A Love Written In Silence

CHAPTER 4 — Things About Siddharth

The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminated Siya’s small room, casting long shadows on the walls adorned with simple handmade wall hangings. It was well past midnight, and the rest of the house slept peacefully. At twentytwo, Siya had just completed her graduation, yet nights like these still belonged to her secret world. She sat crosslegged on her bed, wearing an old cotton kurti, her hair tied in a loose bun. In front of her lay a brandnew notebook with a deep blue cover—his favorite color.

Her fingers traced the blank page for a long moment before she opened it. With careful handwriting, she wrote on the first page in beautiful cursive:

Things About Siddharth

A small, devoted smile touched her lips. This notebook was not just paper and ink. It was her way of keeping him close, of preserving every fragment of memory before time could fade them. No one knew about it. Not her mother, not Arjun, and certainly not Jaanvi—her closest college friend who shared almost everything with her.

"Aaj se main sab kuch likhungi, Siddharth," she whispered into the quiet night, her voice barely audible.

(From today, I will write everything, Siddharth.)

She remembered the day she decided to start it. A few weeks after her final exams, while cleaning her cupboard, she had found the old teddy bear and the faded red windmill. The wave of longing had hit her so strongly that she had sat down right there on the floor, tears flowing freely. That same evening, she had gone to the market alone and bought this notebook. It felt like a sacred act—a private temple where her love could live freely.

She turned to the next page and began writing under different headings, each entry pulling her deeper into memories.

Favorite Food:

Siya smiled as she wrote. Pani puri from the roadside stall near the temple. He could eat at least twenty in one go without blinking. And Maa ke haath ke aloo parathe with extra ghee—every Sunday morning during cricket season.

She recalled one specific summer evening. Siddharth and Arjun had returned from a long match, dusty and hungry. She had been helping her mother in the kitchen.

"Arre aunty, aapke parathe ki khushboo se pura mohalla bhar gaya!" Siddharth had exclaimed, peeking into the kitchen with his boyish grin.

(Hey aunty, the aroma of your parathas has filled the entire neighborhood!)

Her mother had laughed and served him extra. Siya, standing quietly in the corner, had watched him eat with such joy. Later, when no one was looking, he had slipped her one small piece wrapped in a napkin. “Chhoti, yeh tera hissa. Secret.”

(Little one, this is your share. Secret.)

She noted it down meticulously: He always shares food. Never finishes the last bite alone if someone is watching.

Favorite Songs:

The list grew longer. Old Hindi film songs—especially Kishore Kumar. ‘Zindagi ek safar hai suhana’ and ‘Roop tera mastana’. He would hum them while walking or during rain.

In high school, Arjun had once brought home a small tape recorder. Siddharth had stayed over, and they played songs late into the night. Siya had hidden behind the door, listening.

"Arjun, yeh gaana sun! Bilkul dil ko chhoo jaata hai," Siddharth’s voice had floated through.

(Arjun, listen to this song! It touches the heart completely.)

She wrote the titles carefully, adding notes: Whenever it rains, I still hum these songs, hoping somewhere in Delhi you are doing the same.

Favorite Books:

Though he was more into sports, Siddharth had a quiet love for stories. Sherlock Holmes stories. And ‘The Old Man and the Sea’ by Hemingway—Arjun told me once that Siddharth read it during summer vacations and talked about it for days.

She remembered borrowing a book from Arjun’s shelf just to feel closer. Even now, in her college library, she would pick up titles he might like and imagine discussing them with him.

Birthday:

15th March. Every year I light a diya and pray for your happiness. This year too, I made kheer quietly and offered it to the tulsi plant.

She paused, her pen hovering. Tears blurred her vision for a moment. “Aapko kabhi pata nahi chala na, kitni raaton main aapke baare mein sochti hoon?”

(You never found out, right, how many nights I think about you?)

Achievements:

She listed whatever Arjun had casually mentioned over the years. Scored 92% in Class 10 board exams. Captain of the school cricket team. Won interschool debate competition on ‘Importance of Sports in Education’. Got admission in a good engineering college in Delhi.

Every small detail felt like a treasure. She wrote about the time he had helped an old neighbor carry heavy bags during a festival, refusing any thanks. “Woh hamesha dusron ki madad karte the,” she murmured.

(He always helped others.)

Small Details:

This section became the longest. He has a small scar on his left eyebrow from falling off a bicycle when he was nine. He rubs the back of his neck when he is thinking deeply. His laugh starts with a soft chuckle and then becomes loud and full. He prefers blue shirts. He never forgets anyone’s name. He ties shoelaces in a double knot—exactly the way he did for me that afternoon.

The memory of her fall from the bicycle flooded back so vividly that she closed her eyes. She could still feel his gentle fingers on her shoe, the warmth of his concern.

"Yeh dekho, ab nahi khulega," he had said that day.

(Look, now it won’t come undone.)

Siya wrote for hours, the notebook filling with her love. Page after page captured not just facts, but the essence of the boy who had unknowingly shaped her heart. She described the way sunlight used to fall on his messy hair during matches, making it look like strands of gold. How he would always defend younger kids from bullies. How his presence made the ordinary neighborhood feel like an adventure.

Nobody knew. Not even Jaanvi.

Jaanvi was her lively college friend, the one who dragged her to canteen chats and movie plans. A few days ago, during a quiet walk back from college, Jaanvi had probed again.

"Siya, bata na. Koi crush tha college mein? Ya school time ka koi secret lover?" Jaanvi had asked, linking arms with her.

(Siya, tell me na. Did you have any crush in college? Or some secret lover from school time?)

Siya had smiled softly and shaken her head. “Koi nahi, Jaanvi. Main theek hoon aise hi.”

(No one, Jaanvi. I am fine like this.)

"Arre waah! Itni sundar ladki aur koi nahi? Koi baat hai jo tu chhupa rahi hai," Jaanvi teased, laughing.

(Wow! Such a beautiful girl and no one? There’s something you’re hiding.)

Siya had only laughed it off, but inside, her heart had whispered Siddharth’s name. The notebook was her only true confidant. She kept it hidden beneath a pile of old textbooks in her cupboard, wrapped in a soft cloth. Every night before sleeping, she would add one new thing, no matter how small.

One evening, while helping her mother in the kitchen, the conversation turned toward the past.

"Yaad hai Maa, jab Arjun ke dost yahan aate the? Kitna shor hota tha ghar mein," Siya said casually, kneading dough.

(Remember Mom, when Arjun’s friends used to come here? There used to be so much noise in the house.)

Her mother chuckled. “Haan, woh Siddharth beta bahut accha tha. Kitna helpful. Ab Delhi mein kya kar raha hoga?”

Siya’s hands stilled for a second. “Haan... accha ladka tha woh.”

(Yes... he was a good boy.)

Later that night, she added to the notebook: Even after so many years, hearing his name from Maa’s mouth makes my heart race.

Her love was not loud or demanding. It was quiet, like the steady flame of the diya she lit on his birthday. It did not ask for anything in return. She had long accepted that he might have forgotten the little girl who followed him everywhere. Yet she remembered everything.

As weeks passed, the notebook became thicker. She added sections on his habits: He drinks tea with two sugars but only in the evening. He is scared of dogs but pretends not to be. He loves watching sunsets—once told Arjun that it makes him feel peaceful.

She wrote about imagined futures too, though she knew they were only dreams. If we ever meet again, I would cook your favorite aloo parathe. I would listen to you talk about your engineering projects for hours.

One quiet afternoon, when Arjun visited home from his job in another city, he mentioned Siddharth casually over lunch.

"Yaar, Siddharth se baat hui thi last week. Woh ab job kar raha hai. Accha package hai. Shayad shaadi ke liye bhi soch raha hoga."

(Yaar, I spoke to Siddharth last week. He is working now. Good package. Maybe thinking about marriage too.)

Siya’s spoon paused midair. Her heart clenched, but she kept her face calm. “Achha? Bahut acchi baat hai.”

(Really? That’s very good.)

Inside, the words stung. Yet that night, she opened her notebook and wrote with trembling hands: I pray every day for your happiness, even if it is with someone else. That is what true love is—wanting the best for you, silently.

Her mother sometimes worried about her quiet nature.

"Beta Siya, tu itni chup kyun rehti hai? Koi baat hai toh bata," she said one morning while serving breakfast.

(Child Siya, why do you stay so quiet? If there’s something, tell me.)

“Nahi Maa, sab theek hai. Bas padhai ke baare mein soch rahi thi,” Siya replied, forcing a smile.

(No Mom, everything is fine. Just thinking about studies.)

The notebook remained her sole witness. In its pages, her love found expression. She drew small sketches— a cricket bat, a windmill, a pair of neatly tied shoelaces. She pressed a dried jasmine flower between pages because he once said he liked its scent.

Months turned, and the notebook became a chronicle of her unwavering heart. On nights when loneliness pressed heavily, she would read through the entries, each word reinforcing her silent promise.

"Main aapko kabhi bhoolungi nahi, Siddharth. Chahe zindagi mujhe kahin bhi le jaaye," she would whisper, closing the notebook gently.

(I will never forget you, Siddharth. No matter where life takes me.)

No one knew. Not Jaanvi, who kept trying to set her up with cousins. Not her family, who were beginning to discuss possible rishtas. This love was hers alone—pure, patient, and profound.

In the bluecovered notebook titled “Things About Siddharth,” a young woman preserved the man who had unknowingly become the center of her universe. Every entry was an act of love, every page a prayer, every night a reaffirmation that some loves are not meant to be shouted but lived quietly in the depths of the heart.

And so, Siya continued. Writing, remembering, loving—from a distance that time and miles could never diminish.