you chose to leave

You Chose to Leave Heartbreak, Choices, and the Echoes of Love Mozaron Zawawi Teaser

Chapter 1 — You Chose to Leave POV: Hana (Woman who left him) he rain tapped lightly against the glass walls of the grand hall, like tiny fingers drumming out a rhythm she couldn’t quite follow. Hana stood near the edge of the balcony, hidden behind a cluster of ferns, her fingers wrapped tightly around the champagne flute she wasn’t really drinking from. The golden lights inside reflected on the wet floor, creating a mirror of the happy crowd she could no longer be part of. Her heart beat against her chest, irregular, heavy. She had chosen this — she had left him. And yet, seeing him across the room, so alive, so painfully calm, it felt as if the decision had carved a hollow in her chest that no apology could ever fill. Arman. He looked the same. The same strong shoulders, the same quiet confidence, the same eyes that had once held every word unspoken between them. Only now… the warmth was gone. Or perhaps it had always been hers to take, and she had let it slip.

Hana forced herself to smile as a guest passed by. She had rehearsed

it a thousand times, this polite, composed mask. But inside, her thoughts stormed like the wind outside. “I did the right thing. I’m protecting our futures.” But even as she repeated it, the words sounded hollow. Every laugh, every toast, every clink of glasses reminded her of what she had given up. Her mind drifted backward, unbidden: ● The first night they met under a rainstorm that had soaked her coat and made her hair cling to her cheeks. He had offered her his jacket without hesitation, and she had felt something she couldn’t name. ● The evenings spent walking home, hands almost touching, hearts almost speaking. ● The promises whispered in the quiet of her apartment, promises she had never thought to break. And now… she had. Arman glanced her way. She felt the weight of that look pierce her skin. Not anger. Not resentment. Just… disappointment, quiet and unmoving. The kind that sinks into your bones and never leaves. She took a breath, forcing the glass to her lips, pretending to sip. The bitter liquid burned her throat, and she let herself hope it would dull the ache in her chest. But it didn’t. Not a bit. She looked down at the polished floor. Outside, the rain fell harder, drumming against the balcony like a soundtrack to her regret. A sound that would follow her for years, she knew. Hana straightened her shoulders. She had made her choice. And choices, once made, could not be unmade.

But as she turned to face the crowd again, a flicker of doubt crossed

her chest — small, fragile, and utterly human. “What if I was wrong?” The thought was gone before she could dwell, swallowed by the laughter and music inside. She would not show weakness. She had to survive this night with her dignity intact. Yet, in the quietest corners of her mind, Arman’s shadow lingered — a silent echo of a love she had left behind. The rain kept falling. And so did her heart

Chapter 2 — Flashback: Sweet

Beginnings POV: Hana The first time she saw him, it was raining — of course it was raining. The city streets shimmered with reflections of neon signs, puddles catching the light like tiny mirrors. Hana had been late for her evening lecture, her coat soaked, her hair plastered to her cheeks, and a scowl threatening to take over her face entirely. Then he appeared. Calm, composed, holding a large umbrella as if it were an extension of himself. “Here,” he said softly, offering her a smile that was both apologetic and confident, “you’ll get wet otherwise.” She hesitated for a heartbeat. His eyes — warm, observant, almost daring — held hers. There was something quietly commanding about him, yet gentle in the way he spoke. Without thinking, she stepped under the umbrella. They walked in silence at first. Not awkward silence — comfortable silence. Each step was accompanied by the soft patter of rain, each glance at the puddles and streetlights carrying more meaning than words ever could. “Do you always help strangers in the rain?” she asked eventually, trying to tease, trying to mask the unusual flutter in her chest. He chuckled, low and unassuming. “Not usually,” he said. “But you seemed like someone who needed it tonight.” That night, they shared more than an umbrella. They shared a conversation that flowed naturally, laughter that surprised them both, and a moment of connection so rare Hana could feel it sink

deep inside her. She didn’t know then that this fleeting encounter

would etch itself into her memory forever, shaping every choice, every hesitation, every heartbreak to come. As the weeks passed, small gestures became the pillars of their bond: ● The way he remembered her favorite coffee at the tiny café on 3rd Street. ● The quiet patience as she rambled about her plans, her fears, her dreams. ● The subtle glances that spoke of unspoken promises, of words they hadn’t yet dared say aloud. Hana felt alive in ways she hadn’t before. And for a while, she let herself believe that this — him — was exactly what she had been missing. Yet even in the sweetness of those first months, tiny cracks began to form. Dreams that didn’t align, ambitions pulling them in separate directions, a quiet tension in moments that should have been perfect. She pushed the thoughts aside, choosing to savor the warmth while it lasted. Because at that moment, under that umbrella in the rain, everything felt possible. Everything felt inevitable. And Hana, with her cautious heart, allowed herself to hope