The Note at Dusk

Mar’s world had always been quiet, a tightly sealed bottle where emotions churned but never spilled. 

At eighteen, he navigated high school with a steady gaze, his thoughts locked behind dark eyes that rarely betrayed him. 

Soma had been the exception, his childhood friend who saw through his silence. 

She was a burst of color emotional, unguarded, her laugh like wind chimes in their small coastal town. 

They’d grown up sharing secrets in the salt-sprayed cliffs, sketching waves in the sand, their fingers brushing but never holding. 

By sixteen, Mar’s heart beat her name, but he buried it, afraid his words would break their fragile balance. 

Soma, too, loved him, her glances lingering, but she waited for him to speak first. 

Neither did, and their silence grew heavy.Soma’s family announced their move last spring, a job pulling them to a distant city. 

She’d told Mar on the cliffs, her voice cracking: “I’ll miss this place.” He’d nodded, his throat tight, wanting to say, I’ll miss you, but only managing, “You’ll be fine.” 

Her eyes searched his, waiting, but he looked away. She’d grown distant after that, her laughter rarer, as if tired of his bottled heart. 

Mar thought she’d given up on him, not knowing she felt she was holding him back, her dreams of art school pulling her forward while her love tethered her to him.

Eira, Mar’s close friend, filled the gap Soma left. She was sharp, her wit a shield, but her eyes softened for Mar. 

She’d loved him quietly, knowing his heart still belonged to Soma. They weren’t dating, but their late-night talks and shared coffees blurred the line, Eira hoping he’d see her someday. 

When Soma’s departure loomed, Eira’s fear grew she couldn’t lose him to a girl who was leaving.

On the last day of school, Mar found his desk empty, no trace of Soma’s usual doodles tiny waves she’d sketch for him. 

She hadn’t said goodbye, and the absence stung more than he expected. Eira met him at lunch, her smile tight. 

“Soma left early,” she said, her voice casual. “Didn’t even say anything. Guess she didn’t care enough.” 

Mar frowned, his chest twisting, but he nodded, swallowing the hurt. Eira’s lie was smooth she’d seen Soma slip a note into Mar’s desk, her handwriting bold on folded paper. 

Jealousy had flared, and Eira pocketed it, telling herself Soma’s departure was fate.Weeks passed, summer’s heat settling over the town. 

Mar sketched alone on the cliffs, his pencil tracing Soma’s waves, her absence a quiet ache. 

Eira stayed close, her laughter filling his silences, but it wasn’t the same. One evening, at Eira’s house, her bag tipped over, spilling books and a crumpled note. 

Mar’s breath caught Soma’s handwriting, his name scrawled in blue ink. Eira froze, her excuse dying as he grabbed it. 

He unfolded it, heart pounding:Mar, I waited for you to say it, but I can’t wait anymore. I’m leaving at 7:30 tonight, train station. 

If what you felt was true… come and get me.  Soma His watch read 7:15. Panic surged, a wave crashing over his bottled heart. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded, voice raw. Eira’s eyes welled up. “I… I didn’t want to lose you.” 

Mar didn’t hear her apology, already sprinting out the door, guilt and hope warring in his chest. 

The note burned in his hand, Soma’s words a voiceover in his mind: If what you felt was true… come and get me.

The town blurred as he ran, sneakers pounding asphalt, the dusk sky bruising purple. 

Flashbacks flickered Soma at ten, braiding grass on the cliffs, laughing as he fumbled a sketch. 

At sixteen, under starlight, he’d almost confessed, his hand brushing hers, but fear had choked him. 

I love you, he’d thought, but said nothing. Now, her absence was his fault, his silence a wall she couldn’t climb.

The train station loomed, its clock ticking to 7:28. Mar’s lungs burned, sweat stinging his eyes. 

A crowd milled on the platform, but Soma’s red scarf a gift he’d given her wasn’t there. He pushed through, calling her name, voice hoarse. 

A train’s whistle pierced the air, its doors sliding open. Mar’s heart sank she was already aboard.

On the train, Soma sat by the window, her fingers clutching a small gift: a sketchbook of waves she’d drawn for Mar, each page a piece of her heart. 

She’d meant to give it to him, but his silence, his absence, told her he didn’t care. 

A tear fell on the cover, smudging her ink. She whispered, “Goodbye, Mar,” her breath fogging the glass, unaware of him outside.

Mar reached the platform as the train’s doors hissed shut. He saw her.her red scarf vivid against the window, her face turned away, eyes closed. 

“Soma!” he shouted, banging the glass, but the train lurched forward. She didn’t turn, didn’t see him, lost in her grief. 

He ran alongside, his voice breaking, but the train pulled away, its lights fading into the dusk. 

An old man by the platform, watching, called out, “Don’t stop, kid. She might still be there.” But she wasn’t.

Mar collapsed on the platform, the note crumpled in his fist, his sketchbook heavy in his bag. 

Soma’s voice echoed in his mind, her waves crashing in his heart. He’d lost her, his bottled love too late to spill. 

The dusk deepened, and he sat alone, the train’s rumble gone, wondering if he’d ever find her again, if he’d ever forgive himself.