Love Story from Shanti.We sat on the cold floor beside a flickering candle, trading truths like confessions. He traced my collarbone with slow fingers, and my breath betrayed me. I kissed him, hungry for more than touch — hungry for understanding. We fell asleep tangled in sheets and promises. By morning, only the sheets remained. Not all departures are violent. Some are quiet, polite, and final. Those are the ones that scar.