Nearly thirty years had passed when Mustafa returned to the town.
He had changed—
Stronger than before.
Wiser.
And, most importantly… happier.
I sat on a quiet bench near the old square, watching as he walked through the familiar streets, older now, but glowing with a peace I hadn't seen in him before.
He made his way to the rooftop of that same apartment—the place where it all began… and ended.
And then—
He jumped.
But there was no tragedy in it.
Only beauty.
White and black rose petals showered down from the sky like blessings, as if even death bowed before their love.
I gathered every petal with trembling hands.
Then, I walked to their home—the place where they once grew roses and vegetables and laughter—and buried the petals beneath one grave.
It wouldn't be right to separate them.
Even now.
My own journey was coming to an end.
A loving wife waited for me on the other side.
A family full of warmth.
But before I could go…
I had one final painting to make.
I titled it "Love in the Wind."
An angel and a poet—falling not into despair, but rising through flames into a bright, rose-covered heaven.
Their hands never letting go.
The next day, I, Noah, passed from this world.
And when I opened my eyes again,
she was there—my wife, smiling just as she always did.
But even in that eternal peace,
I couldn't help but glance toward a distant hill,
where Mustafa and Sofia laughed under a blooming rose tree.
Some part of me stayed behind…
watching over them,
as I always had.
Because some loves…
don't end.
They simply become the wind.