Rahul was a civil engineer—calm, sincere, and thoughtful. Ananya was a preschool teacher—gentle, with a smile as soft as the early morning breeze.

Just a few days ago, they had celebrated their engagement ceremony with joy and blessings.
Today, they were riding around together, delivering wedding invitations by hand to family and close friends.

It was midday. The sky was clear, with soft golden sunlight.
Ananya sat beside Rahul on the motorbike, holding a neat stack of red envelopes. She excitedly talked about the wedding dress she had just altered, then turned to him with a playful smile:

“How many tiers should our wedding cake have to make it look grand?”

Rahul laughed, tapping the handlebar:

“Three tiers—just like our journey: school days, growing up, and happiness.”

Their laughter rang down the road like wind chimes in the breeze.

But then… in a split second, everything changed.
A sudden incident on the road caused the motorbike to skid violently. It veered off and crashed by the roadside.
Silence followed.

Villagers rushed out.
Scattered across the street were red wedding cards—some open, the ink still bright:
“With heartfelt joy, we invite you to the wedding of…”

Back at Ananya’s house, her family was cooking and setting up tables to welcome guests.
That was when the phone rang.

Her mother stood frozen, still holding the wedding dress her daughter had brought home just that morning.

The wedding tent that had already been set up was left untouched.
Only now, there was no music. No congratulations.
Just two framed photos placed side by side, showing two smiling faces—as if they were still dreaming of a peaceful life together.

No words could describe the pain.
Only the soft scent of white orchids, still fresh, seemed to whisper:

“They loved each other beautifully.
It’s just… happiness didn’t wait long enough for tomorrow.”

Three days later, the first monsoon drizzle fell.
A quiet rain—as if trying to cover the shared sorrow of the whole village.

On the day of the funeral, everyone wore muted colors—not for tradition, but as a quiet tribute to a love that ended too soon.

The two coffins were laid side by side, covered in white flowers.
In the portraits, they were still smiling—the same smiles that once promised a warm, beautiful wedding… and now only tore at the hearts of all who looked upon them.

Rahul’s grandfather—once strict about his grandson being in a long-distance relationship—stood in silence for a long time.
Then he turned to Ananya’s grieving parents, his voice choked with emotion:

“They were born around the same time… grew up together…
Let them lie beside each other, too.
Let it be a full circle of love.”

No one disagreed.

Ananya’s mother broke down in tears, but nodded.
She whispered:

“My daughter once said, if anything ever happened, she wanted to be near Rahul.
She said she didn’t care about a big house or riches—just a life spent together would be enough.”

And so, on a peaceful green hill just beyond the village—where wild grass sways and old trees whisper in the wind—two small graves now rest side by side.
Only a tiny path separates them—just enough for one hand to reach out and touch the other.

Villagers still say:

“They never got to marry…
But in the end, they still found their way back to each other.”

Since that day, every year without fail, fresh flowers are placed before the two graves.
Sometimes it’s white wedding roses.
Sometimes, just a few tiny purple wildflowers.

Simple. Quiet.
Just like their love—unassuming, yet unforgettable.

A gift more meaningful than any other…