My blank love - My blank love Part-29

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🌫️ "The Silence Behind the Smile"

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Zoboriya’s words left Ehsan quiet for a moment.

He noticed — there was a smile on her lips,

but it wasn’t the kind of smile that comes from peace…

It was the kind that appears out of habit,

just so no one notices how broken you truly are.

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He leaned forward slightly and spoke in a soft voice —

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> “Zobo…

I don’t know what you’ve had to endure,

but I do know one thing —

when someone smiles while telling the truth,

there’s peace in their eyes…

And in your eyes… there’s only exhaustion.”

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Zoboriya’s fingers began to trace the rim of her cup again.

She lowered her gaze — as if even her soul was tired

from carrying the weight of pretending to be strong.

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> “I don’t want to get caught up in hope again, Ehsan…

Some relationships, some people…

come into our lives

only to teach us one lesson —

that we should trust only ourselves.”

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"Trust Can Be Rebuilt"

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Ehsan pulled his chair a little closer,

now just a breath away from her.

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> “Maybe you’re right…

Life doesn’t have to be lived under the shade of someone’s love.

But some people…

they don’t come to love —

they come to sit beside you, and simply listen.”

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He spoke very gently —

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> “I don’t want to burden you with anything new.

Nor do I want to impose any hope on you.

I just want to say one thing…”

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> “If ever, you get tired…

and you wish someone could understand your silence without asking —

then remember…

you’ll find me sitting nearby.

I won’t force you to come closer,

nor stop you if you want to leave…

I’ll just be here, listening.”

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"A Relationship of Silence"

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Zoboriya’s eyes lifted.

For the first time, there was a flicker of trust in them — trembling, but real.

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She wanted to say something —

maybe to refuse, maybe to accept…

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But before any words came,

her inner silence fell onto her cheek as a single tear.

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Ehsan didn’t say anything —

he just noticed that tear,

and gently took the cup from her hands,

as if to lighten her burden a little.

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"Maybe This Is Where It Begins"

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Snow was still falling outside the café,

and inside, at a single table —

two broken hearts weren’t trying to explain anything to each other,

they were just… listening.

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Sometimes, the first step of love

isn’t confession —

it’s simply being there in silence.

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"The Sound of Silence"

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The clock’s hands kept ticking in the café’s corner,

but time had somehow slowed down at their table.

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Zoboriya had been quiet for a while —

then she looked down,

and brought a question to her lips—

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> “Ehsan…

You once said

that you learned to take pictures because of that girl…

the one you loved.”

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She paused slightly, looking at Ehsan —

closely, as if trying to find the answer in the lines of his face.

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> “Can you tell me, just as a friend…

why did she leave you?

Didn’t she love you?”

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The room’s air suddenly grew heavier.

Zoboriya’s voice was calm,

but there was a trembling depth in it —

as if she was searching for her own answers through someone else’s story.

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Ehsan looked at her quietly for a moment.

Then smiled gently —

a smile that held no surprise,

just an old, tired peace.

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> “No, Zoboriya…

It wasn’t that she didn’t love me.”

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He leaned forward, looked into her eyes, and said —

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> “She loved me so much…

that it was that very love

that made her leave me.”

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Zoboriya tried to say something, but her voice failed her.

Her eyes filled with unspoken questions.

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Ehsan now stared at the wall,

where sunlight was falling on the frame of an old photograph.

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> “Sometimes, leaving someone…

is a greater act of love than staying.

Because she didn’t want her broken life

to shatter my dreams.”

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His tone carried no resentment —

just a quiet respect for an incomplete love.

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Zoboriya was silent now.

Her grip on the coffee cup tightened slightly.

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> “So why did you pick up the camera…?”

she asked softly.

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Ehsan smiled —

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> “Because she didn’t want me to remember her…

She wanted me to feel her —

in every picture, in every face, in every light.”

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> “And now?” Zoboriya asked, even more softly.

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Ehsan’s eyes once again rested on Zoboriya.

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> “Now… I don’t just capture faces…

I’ve learned to read silence too.”

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Zoboriya’s eyes shimmered with tears,

but she smiled and said —

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> “Then maybe… I’ll appear a bit clearer

in your next photograph.”

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Rain poured outside, droplets tapping against the window —

as if repeating some forgotten poem.

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Ehsan sat at the same old corner seat in the café —

his blue diary in front of him, his vintage Nikon beside it.

But today… something inside that camera had changed.

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Zoboriya sat beside him, quietly.

Her hair was loose,

and her eyes held that deep stillness that stayed long after the storm had passed.

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“You… took my picture that day, didn’t you?” she asked quietly.

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Ehsan smiled, “Yes, the first time — when you turned to look at me.”

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“And after that?”

“After that… I just kept waiting to see you again,

hoping that moment would return.”

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There was a pause.

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> “Ehsan… did you never meet her again?”

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Ehsan’s fingers paused at the edge of his blue diary.

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> “I did… but only when I had already lost her.”

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> “What do you mean?” Zoboriya’s voice trembled.

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> “She came back…

to the same café, the same spot…

but I was late.

And when I arrived…

there was only her empty coffee cup,

and a folded piece of paper —

which said just two words:

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‘Goodbye, Ehsan.’”

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The rain grew heavier.

Zoboriya extended her hand toward the window —

as if trying to catch drops from a time long gone.

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> “And now?”

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> “Now?” Ehsan picked up his camera, looked at Zoboriya and said —

“Now I only capture the faces I don’t want to lose again.”

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Zoboriya was silent for a while,

then softly said —

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> “Maybe that’s what love is…

Not something that returns,

but something that continues to breathe inside a memory.”

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Ehsan looked at her —

this time, there were no questions in his eyes,

just a soft familiarity —

as if for the first time,

she had made peace with the silence

she had been battling for so long.

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He smiled, and placed the camera gently on the table.

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> “Zobo…

Maybe now we are at that point in life

where love is not a promise —

just the comfort of someone’s presence.”

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Zoboriya pointed toward his blue diary —

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> “Do you still write only about her in that?”

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Her eyes now held no jest —

only a soft curiosity.

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Ehsan slowly opened the diary,

and turned the first page toward Zoboriya.

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There, it read:

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> “The one who never came back —

perhaps her name has now disappeared

into the smile of a new face.”

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Zoboriya read the page, then looked at Ehsan —

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> “Is that… me?”

Ehsan simply smiled, and said —

“Maybe now, my photographs smile…

because you’re in them too.”

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"The Rain Outside Had Stopped…"

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But inside Ehsan and Zoboriya —

a new rain had begun.

No storm,

no flood —

just a gentle drizzle,

quietly soaking the soil of a new bond.

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