Chapter 2: The Burdens We Carry

Arjun sat in his small room, staring at the glow of his phone screen. Zoya's message, simple yet loaded with meaning, hovered in front of him like an unsolved riddle. "Where are you from?" It was a question that most people could answer with ease, but for him, and for them, it was complicated. The truth felt heavy on his heart, and he knew the weight of his answer could change everything. They had been dancing around the subject for weeks, their conversations carefully avoiding the politics of their nations, the past that weighed on them both like a shadow. But now, the question was out there, hanging between them.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he thought about how to reply. He had grown attached to Zoya—this mysterious woman who shared his love for poetry, who understood his struggles in ways that no one in his real life ever could. She had become his confidant, his muse, his friend. But the truth of his nationality could undo all of that in an instant. Arjun knew the weight that history carried between their two countries. He had grown up hearing stories about the partition, about the violence and the hatred that had torn India and Pakistan apart. It was an unhealed wound, one that still bled through the lives of people on both sides of the border.

After what felt like an eternity, he typed out a response and hit send.

"I’m from Punjab", he wrote, deliberately vague.

He held his breath, waiting for her reply. He knew she would understand what he meant—Punjab was a region divided by the border, and his answer could easily be interpreted as either side of it. But he also knew that Zoya wasn’t the type of person to leave things ambiguous for long.

Zoya stared at Arjun’s response, her mind racing. Punjab. The word alone evoked so many emotions in her—both familiarity and fear. She knew that Punjab straddled the border between India and Pakistan, its rich culture and history shared by both nations. But which side was he on? Was he like her, living in Lahore, surrounded by the same streets, smells, and sounds that she called home? Or was he on the other side, in a place she had only heard about through the lens of conflict and division?

Taking a deep breath, she typed her next message. “Are you in India or Pakistan?”

The question hung in the air like a blade poised to fall. Arjun’s heart raced as he read the words. There was no more avoiding it. He had to be honest. He had to tell her the truth, even if it meant risking everything they had built.

“I’m in India,” he replied, his fingers trembling slightly as he hit send.

The silence that followed felt deafening. Arjun could almost hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he waited for her response. He imagined Zoya sitting in her room in Lahore, just across the border, processing the revelation. Would she be angry? Would she distance herself from him? The uncertainty gnawed at him, but there was nothing he could do now except wait.

Zoya sat back in her chair, staring at Arjun’s message. India. So, they were from opposite sides of the border after all. A part of her had suspected it from the beginning—something about the way he spoke, the subtle differences in their references and idioms. But seeing it confirmed in black and white brought a rush of emotions. For a moment, the distance between them seemed insurmountable. They weren’t just separated by miles of land; they were divided by history, politics, and decades of animosity. How could they ever hope to bridge that gap?

Yet, despite the gravity of the revelation, Zoya didn’t feel the anger or fear that she had expected. Instead, she felt a deep sense of sadness—sadness for the division that had kept people like them apart for so long, and sadness for the way history had shaped their present.

She thought about her own family, about the stories her grandparents had told her about the partition. Her grandmother had lived through it, had seen the bloodshed and the chaos with her own eyes. The partition had torn families apart, turned neighbors into enemies, and left scars that still hadn’t fully healed. Zoya had grown up with these stories, had been taught to see the border as a line that divided more than just land—it divided people, cultures, and even hearts.

But as she sat there, thinking about Arjun, she realized that she didn’t see him as an enemy. How could she? He was just a boy who loved poetry, who longed for freedom and happiness just as she did. The border between them suddenly felt so arbitrary, so artificial. It was just a line on a map, a remnant of decisions made by politicians long before they were born. And yet, it had the power to dictate so much of their lives.

Zoya didn’t want to let that line define her relationship with Arjun. She had found something in him that transcended borders—a connection that felt deeper than the divisions of their countries. And so, instead of pulling away, she chose to lean in.

“I’m in Lahore,” she replied softly, the words filled with both vulnerability and determination.

Arjun let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Lahore. The city that, in another time, might have been just a train ride away. But now, it felt like a distant dream, a place he could never reach. And yet, knowing that Zoya was on the other side of that border didn’t make him want to pull away. If anything, it made him want to fight harder to maintain their connection.

“I guess we’re further apart than I thought,” Arjun typed, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Zoya smiled too, though her heart ached. “Yes,” she replied, “but maybe not as far apart as the world would like us to think.”

The weeks that followed were a delicate dance. Arjun and Zoya continued to exchange messages, but the weight of their nationalities hung over their conversations like a cloud. It was impossible to ignore. Every time they spoke about their lives, they were reminded of the differences between them—differences that had nothing to do with who they were as people, but everything to do with the countries they came from.

Arjun found himself thinking more and more about Zoya. She had become an integral part of his life, someone he looked forward to talking to every day. Their conversations had moved beyond poetry, and now they spoke about everything—life, family, dreams, and the future. But even as their connection deepened, Arjun knew that there were limits to what they could have. The border between India and Pakistan was more than just a physical barrier; it was a wall built on decades of mistrust and hostility. How could they ever hope to overcome that?

Zoya, too, was grappling with the reality of their situation. She had grown attached to Arjun in ways she hadn’t expected. He understood her in ways that no one else did, and their conversations had become a source of comfort and joy in her otherwise constrained life. But the more she thought about him, the more she wondered what their future could possibly look like. How could they ever meet? How could they ever be together when their countries were locked in an unending cycle of conflict?

One evening, as they were messaging each other, Zoya decided to address the elephant in the room.

“Arjun,” she wrote, her heart heavy with the weight of her thoughts, “do you ever think about what this all means for us? I mean… we live in different countries. Our families would never understand.”

Arjun read her message and sighed. He had been thinking about the same thing, but he had been avoiding bringing it up. It was easier to live in the moment, to enjoy their connection without worrying about the future. But Zoya’s words forced him to confront the reality of their situation.

“I think about it all the time,” he replied honestly. “But I don’t know what the answer is. I don’t want to lose what we have, but I also know that there are things we can’t control.”

Zoya felt a lump form in her throat as she read his message. She had been afraid of this—afraid that they were building something that had no future. But she couldn’t help the way she felt about Arjun. She had never met him in person, and yet she felt closer to him than she did to anyone else in her life.

“What if… what if we could meet one day?” she typed hesitantly. “Would you want to?”

Arjun’s heart skipped a beat. He had thought about meeting Zoya countless times, had imagined what it would be like to see her face, to hear her voice, to walk beside her through the streets of some faraway place where borders didn’t matter. But the reality of that dream felt so far away.

“Of course I would want to meet you,” he replied. “But how? It feels impossible.”

Zoya stared at his message, her heart aching. She knew he was right. The border between their countries was heavily guarded, and the political tensions made it nearly impossible for people like them to cross. But even though it felt impossible, Zoya couldn’t let go of the hope that somehow, someday, they might find a way to be together.

“I don’t know how,” she wrote, “but I can’t stop thinking about it. Maybe one day things will be different.”

Arjun smiled sadly at her message. He admired Zoya’s hope, her belief that the world could change. And maybe it could. But for

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