Some stories do not end. They echo.

There is a kind of love that doesn't ask for your consent — it simply arrives. Uninvited. Unapologetic. It walks in while you're brushing your teeth, pays no rent, and refuses to leave even when the house is on fire.

This book is not about perfect people. It is about people who feel too much, say too little, and live in that tragic space between what is and what could have been. You will meet them on railway platforms, in half-lit bedrooms, at courtrooms where silence speaks louder than testimony.

They are not heroes. They are us.

In the folds of these stories lie truths that do not scream. They hum in the background like old radio songs — and if you listen closely, you may just remember a version of yourself you've been trying to forget.

These are not stories about love. These are stories after love — and the beautiful, terrible ways we survive it.