My blank love - My blank love Part-31

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Ehsan’s finger paused on his phone screen.

He slowly typed the last words of the caption—

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> “Some relationships begin unintentionally…

but they hold so much warmth that you start fearing to lose them.”

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He uploaded the picture—

in it, Zoboriya’s and his hands were holding the same cup,

a gentle wisp of steam rising from the tea,

as if its aroma lingered even in the photograph.

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Within minutes of posting, likes and comments started pouring in.

Most people wrote—“Beautiful capture,” “Goals,” “So aesthetic.”

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But after a while, one notification caught his attention—

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New Comment from AbuZarr:

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> “Ehsan… you two look good together.

But do you know… she once served me tea just like this?”

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Ehsan stared at that comment for a few seconds.

Somewhere in his heart, there was a faint sting—

like someone had released a cold gust of wind into the warm steam of the picture.

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Zoboriya sat across from him at the same bakery table,

reading something on her phone, absentmindedly stirring her tea.

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Ehsan took a deep breath,

placed his phone face-down,

and silently took a sip of tea.

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Outside, snow was falling gently,

but inside, between them,

something unspoken had fallen—

something that perhaps no one could pick up again.

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After a moment’s silence, he read the comment again.

His fingers hovered over the screen,

as if wondering whether the reply should come from his heart… or his mind.

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Finally, he began typing—

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> “AbuZarr… anyone can serve tea,

but the warmth in each sip…

that only comes from the right person, at the right time.

May your memory stay with you… and my moment stay with me.”

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He pressed send.

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A little later, the notification popped up—

AbuZarr liked your reply.

But no further response came.

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Ehsan exhaled deeply,

as if quietly closing an old chapter.

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Across the table, Zoboriya was still lost in her tea,

the snow outside was falling faster now,

and in the silence between them,

a strange layer of calm began to settle.

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The next morning, the bakery was filled with the gentle aroma of coffee and freshly baked bread.

The doorbell chimed, and a couple walked in—

at first glance, it was obvious they were newlyweds.

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They walked up to the counter.

The young woman smiled politely—

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> “Hello ma’am, can I help you?”

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Zoboriya’s eyes went to her hand—

where the man’s fingers were tightly intertwined with hers.

A faint smile curved on Zoboriya’s lips.

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> “Yes, sure…” she replied.

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The woman said—

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> “I’d like a chocolate cake, heart-shaped…

and with a hint of strawberry flavor.”

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She seemed very sweet to Zoboriya.

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> “Oh, and please write My Dear Husband on it.”

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“Okay ma’am,” Zoboriya said,

“Please have a seat over there for a while.”

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She gestured toward a table,

and then headed toward the kitchen.

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Zoboriya noted down the order and moved toward the work area.

Behind her, she could still hear the man’s laughter and the woman’s soft whispers—

like they were lost in their own little world.

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While working, her gaze fell on the window glass,

where their faint reflection appeared.

The woman was brushing her hair back and laughing,

and the man seemed as if he never wanted to let go of her hand.

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Chocolate, heart-shape, strawberry touch—

as she prepared these, an uninvited thought crossed her mind—

“This kind of comfort with someone… perhaps it’s no longer meant for me.”

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She carefully decorated the cake,

her hand pausing slightly as she wrote My Dear Husband,

as if those words brushed against an old page of her heart.

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When the cake was ready,

she placed it on a tray, brought it out,

and with a gentle smile said—

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> “I hope you like it.”

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The woman beamed—

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> “This looks perfect!”

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She glanced at her husband and laughed loudly.

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Hearing that laugh, Zoboriya turned back toward the counter.

A smile lingered on her lips,

but in her eyes… it felt as though snow had begun to fall somewhere far away.

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At the counter, Zoboriya was smoothing out the creases of her apron,

when the bell above the door rang with a soft tring.

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A gust of cold air entered,

and with it… Ehsan.

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He had his camera slung over his shoulder,

a light woolen scarf around his neck,

and the same gentle smile in his eyes that matched the bakery’s warmth.

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> “Good morning, Zobo,”

he said as soon as he walked in—

and his gaze didn’t settle on the pastries,

but on her face—

as if trying to read the weather inside her today.

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Zoboriya nodded slightly,

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> “Good morning…”

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Ehsan stepped closer and softly asked—

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> “You okay?”

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She was about to reply,

when the couple’s laughter rang out again from behind.

Ehsan turned to look at them,

then looked back at Zoboriya—

there was now a question in his eyes,

and perhaps… a little fear,

that maybe she had begun drifting back into old seasons.

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Ehsan glanced at the couple once more,

then met her eyes again—

as if trying to read all the unspoken words there.

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> “You look like…

your heart is somewhere else today,”

he said softly, without any accusation,

just like checking the pulse of an old friend.

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Zoboriya smiled faintly,

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> “It’s nothing… maybe just a sugar rush this morning.”

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But her voice lacked the brightness

that comes from people who are truly carefree.

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Ehsan didn’t argue.

He simply picked up an empty cup from the counter,

and while filling it, said—

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> “Then let’s make you a strong coffee today…

maybe a little bitterness will balance the sweet.”

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Zoboriya looked at him,

and she understood—

Ehsan knew

that whatever she wanted to say,

she couldn’t say it right now.

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The couple’s laughter continued in the background,

but this time, Ehsan’s presence

had pushed that sound far away from her heart.

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