My blank love - My blank love Part-30

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"Two Sorrows, One Table"

Snow was still falling outside.

Through the bakery’s mirror, a breathtaking scene was visible —

on the street outside, a thin layer of snow was covered in a soft white glow.

Inside, the light aroma of coffee mingled with the chilly air that followed the snowfall —

as if time itself had paused.

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Zoboriya took the last sip from her cup and spoke softly —

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> “Strange, isn’t it… we both were wounded in someone else’s love,

and now here we are… like two pages from an old book.”

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Ehsan smiled faintly —

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> “Maybe because the tone of pain in that book is the same…

only the names of the stories are different.”

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They both stayed silent for a moment.

The silence wasn’t heavy — rather, it was the kind of stillness that gently runs its hand over your head.

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"Things That Go Unsaid"

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Ehsan placed his camera on the table.

Zoboriya pointed towards his blue diary —

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> “Do you still write about her in it?”

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> “Yes,” Ehsan replied, “but now it will have some of your words too…

so that whenever I feel truly alone, these pages will remind me

there was someone who listened to my pain… without interrupting.”

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Zoboriya touched the diary and said gently —

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> “Then give me one page too…

I’ll leave two or three lines of my own…

so you know your pain is not alone.”

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"The Company That Lightens the Load"

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The hands of the bakery clock kept moving forward,

but for the two sitting at the table, time seemed to have slowed.

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> “You know, Ehsan…” Zoboriya said,

“I always feared my pain might become a burden to someone.

But today, I feel… with the right person, the load can be halved.”

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Ehsan lifted his coffee cup and simply said —

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> “And sometimes, listening to someone’s pain…

can be a healing balm for yourself.”

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"A Relationship of Equals"

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The street outside was now almost entirely covered in snow.

They both stood up — no goodbyes, no promises,

just a quiet glance shared between them.

No expectations, no commitments —

only the trust that the next time their hearts felt heavy,

this table would always have an empty chair waiting.

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Late at Night

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It was 11:30 p.m.

Ehsan lay in bed, lights dimmed,

cold air drifting in through the window, phone in his hand.

He opened Instagram and looked at his recent post —

a picture taken at the café.

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His smile was clearly visible in the picture,

but the face of the girl sitting beside him had been blurred.

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Suddenly, a notification popped up —

"New Comment from AbuZarr"

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> "Great pic, Ehsan! But why did you blur the girl’s face?

Please… I’d like to see that face."

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Ehsan started typing for a moment, then stopped.

He remembered — the weight in Zoboriya’s eyes that day,

how she had said, “I don’t want to get tangled in someone’s hope again.”

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He smiled faintly,

then typed only this beneath the comment —

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> “AbuZarr… some beautiful people are better left hidden.

Because we don’t want them caught in the world’s evil gaze.”

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He set the phone aside and looked up at the ceiling.

The room was silent,

but even in that silence he could almost hear Zoboriya’s soft laughter —

the kind that had passed through pain to arrive.

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Ehsan knew —

some relationships are so fragile

that showing them completely in a picture…

might just mean losing them.

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"An Unwanted Question"

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The phone lay face down on the table.

Ehsan thought he’d fall asleep now,

but the soft glow of the screen lit up the room —

another notification.

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> "New Message from AbuZarr"

"Plz Ehsan… plz tell me just once. I request you… where is my heartbeat, my Zoboriya? I want to meet her… plz."

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The lines on Ehsan’s forehead deepened.

He picked up the phone and read the message two or three times.

Somewhere in his chest, a strange unease stirred —

as if someone had stood at his door and called out Zoboriya’s name.

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He began typing for a few moments, then erased it.

He told himself —

"It’s her name, her life… only she has the right to answer this."

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Still holding the phone,

he archived AbuZarr’s message without replying.

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The room was dimly lit.

Somewhere far away, a dog barked,

but Ehsan’s mind was stuck on only one thought —

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"Does Zoboriya even know that someone is searching for her like this?"

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"Morning Silence"

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The bakery’s shutter was half open.

Inside, the soft hiss of the coffee machine filled the air,

while the chilly breeze from the window rustled the newspaper pages.

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Ehsan sat at his usual spot —

camera on the table, blue diary beside it.

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Soon, Zoboriya walked in.

Her hair was in a simple bun,

a light shawl around her neck, and her eyes carried the faint rest of an unfinished night.

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> “You’re here early today?” she asked, pulling out a chair.

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Ehsan took a sip of coffee,

stayed quiet for a while… then spoke carefully —

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> “Zobo… there’s something I want to tell you.”

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Zoboriya raised her eyebrows,

as if trying to guess what it might be.

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> “Last night… I got a message.

From someone — AbuZarr.

He’s looking for you.”

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The cup in Zoboriya’s hand paused midair,

then she gently set it down on the table.

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> “And?”

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> “He said… he wants to meet you.

Called you… ‘my heartbeat, my Zoboriya’.”

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Zoboriya let out a small laugh —

but it was the kind that escapes when an old wound is touched by air.

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> “People… they think taking a name is easy, Ehsan.

But who understands the exhaustion behind that name?”

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They stayed silent for a moment.

Outside, a bicycle passed by,

its bell briefly brushing against the stillness.

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> “Do you want me to reply to him?” Ehsan asked.

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Zoboriya slowly shook her head —

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> “No… if someone truly wants to find me,

they should find the way themselves.

I don’t have the strength to pull anyone towards me anymore.”

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Ehsan didn’t argue.

He simply removed the cover from his camera and, in a casual tone, said —

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> “Alright… then let’s capture some sunlight in today’s picture.”

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Zoboriya smiled faintly and looked into the lens —

as if leaving her old stories on that table

and choosing to live only in this moment.

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