The Evening of February 14th

By Dr. AK Rana

The city was bathed in hues of orange and pink as the sun sank behind the mountains, the last rays stretching desperately across the sky before fading into the cold February night. She stood by the large glass window of her office, watching the day retreat into darkness. It was the evening of February 14th.

It was Valentine’s Day.

A day when the streets would be filled with laughter, couples exchanging gifts, hands entwined, eyes full of silent promises. A day when restaurants would be overbooked, flower shops emptied, and phones flooded with affectionate messages. But inside this office, silence loomed.

She was there—alone.

Not because of urgent deadlines, not because she was too busy, but because there was no one outside the building waiting with a bouquet of roses, no one at home preparing her favorite dinner. Even if she turned off her phone, no missed calls would follow, no voice on the other end asking where she was. The only notifications she would receive were emails from employees—requests for leave, one after another, all for the same reason.

She sighed, scrolling through the applications, her chest tightening with every excuse.

“Ma’am, I have urgent work at home.”

“Boss, I need to leave early today.”

Their excuses were feeble, transparent, some even laughably obvious. And yet, their eyes had shone as they made them—glistening with love, with anticipation for the evening ahead.

A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

For a fleeting moment, an absurd thought crossed her mind—to deny them all, to cancel every single leave request. But she wasn’t that cruel.

And then, she remembered.

Five years ago, she had once stood on the other side of that desk, nervously clutching her leave letter for a single day off. Back then, love had filled her heart, warm and unquestionable.

She sighed, fingers hovering over the screen before approving them all. Maybe next year, Valentine’s Day would be a company holiday.

The wind seeped in through the slightly open window, sending a chill down her spine. She hadn’t even realized it was open, but exhaustion weighed down her limbs, making it too much of an effort to stand up and close it.

She let the cold in.

It had been five years.

Five years since the night that tore her world apart.

She thought she had moved on. But tonight, the memories clung to her, thick and suffocating, like the winter air pressing against her skin.

She had once believed that as long as he was beside her, she would never fear the world. That with his hand in hers, she could face anything, anyone. Through his golden-brown eyes, she had learned to see life again—to trust, to dream, to let go of the chaos she had carried since childhood.

And yet, he left.

Without a word.

Without looking back even once.

It was so sudden, so merciless, that she hadn’t even had the chance to fight for them.

She had stood frozen in that park, long after the world had moved on, long after lovers had disappeared into the warmth of their homes. She had stayed until midnight, numb, staring at the spot where he had last stood, until a police officer finally told her to leave.

But how could she move?

Her legs refused to take a single step, as if leaving that place meant accepting that he was truly gone. It felt as if someone had stolen her soul, ripped it away so violently that she had been left hollow.

Somehow, she had dragged herself home.

Home.

The place she had spent all day decorating for him—the place she had filled with flowers, candles, soft music. She had been so blinded by love, so foolishly happy, that she hadn’t noticed the suitcase by the door.

He had already been packing to leave.

And what a day he chose to leave.

Even in the deafening silence of that room, she could still hear his absence.

Her tears had refused to fall. It was as if her mind had gone numb, rejecting the reality before her. She had wanted to believe it was just a nightmare—that if she closed her eyes tightly enough, morning would come, and everything would be as it was before.

But the morning came.

And the pain remained.

She stopped going to work. Stopped answering calls. She sat in the same corner of her dimly lit room, staring blankly at the ceiling fan as the television droned on in the background. The curtains remained shut, blocking out every ray of sunlight, as if even the warmth of the sun was something she no longer deserved.

She hadn’t eaten for days.

She barely drank water, just enough to survive.

One day, there was a power cut. She sat in the darkness for hours, for an entire day. The emptiness felt endless, like a bottomless pit swallowing her whole.

But time, relentless and unforgiving, kept moving forward.

And one morning, something shifted.

She woke up, wiped her face, stepped outside for the first time in days. She took a deep breath, let the cold morning air sting her lungs. She went grocery shopping. She made herself a warm breakfast. And then, went back to work.

And today, five years later, she had built her own company. She had filled her life with work, pushing everything else aside.

So why, after all these years, was she feeling those emotions again?

Why did tonight feel like the past had reached out to touch her once more?

She drove home in silence, gripping the steering wheel tightly, anxious and unsteady with her never ending thoughts.

When she pulled into the parking lot, her heart was still racing. But as she stepped out, she noticed someone standing by the building entrance.

A man in his 30s, around her age.

The neighbor who had moved in five years ago on the same day—the day she could never forget in her life.

The one who had knocked on her door in the dead of night just to check if she was still breathing. The one who had left bread and water outside when she had locked herself away from the world.

She had never properly thanked him.

In all these years, they had barely exchanged words—just fleeting glances during building gatherings, polite nods in the hallway, both lost in their separate lives.

But tonight felt different.

He took a step forward, smiling nervously. “You know… it’s been five years, and I never threw a housewarming party for my dear neighbor.” He laughed, scratching the back of his head. “And what a coincidence, I made way too much food today. It’s also a good day, don’t you think?”

He kept speaking, trying to fill the air, words tumbling out as if he was grasping at every possible reason to keep her standing there.

She watched him quietly.

And then, as his nervous rambling continued, her gaze met his.

For a second, he faltered.

His words slowed, then stopped altogether.

There was no more need to hide. He held her gaze this time, steady and open, as if letting her see something he had never spoken aloud.

Silence followed.

A calmness settled between them, warm and quiet, stretching through the cold night.

After a moment, he let out a small breath and asked again, softer this time—

“So… what do you say?”

She didn’t look away.

A slow smile found its way onto her lips.

“Yes.”

And in that simple word, in that shared silence, something shifted.

Not in a rushed, sweeping way.

But in the quiet, certain way that change often does.

“Better to walk alone than drown in chains,

Let go of love that only pains.

But don’t lock your heart, don’t dim its light,

The world feels warmer with a hand to hold.”

We wish you a Happy Valentines Day! from all of us at Halleys clinic.

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