College days started settling into a rhythm. Aanya began recognizing familiar corridors, lecture timings, and the comforting sound of Meher's voice filling every silence.
Each day brought a little more light into her life.
Meher remained her sunshine—funny, dramatic, and a little too obsessed with campus gossip.
"Okay, so there's a senior in Economics," Meher whispered one afternoon, leaning in with excitement, "And I swear, he's the reason butterflies exist."
Aanya laughed, shaking her head. "You've had three crushes in two weeks."
"It's college! I'm building character," Meher grinned.
But Aanya's heart remained untouched.
Not because she didn't feel.
But because something inside her already felt… full.
Each night when she lay in bed, she hoped to dream again—to feel that presence, to hear that voice.
But days passed, and the dream never returned.
One evening, while walking home, she paused near a bookstore window. A journal caught her eye—navy blue with silver stars on the cover. Almost without thinking, she walked in and bought it.
That night, under her dim study light, she opened the first page and wrote:
> "Dear you,
> I don't know who you are,
> But I think… my heart already misses you."
She didn't know why she wrote it.
Only that it made her feel less alone.College had begun to feel less overwhelming, more like a slow melody she was learning to hum.
One afternoon, Aanya was sitting in the campus library, flipping through notes when a soft voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Is this seat taken?"
She looked up into a pair of gentle eyes and shook her head.
The boy smiled as he sat down, pushing his black-framed glasses up slightly. "I'm Vedant," he said. "First-year Literature."
"I'm Aanya," she replied, surprised at how natural it felt to talk to him.
They didn't speak much, just exchanged a few words, but there was something in his calm voice, his patient manner, and the way he spoke about poetry that made her feel… awake.
Like something inside her stirred.
Later that evening, Aanya found herself thinking about that short interaction. It wasn't a crush. It wasn't love. But it was **a nudge**. A warmth that reminded her that her heart was still capable of feeling.
And that night—
The dream returned.
She stood on soft, cold sand again. The sea shimmered under a sky of silver stars. Waves whispered in a language only her heart could understand.
He was there.
The silhouette.
The boy her soul had always known.
He came closer this time. The space between them felt thinner.
"You heard me," he whispered, his voice echoing like music inside her chest.
> "You were quiet… but you listened.
> And now, I will begin finding you."
Tears filled Aanya's eyes. She tried to speak, but no words came out. Only her heart thudded loudly.
He placed a hand over her heart and said gently:
> "The world had to stir your heart…
> So your soul could remember mine."
And the dream faded.
---
She woke up gasping, hand clutching her chest.
It wasn't Vedant. She knew that.
But **something about meeting him had unlocked her path again**.
Aanya sat silently, her pillow still damp with tears.
She wasn't scared.
She wasn't confused.
She was **awakening**.
And far away, under the same stars,
the boy with the quiet soul—
**her soulmate**—
felt a pulse, a call,
as if the distance between their worlds had begun to crumble.
And far away, under the same stars,
the boy she dreamed of felt a sudden pull in his heart—
like someone had softly whispered his name into the wind.
Something had awakened.
Not loudly. Not completely.
But gently, like the first ripple in still water.