On Puri Beach, where the late summer sun was still intense, cool breezes blew, blending with a gentle breath like the ocean’s sigh. This afternoon, a silver car silently pulled up to the edge of the deserted beach. On the rear window, a handwritten message in bold red marker stood out: “We’re getting married this autumn.” Stepping out of the car was Rohan, a 27-year-old man, tall and slender, with deep, private eyes that seemed to hide an untold story, and Priya, a 24-year-old girl, petite, with long hair tied neatly, her eyes as clear as the hidden surface of the sea. They were a couple who had been in love for nearly four years, a peaceful yet profound love, bound by simple dreams of a shared future.Recent car dealership advertisement (ignore)

Rohan was a construction engineer, and Priya was a football ground architect. Both were born and raised in Odisha, where the waves of Puri Beach had witnessed their childhood and their love. They had planned to marry after Diwali, when the gentle autumn would be the perfect time for her to don her wedding saree. This afternoon, after their classes, Priya texted: “Are you free?” Rohan immediately replied: “Yes, I’ll pick you up, let’s go to the beach.” Without hesitation, they drove to the beach, bringing a small mat, some fruits, and a Bluetooth speaker playing their favorite songs.

Their gentle laughter blended into the air, their eyes exchanged glances full of promises for a happy future. Sitting on the mat, Priya unexpectedly asked: “Do you think if we died now, we wouldn’t have any regrets?” Rohan paused, then smiled: “Only if I died with you, then I’d have no regrets.” They sat together, watching the sun slowly sink into the sea, the salty scent embracing them, the waves gently swaying as if wanting to hold that moment.

When the brilliant sunset reddened the sea, Rohan and Priya held hands and walked into the water. They walked further and further from the shore, the water reaching their knees, then their waists. Priya‘s breath hitched, her voice anxious: “Don’t go too far, love.” Rohan reassured her: “It’s alright, I’m holding your hand.” But the sea that day held a sudden surprise. Beneath the gentle waves were unexpected, deep sandy hollows. There had been warnings a few days prior about strong currents near the coastline, but neither of them knew. The wind suddenly intensified, and waves crashed against their backs. In just an instant, the sand beneath their feet gave way.

Priya screamed: “Honey!” Her hand slipped from Rohan‘s in the chaos. Rohan tried to grab her, but a sudden undertow pulled both of them further from shore. The seawater choked him, Rohan thrashed, calling Priya‘s name amidst the roaring waves: “Priya, where are you?” His voice was hoarse, the salty water stinging his throat. In the distance, Priya‘s slender figure struggled, sometimes visible, sometimes submerged. Rohan rushed towards her, grabbed her hand, and shouted: “Don’t sleep, look at me, Priya!” He pulled her into his embrace, trying to shield her from the water, but human strength could not withstand the vast ocean. In the last fleeting moment, Priya‘s eyes were still open, reflecting the water and the sunset, her lips moving as if wanting to say something. Rohan held her tightly, but both gradually sank into the deep, as gently as leaves falling from a branch, dissolving into the cold embrace of the sea.

Evening descended, the fiery red sunlight shimmered on the sea surface like a velvet carpet. But in the fishing village along Puri Beach, a sense of unease spread. Old Man Sharma, who sold coconut water near the shore, was the first to notice the silver car. He remembered seeing a young couple, hand in hand, laughing happily that afternoon. But by 6 PM, when he packed up his stall, the car was still there, motionless. “Hmm, whose car is this that’s been left here so long?” he wondered to himself. By 7 PM, the sanitation workers also began to question it. A young man asked: “Whose car is this, Uncle? No one has been near it for an hour, why?” Old Man Sharma frowned, recounting: “This afternoon, a young couple was sitting nearby, then they went into the sea, and haven’t been seen since.” The wind grew stronger, the sky darkened, and the smell of the sea became somber and chilling. A woman ran over, panting: “Oh my God, have they not come back? I saw them go very far out there.”

News spread like wildfire. Villagers called the police, and a group of young men went to the beach, sweeping their lights across the dark water. But there was only the sound of roaring waves and the cold wind. The silver car remained locked, and on the passenger seat was a small bouquet of flowers and a heart-shaped card with the words: “Rohan, my love, only 3 months left, and I will be the most beautiful bride in the world.” The police, Rohan‘s and Priya‘s families were notified. Rohan‘s father, Mr. Singh, knelt beside the car, his hands trembling. Priya‘s mother, Mrs. Devi, collapsed when she heard her daughter was missing. That night, no one on Puri Beach slept. Flashlights swept across the water, motorboats churned the waves, fishermen cast their nets, but hope grew increasingly faint. The calls of “Rohan, Priya” echoed, blending with the sound of the waves like desperate pleas.

At 2 AM, a young man shouted: “Something’s caught in the net!” Everyone rushed over. On the water’s surface, Priya‘s body emerged, her long hair soaked, her floral dress faded by the seawater. She still clutched a gift string from Christmas last year. Mrs. Devi sobbed uncontrollably, falling to the sand: “Oh God, my child!” No one could hold back their tears. Everyone understood that even if Priya was gone, Rohan was unlikely to have survived. Close to 4 AM, Rohan‘s body was found near the northern rocky area, his hand clutching a piece of fabric from Priya‘s dress, as if, until the very last second, he had tried to hold her.Recent car dealership advertisement (ignore)Women’s office fashion (ignore)

The next morning, the sky was windy, dense black clouds gathering as if foretelling a storm. Two white coffins were placed side by side, the scent of incense mingling with the somber chanting, creating a chilling atmosphere of mourning. In their memorial photos, Rohan wore a white shirt, a gentle smile, and kind eyes. Priya wore a light pink saree, her hair softly loose, her eyes bright as the day she first met Rohan on the university campus. They lay peacefully beside each other, as if merely in a deep sleep after a tiring afternoon. A stream of people gathered like water: old classmates, Rohan‘s colleagues, Priya‘s teachers, and even strangers who only knew them through their heartbreaking story.

Priya‘s mother, supported by others, cried until she had no strength left: “My child, why did you leave your mother first? You said you’d wear your wedding saree this autumn, why is it this white shroud instead?” Rohan‘s father, Mr. Singh, sat motionless, his eyes empty, staring at his son’s memorial photo. Rohan was an only child, the hope of their entire lineage, but now he was left only with agonizing pain in his heart. The funeral drums resounded slowly. The two coffins were placed onto the hearse, and villagers quietly accompanied them. At the village burial ground, two fresh graves were dug side by side. As the coffins were lowered, a strong gust of wind swept through, scattering Priya‘s rose petals. A small boy, tears in his eyes, quietly read: “You once said, if there’s an afterlife, you’d still want to meet me again, to love me one more time. But if there’s only this life, just to die with you, you’d find that enough.”

The story remained a painful, unresolved mystery. The silver car left on Puri Beach, the withered bouquet on the passenger seat, and the card with the autumn dream became silent witnesses to a beautiful but short-lived love. Rohan and Priya, two young souls, were gone forever, leaving behind tears and indelible memories on their homeland. The sea continued to roar, as if singing a requiem, reminding us that love can transcend all limits, but sometimes, fate decides more than even vows.