Contemporary Fiction Five00 Fiveoo-21

The Forgotten Diary

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Arjun hadn’t set foot in his childhood home in over two decades. The house stood frozen in time, the wooden floors creaking under his hesitant steps. Dusty photo frames lined the walls, faces smiling from another lifetime. But it was the old bookshelf in his room that caught his attention.  

There, wedged between his father’s law books, lay a tattered blue diary. His fingers trembled as he pulled it out.  

Mira’s diary.  

His heart pounded as he flipped through the yellowed pages. Her neat, slanted handwriting bled across each line, recounting stolen afternoons, whispered dreams, and the promises of a forever that never was. And then, on the final page, four words:  

*”If you’re reading this, meet me at our place.”*  

Arjun inhaled sharply. Their place. *The old riverside bench.* The last time they met there, he had been twenty-two, too stubborn to stay, too afraid to fight for her. He had left, and Mira… she had disappeared.  

Without thinking, he grabbed his coat and headed for the river.  

 

The bench was still there, worn by time, standing against the quiet ripples of the water. Arjun sat down, running his fingers over the carvings they had made in their youth—*A ?? M.*  

Minutes passed. Then hours.  

It was foolish to believe she’d be here after all these years. She had probably moved on, built a life elsewhere.  

Just as he was about to leave, a voice broke the silence.  

“You came.”  

Arjun turned.  

An elderly woman stood before him, her silver-streaked hair pulled back, her eyes still holding the same fire he had once known. *Mira.*  

His breath caught in his throat. “Mira…?”  

She smiled, and just like that, time collapsed. They were twenty again, sitting on this very bench, talking about the future.  

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispered.  

“I waited,” she said, sitting beside him. “For a long time.”  

A lump formed in his throat. “I was a coward, Mira. I should have stayed.”  

She shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips. “And I should have left with you. But life had other plans, didn’t it?”  

Silence stretched between them, filled with all the words they never said, all the years they lost.  

Then Mira reached into her bag and pulled out another diary.  

 

She placed it in his hands, her fingers lingering over his. “I filled mine, Arjun. Now it’s your turn to write.”  

Tears stung his eyes as he held the book against his chest.  

For the first time in years, the past didn’t haunt him. The river flowed, unchanged yet ever-moving—just like life.  

Mira stood up, giving him one last look before walking away.  

Arjun remained seated on that old bench, right where he started.  

But this time, his heart was at peace.  

 

Between the Lines
The Killing Ground

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