Adam(POV)
I read the letter again.
And again.
And then once more—slowly this time, as if the words might change if I looked at them long enough.
Letter continuation...
The day we met was unfortunately my worst day, but your entry changed the course of that day and turned it into my lucky day.
No one loves me the way you do. Leaving you like this is not what I want, but Adam, your parents deserve your love more than me, so I am going.
But I need a promise from you, Adam—that you will give your wife a chance. Try to fall in love with her.
And please don't try to search for me. I will be happy and safe.
I love you, Adam.
Yours,
Alice
Just like that—she was gone.
Not with anger.
Not with drama.
Not with accusations.
She left with love.
And that somehow hurt more than anything else ever could.
The fact that she wanted me to fall in love with another woman felt like a knife twisting deeper into a wound that would never heal. How was I supposed to do that? How does someone unlove a soul that has already settled into every corner of your existence?
It was impossible.
And the part where she asked me not to search for her?
That broke me.
I wasn't angry at Alice.
I was angry at the situation.
At fate.
At God.
Why is it that two people can love each other so purely and still not be allowed to live together? What kind of cruel game is this, where love exists but happiness is denied?
I sat there for hours—maybe days—I don't remember. Time lost its meaning the moment she walked away. The house felt hollow. The air felt heavy. Everything reminded me of her—her voice, her quiet strength, the way she loved without asking for anything in return.
And then reality came crashing down.
My father.
His condition worsened rapidly. We admitted him to the hospital, machines replacing conversations, doctors replacing hope. Every day felt like waiting for something terrible to happen. Every night felt longer than the last.
And in the middle of all this grief, the wedding happened.
Just like that.
No celebration.
No joy.
No excitement.
A ritual without a soul.
I got married to a woman I had never met before.
Her name is Latika.
She didn't look at me the way Alice did. There was no warmth, no curiosity, no hesitation. Just calculation. Clarity. She was marrying me for my name, my money, my status.
And strangely—I didn't mind.
Before the wedding itself, she made her expectations clear.
"I don't want emotional involvement," she said calmly. "I want the status of Mrs. Smith. And I don't want to be bothered unless it's something important. Life-or-death important."
I nodded.
Because that suited me perfectly.
I didn't want her interference in my life either. I didn't want questions. I didn't want expectations. I didn't want to pretend. This marriage was a contract, not a bond.
And honestly, I was relieved.
Because my heart was already occupied.
Permanently.
My father was admitted to the hospital soon after. The doctors didn't hide the truth anymore. They told us to be prepared for the worst. Every beep of the monitor felt like a countdown. My mother barely slept. I barely spoke.
The world kept moving.
Mine didn't.
Happiness left my life the day Alice did.
I went through the motions—meetings, hospital visits, formal dinners—but nothing touched me anymore. I laughed when required. Spoke when expected. But inside, I was empty.
At night, I read her letter again.
Every single night.
I wondered where she was. If she was eating properly. If she was smiling. If she ever thought of me the way I thought of her.
I wanted to search for her so badly.
But I had promised.
And she trusted me.
That trust was the last thing I had left.
So I stayed.
I lived.
But I didn't exist.
Latika and I lived like strangers sharing a house. Polite. Distant. Cordial. Exactly as agreed. She got her status. I got my silence.
And somewhere out there, Alice was living her life—strong, brave, selfless—just like she always was.
I hope she is happy.
I hope she is safe.
Because I don't want her to suffer anymore—not after everything she sacrificed for me.
This is where our story ends.
Not with hate.
Not with regret.
But with love that never found its place in the world.