It was night. Clouds drifted silently across the sky, and a soft breeze carried a strange heaviness through the air. The room was dimly lit. She sat alone near the window, staring outside without really seeing anything. Her eyes were filled with tears, yet she wasn’t crying anymore—perhaps even her tears had grown tired. In her hands was an old letter, once a symbol of her happiness, now the deepest wound in her heart.
Suddenly, the door opened. She flinched at the sound but did not turn around. She already knew who it was. His footsteps were hesitant, as if his conscience questioned him with every step. He stood there in silence for a moment, then softly called her name. She didn’t respond. Her silence was the loudest answer he could receive.
He finally spoke, his voice low and trembling.
“What I did may have no justification, but my intentions were never wrong.”
She let out a small laugh—one that carried no joy, only pain. Slowly, she replied,
“It’s not intentions that define a person. It’s their decisions. And your decision changed my entire life.”
The moment grew unbearably heavy. Words felt small compared to the emotions filling the room. He knew that even an apology had lost its meaning. Taking a step back, he said quietly,
“I wish I could turn time back.”
She stood up. There was moisture in her eyes, but strength in her voice.
“Time never goes back. And once something is broken, it never becomes the same again.”
The door closed behind him. She was alone once more—but no longer weak. Alongside the pain on her face, there was determination. Perhaps this wasn’t the end, but the beginning of something new—a beginning written not with tears, but with courage.
