Chapter 6 : Endless graves
It had been many years now—so many that the memories had begun to blur at the edges like a fading photograph left too long in the sun.
Jane could no longer remember the exact way his voice sounded or the precise way his fingers curled when he laughed.
Henry, the once cherished, beloved boyfriend had become a shadow in her memory, a name she no longer whispered in the silence of her thoughts.
And yet, there had been a time when the mere idea of separation from him had felt like death. Back then, she had clung to him with a desperation that defied reason.
Their love had been a wildfire, consuming everything in its path—untamed, all encompassing.
But life, as always, had its cruel way of making lovers part. Jane had moved on, at least in appearance. She had graduated from the same university Henry once walked through, though her steps had grown heavier with every passing day he wasn't there.
The first three years without him had nearly broken her. Those were the darkest years of her life. Her soul was drowned in silence, her days hollowed by longing, her nights shattered by tears. Her eyes once bright with dreams but had swollen from relentless crying.
It was as if her sorrow had bloomed inside her and refused to die. She grieved not just for the man she lost, but for the life that was stolen from her—a life that had promised eternity and gave her an open-ended wait.
And in that lonely room of hers, surrounded by reminders of the past, she often spoke to herself, not out of madness, but from the aching weight of solitude.
"My mind might have found peace by now if he had died that day in the fight,"
"I could have mourned him once and for all, and moved on,"
"Being sentenced to life imprisonment... with no end in sight."
Her words echoed off the walls like a ghost lamenting its own demise. And in many ways, she felt like one—haunted, wandering through the corridors of her own existence.
But time, persistent and indifferent, did not stop. Slowly, like the tide retreating from the shore, her pain began to dull.
The unbearable weight she had carried in her chest for five long years began to lift, leaving only a faint ache behind.
Jane began to live again, not out of joy, but out of necessity. Each morning she woke up, looked at herself in the mirror, and forced a smile.
She wore makeup, not to look beautiful for someone else, but to remind herself that she was still here.
She styled her hair with intention, choosing elegance as a quiet act of defiance against the sorrow that had once swallowed her whole.
She had been lucky—unbelievably so. Not long after graduation, she landed a job that captivated her completely. The work was not just a distraction; it became her passion. She immersed herself in it, finding purpose where love had once lived.
The job didn't just occupy her thoughts but also redefined her. It gave her a sense of belonging, a structure that steadied her in the aftermath of emotional collapse.
In time, her heart, once shattered and fragile, grew strong again. It beat steadily, freely, as it had before Henry. The memories of him—the laughter, the touch, the long walks under moonlight—visited her only rarely now. Perhaps once a year. Usually around his birthday.
Even her friends, once eager to bring up his name in soft whispers and sympathetic tones, had stopped doing so. They knew better now.
They understood that to speak of Henry was to risk pulling her back into a sorrow she had fought too long to escape. It was like peeling the scab off a wound that had only just begun to heal.
And so, the past fifteen years came and went, slowly at first, then swiftly—as if time had found wings. They slipped by like autumn leaves falling from an old tree, each moment colored by change, memory, and the bittersweet flavor of survival.
But then, came the news. Henry had been granted amnesty she could never imagined
To Jane, it felt like someone had read her heart aloud in a language she'd long tried to forget. The moment she heard his name again, it felt like a blow to the chest.
Not because the love returned, but because the past returned—with all its unspoken questions and unfinished stories.
It was like being handed a beautifully frosted cake only to taste the bitter leaves hidden beneath the icing.
Henry. His name still had weight, even after all these years.
While Jane had rebuilt herself from the rubble of heartbreak, Henry had been searching. From the moment his prison doors opened, his heart had only one destination: Jane.
He wanted to find her. He needed to. But the world had changed. People too had moved on.
Her name had become a whisper, her location a mystery. He searched without rest—first for her, then for anyone who had known her. But no clue came.
To Henry, the years in prison had been hard, but not as hard as living without her. There had been a time, long ago, when she visited him.
When her presence outside the prison walls was the only sunshine that slipped into his world. She had brought him food, yes—but more than that, she brought hope. Warmth. A reason to count the days.
But those visits had stopped. Understandably. Jane had a life to live. And Henry, he had lost his right to demand anything from her the day he stepped into the darkness.
And now, he stood in the light again but without her. The streets were free, the sky was open, and yet he felt more confined than ever. What was freedom without love? What was redemption without reunion?
He wandered cities and towns with her name on his lips, asking questions that fell into the void. Her silence haunted him more than the clang of prison gates ever could.
For Jane, if she had been released in the earlier years of imprisonment, the news of his release would have come like a sudden storm. She would not know how to feel. would she be happy that he was free?
Would she fear that he might come searching for her? The woman she had become was not the girl he had left behind.
That girl was naïve, open, endlessly hopeful. This woman was guarded, self-assured, wiser—one who had learned to live with absence and not let it consume her.
But beneath her calm exterior, questions stirred.
Would he find her?
Did he still love her?
And more frighteningly—if he did, would her heart betray her carefully built defenses and remember what it meant to love him?
She didn't know. She only knew that Henry might live again or survive even the endless open grave right before them.