Isn’t the Sunset Beautiful?

The road was quiet, just as we liked it, with a low, gentle breeze moving through the trees. We’d always met at this overlook, just out of town, away from the noise. The last time we’d been here, we’d stayed out so late we watched the sunrise from the hood of my car, our hands cold from the dawn air. But today was different. I knew it the moment she came into view, her expression calm, her steps measured, the sunset casting warm light over her face.

We leaned against the railing side by side, both of us looking out over the horizon. The sky was painted in soft shades of amber and pink, the sun just beginning to dip toward the water. She didn’t say much, just took in the view the way she always did, with a sort of reverence, her fingers brushing the cool metal of the railing. I wanted to reach over, to say something simple but real, yet I stayed quiet, waiting, listening for the space between us to open up naturally.

After a while, she looked at me, her face softened by the glow of the setting sun, and asked, “Isn’t the sunset beautiful?”

She said it with a gentleness that held an answer within it, an answer I wasn’t sure I wanted. I glanced back at her, nodding, feeling the weight of it.

“Yeah,” I said. “It really is.”

Then the air went quiet again, the kind of quiet that fills in when you’re both aware that something important is being said, even if the words aren’t spoken. I shifted, finally daring to look at her more fully, and caught the faintest smile on her face, like she was holding onto a memory she wasn’t quite ready to share.

“Why don’t you ever ask me how much I loved you?” I said, surprising myself with the question, feeling the uncertainty in it linger between us.

She tilted her head a little, her lips curving into that knowing smile of hers. “Because I found my answer in the little things you did,” she said, barely louder than a whisper. It felt final in a way that pulled something loose in my chest, and I realized how close we were to that edge we’d both been ignoring.

The sun dipped lower, slipping closer to the water, and for a moment, I wondered if this was it. If this was her way of letting go. And then, just as the silence started to grow unbearable, she spoke again, her voice low, almost to herself.

“Tum pasand aane lage ho…(I am starting to like you)” she murmured, the words soft yet pointed, like they carried more than she was willing to admit.

I turned to her, waiting for her to finish, but she kept her gaze on the horizon, her eyes catching the last of the light as it melted into the waves. And then she added, almost as if to herself, “To… isn’t the sunset beautiful?”

It hit me hard. I wanted to answer her, to say something that could hold us in that moment a little longer. But the look on her face, that quiet, lingering look, told me she already knew. She looked at me then, her eyes filled with something tender, something that carried an ache I couldn’t quite reach.

The sun slipped below the horizon, and she pulled herself from the railing, stepping back. The air felt colder suddenly, the warmth of the sun fading quickly into the night. She gave me a small, final smile, then looked down at her hands, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Please, forgive me,” she said, almost as if she were asking for something she knew I’d give her.

I nodded, a warmth spreading through me even as I felt her slipping away. I tried to say something, to give her a reason to stay, but all that came out was a quiet, simple truth.

“You’re forgotten,” I whispered, watching her turn, feeling the chill settle around me as she walked back down the road, her steps soft and certain.

As I stood there alone, the last trace of light fading into the night, I realized that maybe this was the end we’d both seen coming. And in that quiet, in the stillness of the empty road, I found myself hoping, somewhere deep down, that she’d remember me just as I’d remember her.