ISHITA SHARMA

Location: Her tiny bedroom, fairy lights glowing, a half-read novel resting on her chest

I lie on my bed, fingers absentmindedly stroking Kira's ears while she snores beside me.

A soft romantic song drifts from my speaker, and a paperback titled "Love Me Like You Breathe" rests on my chest.

Another story.

Another illusion.

Another world I wish I could touch.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm too filmy.

Too dramatic.

Too emotional for this hard, practical world.

But I can't help it. I believe in love - with all my heart.

I've seen it. Prachi glowing when her boyfriend texts her "have you eaten?". The way she sneaks his hoodie on bad days.

The couples at metro stations laughing, the ones crying in PVR washrooms, the chai waiting outside classrooms.

Love is messy.

Love is magical.

But me?

I've never had a boyfriend.

Never held a hand under the table.

Never kissed in the rain.

So, I read. I drown myself in stories.

Radha & Krishna. Shiv & Parvati.

Not just lovers - but soulmates. Reflections of each other.

And sometimes... just sometimes... I wonder if that kind of love could ever exist for a girl like me.

Brown-skinned, stubborn, dreamy, loud, overthinking me.

And if he does exist - where is he?

Because no matter how much I laugh or how many people surround me... loneliness still finds me.

Some nights, I whisper to the stars,

"Please... send me someone who chooses me like no one else ever will."

RUDRA SINGH RATHORE

Location: Private gym at the Rathore outhouse, punching bag swinging under his fists

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My fists collide with the bag, precise and merciless.

Nights are the worst. Too silent.

And silence always brings her back - Tara.

She was 8. I was 5.

My sister. My shadow. My best friend.

She died in Kedarnath during a flash flood.

I still remember her scream.

I remember holding her dupatta - and then losing it in the current.

The gods my parents prayed to didn't save her.

That was the day I stopped believing.

In God.

In love.

In anything that promised forever.

Since then, I built walls.

Steel. Cold. Unbreakable.

No pujas. No temples.

No emotions. No love.

Yes, women drown over me. At events, meetings, award nights.

One touched my arm at a charity gala once.

I looked at her so coldly that she dropped her wine glass.

I don't date.

Never have.

Love is a liability. A weakness I cannot afford.

And yet... some nights, when I stand in my glass office overlooking the city, a strange thought creeps in.

Is there someone who wouldn't melt under my coldness...

But burn right through it?

Someone whose voice could silence the storm inside me?

And if she exists...

Would I even recognize her?

She dreams of a love that consumes her.

He has locked his heart inside a steel vault.