The next morning, sunlight struggled to break through the mist, casting a pale glow over Manisha’s face as she stirred awake. Her pillow was damp with tears, and the echo of Shivam’s voice still lingered in her ears.

"Because I never left."

She sat up slowly, half-convinced it had been a dream. Yet something was different. The shawl she’d left on the balcony chair was now neatly folded beside her bed — the same way Shivam used to do whenever she forgot it outside. Her heart pounded.

She rose and walked through the silent house. Every creaking floorboard, every whispering breeze, felt charged. As she entered the kitchen, a strange warmth hit her — the kettle on the stove was whistling. But she hadn’t turned it on.

Her hands trembled as she reached for it. "Shivam?" she whispered.

The flame shut off on its own.

She backed away, startled. No one was there. But she wasn’t alone. She could feel it — the quiet hum of a presence that knew her every heartbeat.

Later that day, she found herself drawn to the woods. The place where he last touched the earth, where his bike had tumbled and disappeared into the abyss. A rusted piece of metal still lay near the edge, half-buried in leaves.

Manisha knelt beside it, running her fingers over its cold surface. “Why are you back?” she murmured. “Are you trapped… or are you choosing to stay?”

A gust of wind swept through the trees, making the leaves dance. And then, gently, as if fingers had brushed her cheek, she felt it — a soft, familiar caress.

Her breath caught.

Turning slowly, she saw him again — Shivam — standing just beyond the trees, his figure faint in the shifting mist, like sunlight in fog.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked, his voice a whisper carried by the wind.

Manisha stood, tears rising. “This is where I lost you.”

Shivam’s expression was both sad and tender. “And where I found my way back to you.”

She wanted to run to him, to throw herself into his arms, but her steps slowed as she reached the edge of his presence. A sudden chill stopped her. Her fingers reached out, but when they met his, all she touched was air.

A tear slid down her cheek.

“You’re not… really here, are you?”

Shivam looked at her, his eyes full of aching love. “Not in the way I used to be. But my soul remembers you. And yours remembers me.”

The wind stirred again. And with it, his form began to fade.

“No—wait!” she cried.

“I’ll come back,” he said softly. “When the night is quiet and your heart is open… I’ll always find you.”

And just like that, he was gone.

But the air still held his warmth. The leaves still whispered his name. And Manisha knew, with painful certainty, that their story was far from over.