《Through The Quiet Storm》 The End And the Beginning The End And the Beginning The phone buzzed on the table, cutting through the heavy silence of my room. I had been lost in thought, replaying moments I couldn''t seem to let go of, and the sound jolted me back to reality¡ªa harsh reminder that life moved on, indifferent to the weight of my emotions. The name on the screen felt like a slap, dragging me into a spiral of memories I had tried, unsuccessfully, to push aside. I stared at the phone, knowing exactly who it was. Her name glowed like a ghost from the past, stirring emotions I had buried under layers of pretense. My chest tightened. I could feel it in my bones¡ªthis wasn¡¯t going to be just a friendly check-in. For a moment, I just sat there, paralyzed between wanting to know and fearing what was coming. The memory of her laugh echoed faintly in my mind, those late-night chats where everything had felt so simple, so effortless. And now, with a few pixels on a screen, it seemed like everything was about to shift. I took a breath that felt heavier than it should have and opened the message. "Can we talk?" Three words¡ªso small, yet they weighed down on me like anchors. My stomach twisted in knots, every nerve on edge. It wasn¡¯t just a question; it was a warning. I could feel it¡ªthe unraveling of everything we once were. My fingers hovered over the screen, hesitant but compelled to respond. "Sure, what¡¯s up?" The seconds stretched into eternity, each one laced with uncertainty. My heart pounded as I paced around the room, trying to anticipate what would come next. Every corner of my mind replayed the memories¡ªher smile, her texts, the times when her presence felt like gravity holding me together. Now, all of it felt like a distant dream I couldn¡¯t wake from. The phone buzzed again, and this time, the message hit me like a cold wind in the middle of summer. "I think we should break up." The words blurred in front of my eyes, and I reread them again and again, hoping they would change. But they stayed the same¡ªstark and final. The breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, it felt like the ground beneath me had vanished. I had sensed it coming, but knowing and facing it were two entirely different things. I wanted to scream, to throw the phone across the room, to demand if she remembered all the dreams we had built together. But instead, I typed back something that felt distant from the storm inside me. "Are you sure?" Her response came quickly, as if she had rehearsed it a thousand times. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. "Yeah, I just think we need to go our separate ways. It¡¯s not working." The words settled heavily, suffocating any hope I had left. I wanted to fight it, to argue that love wasn¡¯t something you gave up on so easily. But deep down, I knew the truth. We had been drifting for a while now, and she was just brave enough to say it aloud. "If that¡¯s how you feel, then I guess... I understand," I replied, though every part of me screamed otherwise. And that was it¡ªthe final exchange. I stared at the screen, the weight of silence pressing in on me from all sides. The tears I had been holding back threatened to spill over, but I refused to let them. Not yet. Not like this. A week later, I found myself in a caf¨¦, sitting at a table that used to feel like home. Now, it just felt hollow. The world outside the window continued to move¡ªpeople passing by, laughter drifting in the air¡ªbut it all felt distant, like I was watching life unfold from behind a glass wall. Friends filled the tables around me, their conversations lively, their laughter unfiltered. I stirred my coffee absentmindedly, the warmth barely noticeable in my cold hands. My friends had insisted I join them, saying I needed to get out of the house. But sitting here felt worse¡ªlike a reminder of everything I no longer had. A buzz from my phone pulled me from my thoughts. For a fleeting moment, hope flickered in my chest¡ªmaybe it was her, checking in, regretting her decision. But when I glanced at the screen, it was just a notification from a group chat. The hope fizzled out, leaving behind an emptiness I couldn¡¯t shake. Then, across the caf¨¦, I noticed her. A girl I had seen before¡ªher laughter breaking through the fog in my mind like sunlight cutting through clouds. She wasn¡¯t loud or attention-seeking; she just seemed... alive. Vibrant. I tried to look away, but something about her drew me in. She laughed easily, the kind of laugh that made you want to join in, even if you didn¡¯t know the joke. For a brief moment, curiosity stirred within me, a tiny spark in the darkness I had been sitting in. Later that week, I wandered into a small bookstore, hoping the quiet shelves might offer some solace. The smell of old pages and fresh coffee greeted me, a nostalgic comfort. As I made my way through the aisles, I heard that same familiar laughter¡ªlight and infectious, like music. I followed the sound, my heart beating a little faster with every step. And there she was¡ªthe girl from the caf¨¦¡ªsurrounded by friends, lost in animated conversation about books. I hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer, feeling an odd sense of boldness. "What¡¯s so funny?" I asked, my voice betraying a hint of nervousness. She turned toward me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "We¡¯re debating the worst book covers we¡¯ve ever seen," she said with a grin. "You wouldn¡¯t believe some of these." I couldn¡¯t help but laugh, the sound foreign but welcome. It felt good¡ªreally good. The conversation flowed easily from there, each joke and shared story easing the ache in my chest. Her name was Ishnehal. And with every word, every laugh, I felt something shift inside me¡ªlike a window had opened, letting in fresh air after a long, suffocating night. By the time we exchanged numbers, the heaviness I had carried for so long seemed lighter. There was no grand promise, no immediate spark of romance¡ªjust a connection. A reminder that even in the aftermath of heartbreak, life still held moments of joy and possibility. That night, as I lay on my bed, I found myself smiling for the first time in what felt like forever. The pain was still there, lingering like a bruise, but it no longer consumed me. Ishnehal was just a person I had met by chance. But for the first time in a long time, I felt something other than sadness. And maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªthat was enough to take the next step forward. Ghosts in The Silence Ghosts in The Silence Nights were unbearable. By day, everything could distract me: with constant scanning, group conversations, and jobs I actually didn''t give a hoot about, while at night, crawling in, everything stood still; silence cuffed me hard, making every thought speak loud, which had to be avoided. Her absence was no memory; it lay upon my chest until the darkness of my room became a sanctuary for all the moments that we had shared, moments that I knew I should not revisit, but did again and again. Smoothing through the old photos was a habit that I knew I needed to break, mainly because it would only leave me raw. But one picture caught my eyes: this lazy Sunday morning, even the world outside seemed to have come to a standstill. Sun streaming in through the window, leaning on me, half-closed eyes, that little sleepy smile that I had always loved. She had worn one of my old shirts that drowned her tiny size, and at the time, it had all felt right. I had stared a lot longer at the photo than was necessary; the ache setting deeper until finally, I locked the phone and sent it flying onto the bed. She was gone. I knew that. But the knowledge didn''t deter the ache of longing that burrowed within me. The next morning, midroutine, with a toothbrush hanging off my mouth, my cell phone buzzed on the counter. Immediately, my heart betrayed me, leaping with hope ¡­what if it was her? But it wasn''t. It was Ishnehal. Her message read: "Hey, found that book we talked about yesterday. Want me to send a pic or keep it as a surprise? A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. It was such a little thing, yet somehow, it seemed like a lifeline. There was something refreshingly usual about our chitchat after days of emotional static. "Surprise me," I typed back. "I''ll trust your taste, for now." Her answer was instant. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. "Dangerous move, yet I like it." We continued, easily texting for a bit, falling into the same ease of banter we had established in the bookstore. It lacked weight; it was playful, simple, light, conversations. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn''t drowning inside my head, and I wasn''t haunted by ghosts from my past. And in that minute frame of time, I came to think I hadn''t thought about her at all. That wasn''t any big epiphany, but monumental to the tempest which was sweeping me along-perhaps a bit like the very first crack of light that finally breaks through after the storm has passed. Later in the afternoon, Ishnehal invited me for a walk. "There''s a park beside the bookstore," she said. "It''s full of people to watch." At first, I hedged. Having to meet anyone, be out in the world, seemed like too much, too hard to bear. I remembered how light my weight had felt while talking to her, how easily she''d tug me out of the spiraling darkness of my mind. Maybe it would help a little, spending more time with her. Quiet at the entry into the park, cool, with a breeze that blew softly to rustle the leaves. Far at the end of the entry stood Ishnehal, beaming at the sight of me. Hey," she said, smiling-a real one that felt like the sun on my skin. "You made it. We strolled, talked to each other so easily. She let me see all that was happening to the minutest detail: children running behind the pigeons, a dog faking the chase to a squirrel, the old couple on the bench interlocking fingers. It was as if it had been an eternity since I truly saw the world anew for the first time: not only the pain within my heart, the absence, but life from that absence. The sadness was still there; it lingered deeply in the background, but it had lightened so very much and had become so much more bearable. Maybe I wouldn''t have to carry it with me anymore. We collapsed onto a bench overlooking the lake, lapsing into comfortable silence as the sun began to set behind the water''s edge, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks. It wasn''t until then that Ishnehal turned to me; her voice was quiet, yet sure. Sometimes, she said, things have to fall apart to make room for the better. My eyes went out to the water, where her words seemed to hang between us on the air. The gold sheen from the sun sank into the ripples on its surface, and for the first time in far too long, I allowed myself to believe that maybe she was right. "Yeah," I whispered low to hear myself rather than for her, "Maybe." It wasn''t some kind of great epiphany or that sort of moment when everything just clicked into place cinematically; it was rather like the soft flicker-one of hope, reminding me that life lay beyond this heartbreak, going on, waiting for me to step into it. And in that, well, it sufficed. Enough to last me through the night. A Message Left Unsent A Message Left Unsent The morning sun would filter through the curtains, but it was little consolation. I only lay and remained inert, my body a captive of a fight between two worlds-one clinging desperately to whatever past existed, and the other trying to grasp at anything meaningful in this bottomless pit. The scroll on my phone could almost be categorized as a vice-a muscle memory of sorts. My fingers danced over her name again, long enough to suppress an ache. I knew better than to open our old chat, but the temptation is a funny thing. Just a glance, I told myself. One glance and I''m putting it away. Instead, besides rereading our old conversations, my eyes fell upon something utterly out of place: a draft of an unsent message-a message I had typed so long ago yet never sent. "I have something to tell you, but I don''t know how." The words stared at me, heavy with meaning; it was a message that had been buried somewhere between indecision and the fear of losing her. Yet, what was it I wanted to say? It unnerved me, like some break of frame, some all-but-invisible fissure yet miraculously apparent. Yet, as it dragged me inside, the quiet edges of my mind were tugged hither and yon in some sort of desperate tug-of-war. I turned the phone off and shoved it under the pillow. It just wasn''t worth getting stuck in what-ifs and half-forgotten confessions. What mattered now was now, and maybe, somehow, how that''d go. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Later in the day Ishnehal texted, asking me to go out for coffee with her. "Just coffee," she said, "no big life talks, I swear. I demurred. It seemed a risk to meet her again so soon, a sort of opening of a door when I wasn''t certain I''d walk through it. But then, the alternative was to stay home, alone with my thoughts, and the weight of that unposted message. "Alright," I texted her back, "coffee sounds great." The cafe she had opted for was kept nicely tucked away on some quiet street-those tiny places where the mixologist knew half their clientele on a first-name basis. She waved me over the minute I stepped in, her smile so disarmingly genuine. We spoke about nothing in particular: books, movies at random, the idiocy of astrology apps-and for a while, I almost forgot the storm in me raging. Almost. But as I sat there and listened to her tell some asinine story, laughing, I watched her in a way that felt dangerous. There was an ease in the way she spoke, as if life hadn''t scarred her the way it did me. Then, out of the blue, she asked, "What do you regret most in your life? That was a painful question, much stronger than it should have been. In one second, my head was flung back to that unreleased message-to words I had never been able to say. I swallowed and forced a laugh. "Not dropping out of Physics when I had the chance." She smiled but flickered something in her eyes, as if to say that she knew too well I had told a part of the truth. That night, and hours past when Ishnehal and I parted, that message stared back at me each time unsent. I told my head it was all going to be of no consequence now, and what I meant to say was rather immaterial. But unease just would not leave-a nagging thought tagged in the back of my mind. What if the one thing I never said could have changed everything? Worse still, what if I was still in the middle of it? A Message Left Unsent A Message Left Unsent The morning sun would filter through the curtains, but it was little consolation. I only lay and remained inert, my body a captive of a fight between two worlds-one clinging desperately to whatever past existed, and the other trying to grasp at anything meaningful in this bottomless pit. The scroll on my phone could almost be categorized as a vice-a muscle memory of sorts. My fingers danced over her name again, long enough to suppress an ache. I knew better than to open our old chat, but the temptation is a funny thing. Just a glance, I told myself. One glance and I''m putting it away. Instead, besides rereading our old conversations, my eyes fell upon something utterly out of place: a draft of an unsent message-a message I had typed so long ago yet never sent. "I have something to tell you, but I don''t know how." The words stared at me, heavy with meaning; it was a message that had been buried somewhere between indecision and the fear of losing her. Yet, what was it I wanted to say? It unnerved me, like some break of frame, some all-but-invisible fissure yet miraculously apparent. Yet, as it dragged me inside, the quiet edges of my mind were tugged hither and yon in some sort of desperate tug-of-war. I turned the phone off and shoved it under the pillow. It just wasn''t worth getting stuck in what-ifs and half-forgotten confessions. What mattered now was now, and maybe, somehow, how that''d go. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Later in the day Ishnehal texted, asking me to go out for coffee with her. "Just coffee," she said, "no big life talks, I swear. I demurred. It seemed a risk to meet her again so soon, a sort of opening of a door when I wasn''t certain I''d walk through it. But then, the alternative was to stay home, alone with my thoughts, and the weight of that unposted message. "Alright," I texted her back, "coffee sounds great." The cafe she had opted for was kept nicely tucked away on some quiet street-those tiny places where the mixologist knew half their clientele on a first-name basis. She waved me over the minute I stepped in, her smile so disarmingly genuine. We spoke about nothing in particular: books, movies at random, the idiocy of astrology apps-and for a while, I almost forgot the storm in me raging. Almost. But as I sat there and listened to her tell some asinine story, laughing, I watched her in a way that felt dangerous. There was an ease in the way she spoke, as if life hadn''t scarred her the way it did me. Then, out of the blue, she asked, "What do you regret most in your life? That was a painful question, much stronger than it should have been. In one second, my head was flung back to that unreleased message-to words I had never been able to say. I swallowed and forced a laugh. "Not dropping out of Physics when I had the chance." She smiled but flickered something in her eyes, as if to say that she knew too well I had told a part of the truth. That night, and hours past when Ishnehal and I parted, that message stared back at me each time unsent. I told my head it was all going to be of no consequence now, and what I meant to say was rather immaterial. But unease just would not leave-a nagging thought tagged in the back of my mind. What if the one thing I never said could have changed everything? Worse still, what if I was still in the middle of it?