Mustafa sat at the edge of the rooftop, legs hanging off the side, gazing down at the busy world below—a world that now moved far too fast for him.
A gust of wind ran gently through his grey beard.
Once, he had been a great poet.
Now, he could barely hold a pen.
But still, he smiled.
Because he knew—
She was here.
The girl.
The same girl from all those years ago.
Those same eyes. Those same lips.
The same barefoot grace, the same glow—as if sunlight had taken human form.
Sofia stood beside him, silent and serene, as if time had forgotten to touch her.
For the first time in his life, Mustafa asked her the question he had carried for decades:
"What will you do after I'm gone?"
She looked at him with a soft smile and said,
"I'll go where you go."
He nodded, tears caught in the corners of his eyes.
"Then let's go," he whispered,
"Let's go to the other world…
where no one can disturb us,
and we can grow a garden of white roses—just as you like."
Sofia didn't say a word.
She just wrapped her arms around him.
And together, they stepped forward.
The wind didn't resist.
The sky didn't weep.
There was no scream, no fear.
Just silence.
And love.
As they fell, their bodies clung to one another—so tightly that no force in this world could separate them.
Mid-air, they began to dissolve—
petal by petal,
white and black roses blooming from their embrace,
showering down like a final poem written by the sky.
Then, silence.
Mustafa opened his eyes.
Light surrounded him—soft, endless light.
He was young again. His hands steady. His heart calm.
And beside him, Sofia, still barefoot, still smiling.
He didn't know if this was heaven.
But it didn't matter.
Because she was with him.
And that was no less than heaven for him.