Mornings didn't feel sharp anymore.
Not like they used to.
They rolled in like soft waves now—neither warm nor cold—just... tolerable.
She was still healing, yes. But not the kind that looked brave.
It was subtle. Quiet.
She still walked the same paths, heard the same voices in the hallways, but everything had lost its edge.
Her heart didn't thud unexpectedly when she turned a corner.
Not always, at least.
But healing isn't the absence of memory.
It's learning how to hold it without letting it take over.
And sometimes, in between the calm, a memory slipped in—
He was a day boarder—one of those who returned home after lectures.
She wasn't.
Her world ended within the four walls of the hostel, while his began beyond the gates.
But that didn't stop her.
While the other hostellers walked back in noisy clusters, she'd sometimes fall behind.
On purpose.
She'd slow down, pretending to tie a shoelace or search for something in her bag—
anything to wait just long enough.
He always exited through the side gate near the old neem tree,
She never called out. Never waved.
Just watched.
Watched him blend into the world outside the college,
and offered a silent goodbye in her heart—
because that's where he had always stayed.
And then she'd turn back, catching up with the others as if nothing had happened.
But something always did.
Every single time.
She blinked, bringing herself to reality, adjusting the strap of her bag as the sunlight hit her face.
The gate was still there.
So were the neem leaves rustling in the same wind.
But today, she didn't wait.
There was no shoelace to tie, no excuse to pause.
Just a steady pace and the quiet knowledge that she didn't need to see him anymore to say goodbye.
She had already done that—
Every time she let go of a memory and walked forward anyway.