O Heart, It Is Difficult - Fan Fiction

Chapter One: Encounters at the Edge

Ayan Sanger adjusted the sunglasses resting on his nose as he navigated through the bustling terminal of Heathrow Airport. His thoughts were a whirlwind, far more chaotic than the typical airport cacophony surrounding him. Every step felt heavy, burdened with the memory of the wedding he had just fled from. Lucknow's vibrant chaos seemed a world away, but the pain it had inflicted on his heart still throbbed with every heartbeat.

Alizeh's laughter, her bright smile, and the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him as a friend—just a friend—played on an endless loop in his mind. Her wedding had been a vivid, harsh reminder that his love was unrequited, a one-sided story that would never see its happy ending. Ayan had clutched his drink tighter each time he saw Alizeh look at Ali with a softness that was never reserved for him. Even in that crowded room, surrounded by people, Ayan had never felt more alone.

The departure board flickered overhead, signaling the countless destinations waiting for their passengers. To Ayan, it was all a blur. He was flying to Dubai, or at least that had been the plan, but now he wondered if it mattered where he went. Anywhere would be better than the dull ache currently residing in his chest. As he reached the check-in counter, he paused, staring blankly at the attendant who looked back with polite indifference.

“Sir? Your passport and ticket, please?” The attendant’s voice cut through the haze, bringing Ayan back to the present.

He fumbled with his backpack, pulling out his documents. As he handed them over, he couldn't help but glance around, his gaze sweeping across the crowded terminal. That’s when he saw her.

She was standing by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, her profile silhouetted against the planes taxiing in the distance. The world outside was bathed in the fading golden light of dusk, and for a moment, Ayan forgot to breathe. There was something arresting about her—a certain elegance in the way she stood, as if she was above the mundane, a timeless figure that had been placed mistakenly in the modern-day chaos of the airport.

Her hair, dark and thick, was pulled into a sleek bun, revealing a graceful neck adorned with a simple, yet striking gold chain. She wore a loose, flowing white dress that brushed her ankles, cinched at the waist to accentuate her figure. But it was her eyes, even from this distance, that held Ayan’s attention. They were deep, contemplative, and as she turned her head slightly, they locked onto his.

There was a spark of recognition. Ayan felt it as surely as if she had reached out and touched him. He wasn’t sure if it was real or imagined, but it made his heart skip a beat. He looked away, suddenly self-conscious, pretending to be engrossed in the small print on his ticket. His pulse raced, and he could feel a strange pull towards her, a magnetic **** that was both intriguing and terrifying. He knew he needed a distraction, something to take his mind off the woman who had unknowingly ensnared his attention.

The attendant returned his passport and ticket with a smile, and Ayan, shaking off his thoughts, made his way to a nearby café. He ordered a coffee, black and strong, and found a secluded table in the corner, away from the crowds. Sipping his drink, he pulled out his phone, scrolling aimlessly through messages and emails, trying to appear occupied.

Yet, he couldn’t help but glance up, hoping to catch another glimpse of the mysterious woman. She was still there, now seated on a bench, a book open on her lap. Her posture was relaxed, and as she read, a small, enigmatic smile played on her lips. Ayan’s curiosity piqued, and before he could stop himself, he found his feet moving, carrying him towards her. The book in her hands, he noticed, was poetry—an old, well-worn collection that seemed to have been read many times.

“May I sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the empty seat beside her. His voice came out steadier than he felt.

She looked up, her eyes meeting his with a calm, measured gaze. For a moment, she studied him, and then, with a slight nod, she gestured to the seat.

“Please,” she said, her voice smooth and rich, like aged wine. “I don’t mind.”

Ayan sat down, his coffee cradled in his hands, unsure of what to say next. Silence stretched between them, comfortable yet charged with unspoken thoughts. It was she who broke it first.

“You seem lost,” she remarked, her tone gentle, yet with an underlying edge that suggested she saw more than he let on.

Ayan laughed softly, a sound devoid of humor. “Is it that obvious?”

“Pain often is,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. “Especially when one tries too hard to hide it.”

Ayan was taken aback by her candor, but there was no judgement in her gaze, only understanding. It was as if she could see through him, past the carefully constructed facade he wore to shield his wounded heart.

“I just came from a wedding,” he confessed, surprising himself with the admission. “Of someone I love. Someone who doesn’t love me back.”

She nodded, a flicker of something—empathy, perhaps—crossing her face. “Unrequited love. It’s a common tale, yet always unique to the one who feels it. I’ve been there.”

Her honesty was disarming, and Ayan found himself relaxing. “Does it ever get easier?”

“In time,” she said thoughtfully. “But the scars remain. They become a part of you, shaping who you are.”

They fell silent again, and Ayan watched as a plane roared down the runway, lifting into the sky, its lights blinking in the twilight. He turned back to the woman, her presence oddly soothing, like a balm to his bruised heart.

“I’m Ayan,” he said, offering his hand.

She took it, her grip firm and confident. “Saba,” she replied, a small smile touching her lips. “Saba Taliyar Khan.”

The sound of her name was like music, rolling off her tongue with a rhythm that was both foreign and familiar. Ayan found himself smiling back, the first genuine smile in what felt like a long time.

“Tell me, Ayan,” Saba said, her eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. “What do you plan to do with all that love?”

Ayan paused, taken aback by the question. He had no answer, only a heart full of emotions that he didn’t know how to express.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But maybe I’ll start by telling you about it.”

Saba’s laughter was soft, like the rustle of leaves in the wind. “I’d like that,” she said, settling back in her seat, her gaze inviting him to share, to open up. And as Ayan began to speak, the pain in his heart lessened just a little, replaced by the warmth of connection, the spark of something new.

In that moment, amidst the comings and goings of the world, Ayan felt a shift, a change in the air around him. He didn’t know what the future held, but for now, he was content to sit here, with this stranger who understood the language of his heart, and listen to the sound of her voice, a melody that promised to heal the wounds of the past.