FicWad

In the quiet town of Mussoorie, nestled among the misty mountains, there lived a boy named Aarav. The town’s rolling hills and lush greenery were his constant companions, but his heart often felt adrift, searching for something—or someone—to anchor him. His days were spent sketching in a small notebook, capturing fleeting moments of beauty around him: the way the morning sunlight played through the trees, the delicate sway of wildflowers, or the sight of the mist rolling over the peaks.

One crisp autumn morning, while Aarav was perched on his favorite hilltop, a melody drifted through the air. It was soft, almost like a whisper carried by the wind. He looked around, trying to find the source. That’s when he saw her.

She stood by the edge of the cliff, her scarf fluttering in the breeze. Her name, he would later learn, was Meera. She was a traveler, someone who carried stories in her eyes and poetry in her heart. Aarav was mesmerized by her presence; there was a certain glow about her, a radiance that seemed to make the world around her more alive.

Meera noticed Aarav staring and smiled, a soft curve of her lips that made his heart skip a beat. “Do you always sit here alone?” she asked, her voice as soothing as the melody he had heard moments ago.

“Not always,” Aarav replied, closing his sketchbook. “Sometimes, the mountains keep me company.”

She laughed, and it sounded like music. “Well, now you have one more companion,” she said, sitting down beside him.

As days turned into weeks, Aarav and Meera’s paths intertwined. She shared stories of her travels, of deserts and oceans, of bustling cities and serene villages. Aarav, in turn, shared his sketches, showing her how he saw the world. They spent countless hours exploring the town and its surroundings, discovering hidden waterfalls and secret trails. Aarav found himself captivated not just by Meera’s stories but by the way she saw beauty in the smallest things—a fallen leaf, a broken twig, a fleeting moment.

One evening, as they sat by the lake under a sky painted with stars, Meera hummed a tune that tugged at Aarav’s soul. It was the same melody he had heard that first day. “What song is that?” he asked softly.

She hesitated for a moment, then said, “It’s a song about beauty. About how fleeting and eternal it can be. My mother used to sing it to me.”

Aarav nodded, his heart heavy with an inexplicable sadness. He wanted to tell her how much she had come to mean to him, how her presence had filled a void he hadn’t even realized existed. But words failed him. Instead, he took out his sketchbook and began to draw.

When he was done, he turned the book toward her. It was a portrait of Meera, but not just her face. He had captured the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of her adventures, the way her scarf danced in the wind, the way her smile seemed to hold secrets.

Meera looked at the sketch for a long time, her fingers tracing the lines. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice tinged with emotion. “But Aarav, you know I can’t stay here forever, right?”

His heart sank, but he nodded. He had known from the start that Meera was like the wind—free and untethered. “I know,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make the most of the time we have.”

And so, they did. They spent every moment they could together, creating memories that would last a lifetime. Aarav sketched her in every setting, capturing her essence in his art. Meera, in turn, wrote poems about their time together, weaving their shared moments into words that danced off the page.

One morning, as the first snow of the season began to fall, Meera stood at the edge of the cliff where they had first met. Her bags were packed, and a taxi waited at the bottom of the hill. Aarav stood beside her, his hands buried deep in his pockets to keep them from trembling.

“I’ll miss this place,” she said softly, her breath forming small clouds in the cold air. “And I’ll miss you.”

Aarav wanted to ask her to stay, but he knew it wasn’t fair. Instead, he handed her his sketchbook. “Take this,” he said. “So you can carry a piece of this place with you.”

Meera opened the book and smiled through her tears. “Thank you, Aarav. For everything.”

And then, she was gone, leaving behind nothing but footprints in the snow and the echo of her melody in the wind.

Aarav stood there for a long time, watching the horizon. The world felt quieter without her, but in his heart, he carried her stories, her laughter, and the beauty she had shown him. He knew he would never forget her, just as he knew that some beauty—like Meera—was meant to be cherished, not held onto.

In the months that followed, Aarav continued to sketch, his art now infused with a depth and emotion it had never had before. And every time he looked at the mountains, he imagined Meera somewhere out there, singing her melody to the wind.