We were destined...........But were we?

Two days had bled into each other, a blur of mourning and despair. News of Bondita's fall from the terrace had ripped through Anirudh, leaving a gaping wound in his soul. Blood, the color of betrayal, had stained the pristine white floor, mirroring the crimson stain on the letter clutched in his trembling hand.

He devoured the words, each syllable a searing ember scorching his insides. Tears, hot and relentless, carved their own rivers down his cheeks, mingling with the city's dust that clung to his face. It was a testament to the storm raging within him, a storm born of the revelation that had struck him like a bolt of lightning.

The letter, a final, heartbreaking confession, spoke of Bondita's undying love for him, a love that had blossomed amidst the thorns of societal expectations. It laid bare the depth of her despair, the crushing weight of his unrequited love that had driven her to the precipice.

And then, the final, damning sentence: "He saw him..." It hung there, a cryptic message, a shard of a memory waiting to be pieced together. Anirudh's mind raced, desperately searching for the answer, the "him" who had witnessed something, something that had pushed Bondita over the edge.

The answer, when it came, was like a punch to the gut. It was the face of the man who had confessed his own love for Bondita, the man who, like a shadow, had loomed on the periphery of their lives. The realization hit him with the force of a tidal wave, drowning him in a sea of guilt and regret.

He had been so consumed by his own desires, his own pining for another, that he had failed to see the love that bloomed right under his nose. He had been blind to Bondita's silent sacrifices, her unwavering devotion, and now, it was all too late.

The weight of his actions, his inaction, pressed down on him, a suffocating cloak that threatened to steal his breath. He sank to his knees, the letter fluttering to the floor like a fallen leaf, a silent testament to a love lost, a life tragically cut short. In the deafening silence of his grief, only one thought echoed: "and I never saw her."

The moon, a pearl in mourning's veil,

 Casts on her face a ghostly light, 

Where once love's laughter did prevail, 

Now shadows dance in endless night.

Her hair, a cascade spun of gold, 

Lies tangled, lifeless on the floor,

 A story left forever untold, 

A heart that beats and loves no more.

He promised her the sun and moon,

 A love that time could not erase, 

But fate, a cruel and fickle boon,

 Left her with emptiness' embrace.

His letter, stained with teardrops' fall, 

Confessed a love he could not claim, 

Another's vow, a binding thrall,

 His broken promise, etched in shame.

Alone she stood, with shattered dreams, 

The weight of love, a crushing blow, 

In moonlit silence, lost it seems, 

She chose a path where shadows flow.

The wind whispers her name in vain,

 A haunting echo in the night,

 A love unlived, a life in pain,

 A tragic ending, cold and white.

So let the moon, with mournful grace, 

Hold vigil for this love gone wrong,

 A teardrop on a pale, cold face,

 A final, silent, mournful song.

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