near the college gate, waiting for a friend.
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Then he saw a girl approaching —
a white salwar-kurta, books in her hands, and drops of water falling from her hair, glistening in the sunlight.
She walked slowly towards him and stopped right in front of him.
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> “Excuse me… does this path lead to the library?”
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Ehsan simply nodded, and she gave a faint smile before walking ahead.
In that moment, Ehsan didn’t know that this meeting would leave an imprint on his heart for a lifetime.
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In his mind, he had whispered—
“Gul…”
Because she truly looked like a flower in bloom.
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That day, the weather felt different —
a gentle cool breeze, and sunlight slipping through the clouds, like golden threads falling behind a silk curtain.
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Ehsan sat in the old college garden, lost in his books. The same garden where the dappled sunlight always brought him peace.
But that day, there was something unusual in the air.
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From a distance came the sound of a soft laugh —
light, delicate, like the first raindrop singing as it touches the earth.
Ehsan looked up… and saw her.
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In a white salwar-kameez, a strand of hair playing in the breeze. Books in her hands, and in her eyes —
a glow, as if someone had captured the moonlight.
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She stumbled, dropping her books.
Without thinking, Ehsan quickly got up and walked towards her.
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> “Your books…” he said, bending to pick them up, and for the first time, his fingers brushed against Gul’s.
“Th… thank you,” she said softly.
“Gul,” the name escaped Ehsan’s lips without him realizing it.
She smiled faintly and replied, “Gul Mehar… and you?”
“Ehsan,” he said simply, but somewhere in his heart, this name was already written for her.
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In that moment, Ehsan didn’t know that this meeting would place the first flower between the pages of his life — a flower whose fragrance would never fade, even after years.
Gul had come into his life like her name, and then, like the petals of a rose, she had scattered and gone… but her scent — it always remained.
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and then Add to home screen.