Aarav's heart skipped a beat.
She had read his note.
For days, he had watched her from a distance, admiring the way she listened to the world—how she smiled at birdsong, how she tilted her head when the breeze danced through the trees. She lived through feeling, not seeing. And somehow, she seemed more alive than anyone he'd ever met.
But now… she had spoken back.
The next day, he found her again, seated near the same window. This time, he walked slowly toward her, nervous, the note trembling slightly in his hand.
She turned her face toward him as if she sensed his presence.
"Is it you?" she asked softly, her voice gentle like rain on leaves.
Aarav hesitated. "Yes," he said finally. "It's me. The stranger who writes to you."
She smiled. "You're not a stranger anymore."
He sat down across from her, heart pounding. "I never knew how to say hello… so I wrote instead."
"I could hear your heart through your words," she whispered. "They weren't just letters. They were colors."
Aarav was silent, stunned by how deeply she felt what he'd written. She couldn't see his face, but it didn't matter—she saw something more honest.
"I'm Aarav," he said at last.
"And I'm Zoya," she replied, holding out her hand.
When their fingers touched, it wasn't just a handshake.
It was a beginning.
From that day on, the notes stopped—but their conversations began. And as the days passed, Aarav realized something quietly powerful…
He was falling in love—with the way she listened, with the way she spoke, and with the unseen beauty that lived behind her closed eyes.