A short love story

‘This reminds that I need to begin writing one. I haven’t written any since ages. The ones I have so far weren’t romantic at all. At least the world says so.’, said Sanjana to Jhanvi.

Let me give you a small intro about Sanjana and Jhanvi. Sanjana is a writer and Jhanvi works for the production house responsible for getting Sanjana’s works published.

It’s been a while Sanjana wrote something romantic after her break up. It’s been a decade. She still hasn’t been able to move on. She’s forty today and she’s a divorcee. Remarriage wasn’t a thing for her because after she found her love at 25 and after five years of so called happy marriage. They split apart. Rudhra was the one to take a different route. The reason of their divorce wasn’t known and Sanjana hadn’t written any romantic stories ever since.

Today, she met him, she met Rudhra, after 11 long years. There had to be something unusual about it. Rudhra had come back, and met her. Not her, her! He had come to meet Jhanvi, to talk about the book he read recently. The book was by Sankhya, a pen name. Rudhra wanted to know who this amazing person was as he found something in the book undeniably similar to his own story.

He read the book thrice and he re-reads the prologue again today, at Jhanvi’s office, while he gazed at Sanjana.

The prologue reads:

Oh you, beauty’s beauty. Why is that time delayed our times together?

I was with you even before we met. Our days together feels just like seconds now.

There were days, they were years, a lifelong to spend alone, I thought, until I found you.

You gave me hope, new home, new life and a new reason to live.

How I know much that I would have lost myself without you being around me.

.

.

.

Shunya. Ekaanth. Samaapt.

Rudhra’s heart was still beating for Sanjana, he so wanted to tell her that how he still is madly in love with her. But, he doesn’t. He realised that the book which he read by Sankhya was actually by Sanjana herself. Then he realised why the book was named ‘Little book of love’.

It was him who had gifted the book of love ballads he had written for her, in his own handwriting.

He then understood that how much she wanted the world to know that they were in love. He then stares at her eyes, grey hairs by her ears and the wrinkles hanging by her cheeks.

He then stands up to go talk to her again. But, he didn’t have the courage to face her. After all, he turned up after 11 long years. What if she asked why now? He knew that she was still in love with him but he didn’t want to take advantage of that. But, he wanted her to know that he never left her. He was always for her. With her, around her.

And with that, flew by the inner tears, with ink drops faded, a book half torn in the library. My fiction pal, Ansh.


I know it wasn’t romantic enough. It had none of it. Real romance isn’t about cheesy lines or reasons to give people’s heart a whip skip, it is about how still, even after ages, you want the one that you once loved safe and happy. It is about how still their one smile keeps you away from the anxiety that you have if not in touch for a long time. It is about how well telepathy bonds at the speed of light with precision of time’s nano.

A writer who feels everything way too deeply,

Link to my Quora answer: https://www.quora.com/What-are-some-good-romantic-stories/answer/Anusha-Sridharan-5

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