Through Her Eyes
The streetlights flickered above as Shyam walked down the familiar road to his small apartment. The city buzzed around him—cars honking, people rushing by, voices blending into a symphony of chaos. But none of it mattered. All he could think about was the letter.
It had come this morning, neatly folded and addressed to him in handwriting he hadn't seen in years. Raitha's handwriting.
The words were simple, yet they struck him like a tidal wave:
"I'll be waiting for you in the village. Please come back. I need you."
It had been seven years since Shyam left. Seven years since he'd seen Raitha, spoken to her, or dared to think of the promise they'd made. They were kids back then, too naive to understand the weight of their words. "We'll always stick together," she had said, gripping his hand tightly. "No matter what."
But life had other plans.
---
Shyam had left for the city with nothing but a bag of clothes and dreams of making something of himself. Raitha had stayed behind, tied to the responsibilities of her family's small bookstore. They had tried to keep in touch, but time and distance wore them down.
For Shyam, the city was unforgiving. His dream of becoming a writer had quickly turned into a string of failures—rejections, bills, and endless nights staring at a blank page. Every time he thought of calling Raitha, shame held him back. How could he face her when he had nothing to show for all the sacrifices she'd encouraged him to make?
But now, standing in his cramped apartment with her letter in his hand, Shyam felt a pull stronger than his doubts.
He had to go back.
---
The village hadn't changed much. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of flowers from Raitha's family's bookstore. Shyam hesitated in front of the shop, his heart pounding. Through the glass window, he saw her.
Raitha was arranging books on the shelf, her movements deliberate and graceful. She looked older, her once carefree demeanor replaced by an air of quiet determination. But her eyes—their warmth and kindness—hadn't changed.
Shyam stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling softly. Raitha turned, her eyes widening as she saw him. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"You actually came," she said, her voice trembling.
Shyam tried to smile, but it felt weak. "You called, didn't you?"
Raitha walked toward him, stopping just a few steps away. "I didn't think you'd remember me."
"How could I forget?" he replied, his voice soft.
---
They spent hours talking—about the years they had missed, the struggles they had faced, and the dreams they had abandoned. Raitha's bookstore had become her whole world, a sanctuary for her when everything else seemed to fall apart.
"I always thought you'd come back," she admitted, her fingers tracing the edge of her teacup. "But after the first year, I stopped hoping. I thought you'd found a new life in the city."
Shyam looked down, guilt gnawing at him. "I wanted to come back, Raitha. But I was scared. Scared that I'd disappoint you."
"Disappoint me?" she asked, her voice rising. "You're the reason I kept going, Shyam. Every time I wanted to give up, I thought of you. Of the dreams we shared."
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. "You don't get to decide how much you mean to someone."
Her words hit Shyam like a bolt of lightning. All this time, he had been so consumed by his own failures that he hadn't considered what his absence might have meant to her.
---
The days turned into weeks as Shyam settled back into village life. He found solace in helping Raitha run the bookstore, rediscovering the joy of simple things—organizing shelves, chatting with customers, and watching Raitha smile when she thought no one was looking.
But he couldn't shake the feeling that he owed her more.
One evening, as they sat on the porch watching the sunset, Shyam turned to her. "Why did you wait for me, Raitha?"
She looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Because you're worth it."
"Even after I let you down?"
She smiled, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "You didn't let me down, Shyam. You just lost your way. And I knew… if I waited long enough, you'd find it again."
---
Months later, Shyam stood in the bookstore, staring at a printed copy of his first novel. It was dedicated to Raitha.
"To the girl who never gave up on me, even when I gave up on myself."
Raitha walked in, her eyes widening as she saw the book. "Shyam… is this—?"
He nodded, his heart pounding. "I couldn't have done it without you."
She opened the book, her fingers trembling as she read the dedication. When she looked up, tears streamed down her face.
"I don't care about the book," she said, her voice breaking. "I just care that you're here."
Shyam took her hand, his grip firm and steady. "I'm not going anywhere, Raitha. Not this time."
For the first time in years, he felt whole.
---
They didn't need grand gestures or elaborate promises. They had something far more powerful—each other.
And as they stood together in the quiet bookstore, surrounded by the stories they loved, Shyam finally understood what it meant to be home.