Episode 4

Authors POV :

The café felt different today. Maybe it was the weight of anticipation pressing against her chest, or maybe it was the subtle knowledge that someone-somewhere-was watching.

She hadn't told Mehru about last night's letter. She hadn't even told herself what it truly meant. The words haunted her, lingering between reality and fiction.

"Not all stories have endings. Some are meant to linger, unfinished, waiting for the right person to complete them."

She ran her fingers over the notebook in front of her, staring at the empty page. The words refused to come.

"Lost in thought again?"

Mehru's voice snapped her back to reality. She looked up to find her best friend sliding into the chair opposite her, her sharp eyes filled with mischief.

"Let me guess-you've read the letter a hundred times, analyzed every word, and still have no idea who wrote it?"

Arvisha sighed. "You make it sound ridiculous."

Mehru grinned. "That's because it is. But it's also insanely romantic."

Arvisha rolled her eyes, but Mehru leaned forward, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper.

"You need to start thinking logically. This isn't just some random admirer. They know you. They know how you think, how you write."

Arvisha exhaled, tapping her pen against the table. "I've thought about that. But that just makes it more confusing. If they know me, why won't they reveal themselves?"

Mehru shrugged. "Maybe they're scared. Or maybe they want to see if you'll find them first."

Arvisha swallowed hard. That thought unsettled her in ways she couldn't explain.

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted them.

"Well, well. If it isn't the great writer herself."

Arvisha looked up, already bracing herself.

Kabir Joshi stood in front of them, his usual smirk in place. He was charming, confident, and far too aware of both qualities.

"Didn't expect to see you here today," he said, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Arvisha frowned. "I come here every day."

Kabir chuckled. "Exactly. That's why I knew I'd find you."

Mehru raised an eyebrow. "What do you want, Kabir?"

Kabir placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Ouch. Can't a fellow writer check in on his competition?"

Arvisha sighed. She wasn't in the mood for his games.

But then she noticed something.

A small ink stain on his wrist. The same deep blue as the ink in her letters.

Her stomach twisted.

Could it be...?

----

Vayansh stared out of his office window, his mind far from the chaos of the business world. His father's voice droned on in the background, but he barely heard a word.

The letters were consuming him.

Every time he wrote one, he told himself it would be the last. And yet, he kept going, drawn to her in ways he couldn't explain.

"Not all stories have endings..."

He had almost stopped himself from sending that one. It was too revealing, too personal. But something inside him wanted to know-would she understand?

Would she realize it was him?

A sharp voice cut through his thoughts.

"Vayansh, are you even listening?"

His father's cold gaze pinned him in place.

"Yes," he lied smoothly.

Devendra Rathore sighed. "You can't afford distractions, son. Business isn't built on emotions."

Vayansh clenched his jaw. His father had always been like this-distant, calculating. He had been raised to be the same. But lately, something inside him was changing.

Or maybe, it had been changing for a long time.

Before his father could continue, the office door burst open.

Shaurya strolled in, completely unfazed by the tension in the room.

"Sorry to interrupt your very serious business talk," he said, grinning. "But I'm stealing your son for a bit."

Devendra frowned. "We're in the middle of-"

"Of course," Shaurya interrupted smoothly. "But I'm sure it can wait."

Without another word, he grabbed Vayansh's arm and dragged him out of the office.

Once they were outside, Vayansh sighed. "You really need to learn how to knock."

Shaurya smirked. "You looked like you were seconds away from setting something on fire. I did you a favor."

Vayansh shook his head, but a small smile played on his lips.

"So," Shaurya continued, "how's the whole 'mysterious letter' thing going?"

Vayansh stiffened. "It's... fine."

Shaurya raised an eyebrow. "That's not an answer."

Vayansh exhaled. "She hasn't figured it out yet."

Shaurya studied him for a moment before grinning. "And you want her to?"

Vayansh didn't respond.

Because the truth was-he didn't know.

---

Kabir leaned against the table, clearly enjoying himself.

"So, what's the latest masterpiece you're working on?"

Arvisha forced a polite smile. "Just some ideas."

Kabir's gaze flickered to her notebook. "Must be something good if you're this focused."

She hesitated. Should she ask? Confront him?

Before she could decide, Mehru spoke.

"Actually, we were just talking about something interesting," she said casually.

Arvisha shot her a look, but Mehru ignored it.

"Someone's been leaving letters for Arvisha," Mehru continued. "Beautiful, poetic ones."

Kabir's smirk faltered for just a second.

Arvisha noticed.

"You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?" Mehru asked, her tone playful but sharp.

Kabir chuckled. "I wish I could take credit for something that romantic."

Arvisha watched him carefully. His expression was unreadable, his confidence unshaken.

But then he leaned forward slightly, his voice lower.

"Whoever it is," he said, "must know you really well."

Arvisha swallowed hard.

Was that a clue? A challenge? Or something else entirely?

As Kabir walked away, she turned to Mehru, her mind racing.

"It could be him," she whispered.

Mehru nodded. "Or he wants you to think it is."

Arvisha exhaled. The mystery was deepening.

And she was no closer to an answer.

Vayansh

That night, Vayansh sat at his desk, the city lights flickering outside his window.

He picked up his pen, hesitating.

Was this too much? Too risky?

But then he thought of her. The way she read his words like they meant something. The way she searched for him without even knowing his name.

He let out a breath and started writing.

"Sometimes, the best stories aren't written with ink-they are lived in silence, between stolen glances and unsaid words."

He folded the letter carefully.

Tomorrow, she would find it.

And he would wait.

---

( TO BE CONTINUED.....)

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