One Fateful Day

Love was never something Calla searched for.

To her, it was a word tucked inside books she never finished, a feeling that belonged to people who lived louder, bolder lives.

She had grown used to the quiet rhythm of being unseen, untouched by the stories others whispered about falling.

But then came him-not with grand gestures, but with a presence that felt like stillness in a world that never stopped spinning.

And yet, sometimes, in the stillness between, she wonders.

Not loudly. Not often. Just in those still, unguarded moments.

If he ever looked back.

Even if only for a heartbeat.

Even if only in a dream.