The old wooden box sat quietly on the dusty table, untouched for years, yet holding an entire lifetime inside it. Aisha’s trembling hands hovered over it as if opening it would reopen every wound she had spent years trying to heal. Outside, the rain lashed against the window, the sound blending with the quiet ache inside her chest.Her fingers finally unclasped the lid. Inside were fragments of a love she once believed would last forever—old photographs, handwritten letters, movie tickets, seashells from their favorite beach, and the dreams they once built together. Each piece told a story. Each one cut