Authors POV:

The café smelled of freshly brewed coffee and rain-soaked earth. Arvisha pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, seeking warmth as she settled into her usual corner by the window. The outside world was painted in shades of gray-pavement glistening under the oft drizzle, pedestrians wrapped in layers, their faces half-hidden behind umbrellas. The city never truly slept, yet on days like these, it felt as if it had momentarily paused, caught between the rush of life and the silence of solitude

Arvisha exhaled softly, setting her notebook on the wooden table. The pages inside were mostly blank, save for a few half-written paragraphs and scribbld-out sentences. Inspiration had become a fleeting ghost, teasing her with ideas that never solidified. She had spent weeks staring at empty pages, words slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

She reached for er usual order-a steaming cup of hazelnut latte-but instead of the comforting warmth of porcelain against her fingertips, she found something else.

A folded sheet of paper.

Frowning, she glanced around. The café was familiar-students hunched over textbooks, a young couple sharing a slice of ed velvet cake, the elderly man who always sat in the farthest corner, lost in anovel. The barista behind the counter, Kiran Uncle, gave her a small wave as he handed a customer their change. No one looked out of place. No one looked like they had just left her a note.

With hesitant fingers, she picked it up and unfolded it.

The words, written in elegant, slnting script, sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.

"Some stories are never written, but they live in the spaces between words."

Arvisha's breath hitched.

The same words. The exact same ones from the ltter she had found here last Wednesday.

Her fingers curled around the edges of the paper, heart hammering.

The first time she had found a note, she had assumed it was left behind by accident. A forgotten page, an unintentional slip of paper someone had abandoned. But twice? The same words? This wasn't a coincidence.

Someone was leaving these for her.

Her eyes scanned the café again, searching for a sign, a watching gaze, a smirk-something. But everyone was lost in their own world. The girl at the table across from herwas busy typing away on her laptop, a frown etched into her forehead. The man sitting near the counter was scrolling through his phone.

Nothing.

She traced the words on the paper absentmindedly. The handwriting was unlike anything she had seen-graceful, deliberate, as if the writer had poured thought into each letter.

She flipped the note over. No name. No initials. No clue.

Seting the paper down, she tapped her fingers against the table, mind racing. Who could have left this? And why?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of her latte.

"You look lost in thought," Kiran Uncle said, placing the cup down with a knowing smile. "Writer's block?"

Arvisha offered him a small smile. He knew about her struggles, having seen her scribble furiously on good days and stare at blank pages on bad ones.

"Smething like that," she murmured.

Kiran Uncle wiped his hands on his apron and leaned slightly against the counter. "A story will come to you when you least expect it. Sometimes, it's already there-you just have to see it."

Her gaze flickered to the note again. If only she knew what this story was supposed to be.

-

That night, Arvisha lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the note resting on her bedside table.

She hd spent hours thinking about it, replaying the moment in her mind, trying to figure out who could have left it. Was it someone she knew? A stranger? Was this some kind of literary experiment, or did it hold a deeper meaning?

She picked up the paper again, running her fingers over the ink.

"Some stories are never written, but they live in the spaces between words."

Was this a message? A challenge? A whisper of something yet to unfold?

A sudden thought struck her.

What if she wrote back?

The idea sent a thrill through her veins.

She sat up, grabbed a otepad, and hesitated.

What would she even say?

After a moment, she scrawled a single line:

"And some stories are meant to be discovered. Who are you?"

She folded the note carefully, feeling an odd sense of excitement pulse through her. Tomorrow, she would leave it at the café, exactly where she had found the last two letters.

And then, she would wait.

The Next Day

Te café was busier than usual. Rain had driven more people indoors, filling the space with the scent of damp clothes and steaming coffee. Arvisha found her usual table unoccupied and slipped into the seat, heart pounding.

She pulled the folded note from her coat pocket and placed it under her empty coffee cup.

Now, all she had to do was wait.

She ordered her usual latte, her fingers tapping anxiously against the wooden surface. Every time someone walked past her table, she stiffened slightly watching, waiting.

Hours passed.

She forced herself to focus on her notebook, scribbling down ideas, her mind half-distracted. When her coffee cup was empty, she glanced at the note.

Still there.

Disappointment settled in her chest. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe whoever had left those letters had no intention of turning this into an exchange.

Sighing, she pushed her chair back and grabbed her bag.

And that's when she noticed.

The note was gone.

A sharp inhale.

Her eyes darted around the café, heart hammering.

Someone had taken it.

Someone had seen it.

And someone had chosen to respond.

For the first time in weeks, a slow smile crept onto Arvisha's lips.

Because this wasn't just a mystery anymore.

This was a story unfolding, word by word, letter by letter.

And she was ready to chase it.

( TO BE CONTINUED......)

Authors POV:

The world outside was drenched in silver. The city had been wrapped in a gentle drizzle since dawn, the streets glistening under the weight of last night’s rain. Arvisha pulled her shawl tighter around herself as she stepped into Kiran Uncle’s café, shaking off the cold before pushing open the glass door.

A warm gust of air welcomed her—the familiar scent of roasted coffee beans, cinnamon, and vanilla wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. The café was alive with the quiet hum of conversations, the occasional clinking of spoons against ceramic mugs, and the soft indie music playing in the background.

But Arvisha barely noticed any of it.

Her heart drummed against her ribs as she walked toward her usual table, her gaze flickering toward the sugar jar.

And there it was.

A small, folded piece of paper, peeking from beneath the jar as if it were waiting just for her.

She swallowed hard, ignoring the way her fingers trembled slightly as she picked it up. The paper felt warm against her skin, as though the words inside carried the heat of whoever had placed it there.

Slowly, she unfolded it.

The same elegant handwriting greeted her, the ink slightly smudged at the edges, as if it had been written in haste but with purpose.

"Some stories are meant to be discovered… but only if you’re willing to chase them."

A shiver ran down her spine.

So it wasn’t a coincidence.

Whoever had left the first note had deliberately written back. They had seen her response, read her words, and decided to continue this unspoken conversation.

Her pulse quickened.

She glanced around, scanning the café for anyone who might be watching her, but everything seemed… normal.

Students were buried in books, a group of office workers chatted near the counter, and Kiran Uncle was busy making espresso. No one seemed remotely interested in her or the note in her hands.

She exhaled sharply, a mix of excitement and frustration bubbling inside her.

Who was doing this?

And why?

Her fingers traced the ink-stained words again.

The way they were written—it wasn’t casual. It wasn’t rushed or careless.

It was deliberate. Thoughtful. Almost poetic.

And something about that made her chest tighten.

Who writes like this?

Her mind raced through possibilities—was it someone she knew? A stranger? Someone who had been watching her struggle with her writing all these weeks?

Her grip on the paper tightened.

This wasn’t just a game anymore.

This was a challenge.

She pulled out her notebook and flipped open to a fresh page. Her pen hovered over the paper for a long moment before she finally wrote:

"And what if I choose to chase this story? Will you finally reveal your name?"

She hesitated.

Should she write more? Ask something else?

No.

This was enough.

A test.

If they responded again, she would know this wasn’t just some fleeting joke.

She folded the note carefully and slipped it beneath her empty coffee cup, her heartbeat drumming in sync with the rain tapping against the window.

As she walked out of the café, she felt it.

A presence.

A shadow.

A whisper of something unseen but undeniably there.

Watching.

Waiting.

And for the first time in weeks, Arvisha felt alive.

Vayansh POV

Across the café, Vayansh Rathore sat in his usual spot, fingers curled around his coffee cup, eyes trained on the empty table Arvisha had just left.

He waited.

Waited until she was gone—until the door swung shut behind her and the sound of her footsteps faded into the city’s heartbeat.

Only then did he move.

His fingers brushed against the folded paper beneath the coffee cup, his heart hammering in a way he hadn’t expected.

For weeks, he had remained invisible. Watching, but never stepping too close. Writing, but never revealing.

And yet, with each letter, Arvisha was unknowingly pulling him into the light.

His jaw tightened as he unfolded her response.

"And what if I choose to chase this story? Will you finally reveal your name?"

A slow, amused exhale left his lips.

She was clever.

Brave.

Curious in a way that sent a strange thrill through him.

Vayansh wasn’t sure why he had started this.

Maybe it was the way he had watched her struggle, her frustration evident in the way she tapped her pen against the table, sighed at her blank notebook, stared out the window as if searching for inspiration that never came.

Or maybe it was because, in some strange, inexplicable way, he understood her.

Understood what it meant to be drowning in unsaid words.

And so, he had left her a whisper.

A single sentence, meant to remind her that unwritten stories still existed, waiting to be found.

But she had answered.

And now, this wasn’t just an observation.

This was a conversation.

His fingers tightened around the note.

For years, he had lived in the shadows of his own words—writing, but never sharing. Observing, but never engaging.

But now?

Now, he had stepped into the story.

And there was no turning back.

He pulled out a pen, his gaze lingering on Arvisha’s words for a long moment before he finally wrote his response.

Simple.

Deliberate.

"Some names aren’t meant to be spoken… yet."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he folded the note and slid it under the sugar jar.

Let’s see how far you’re willing to chase, Arvisha.

Let’s see how much you truly want to know.

At Night

That night, Arvisha lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind consumed by a storm of thoughts.

This was supposed to be simple.

A single note.

A fleeting mystery.

But now, it was turning into something else.

Something dangerously intriguing.

Her hands itched to return to the café, to see if a new note awaited her, to uncover the identity of the stranger hiding behind ink-stained words.

Who was he?

Why was he writing to her?

And why did she want to know so badly?

With a frustrated sigh, she turned on her side, her eyes drifting toward the rain-streaked window.

She had spent so long waiting for inspiration to find her.

But maybe, just maybe—inspiration had found her instead.

And it was waiting, whispering, daring her to chase it.

And chase it, she would.

No matter where it led.

----

( TO BE CONTINUED.....)

Authors Pov:

Arvisha sat at her desk, staring at the latest letter in her hands. The elegant yet slightly hurried handwriting, the ink bleeding softly into the paper—it had become a familiar sight over the past few weeks. But what unsettled her the most was how much these words affected her.

"Some people search their whole lives for a place to belong. But what if belonging isn't a place, but a person?"

She traced the last line with her fingers, the weight of the words lingering in her heart. Who was behind this? And why did it feel so personal?

A sharp knock on her bedroom door broke her trance.

"Arvisha!" Anaya burst in, her curly hair bouncing as she plopped onto the bed. "You've been staring at that paper for ages. What is it, another rejection letter?"

Arvisha rolled her eyes. "No, Anaya. And stop barging in."

Her younger sister grinned, completely unfazed. "Well, excuse me for being interested in your dramatic writer life. What’s in the letter?"

Arvisha hesitated. Anaya was playful but sharp—too sharp. The moment she let slip even a hint of intrigue, her sister would turn into a detective.

"It’s… just something I’m working on," Arvisha lied, folding the letter and slipping it into her journal.

Anaya raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Sure. Anyway, Mom’s calling you. Dinner."

Arvisha sighed, pushing back her chair and following her sister downstairs. The warm, familiar aroma of spices filled the air, and the clatter of plates signaled another chaotic Mehta family dinner.

At the Dinner Table

Raghav Mehta, ever the composed and practical father, sat at the head of the table, skimming through the newspaper. Suhani Mehta, his wife, busied herself serving dal and chapati, her eyes flickering toward Arvisha every now and then with quiet concern.

"You were locked up in your room all evening," Suhani finally said, placing a bowl of sabzi in front of her. "Were you writing?"

Arvisha nodded. "Yes, Ma."

"Did you send the new manuscript to Ritika?"

"I will. Soon."

Suhani sighed. "Arvisha, you know how important this is. You can't keep delaying things. Writing is your dream, but dreams don't put food on the table unless you make them real."

"Ma, I know." Arvisha clenched her fingers around her fork. "I just—"

"You need to stop worrying so much," Raghav interjected, setting down his newspaper. His tone was calm but firm. "Arvisha knows what she’s doing. Give her space."

Suhani huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she turned to Anaya. "And you, young lady, how was school?"

As Anaya launched into a dramatic tale about her day, Arvisha’s mind drifted back to the letter hidden upstairs. Her mother’s words echoed in her head—dreams don’t put food on the table unless you make them real.

She needed to find out who was writing to her. Because, in some strange way, she felt like whoever it was… understood her better than anyone else.

At the Cafe

The next day, Arvisha sat across from Mehreen Kapoor—Mehru—her best friend and the most unapologetically romantic person she knew.

"You look like you haven’t slept in days," Mehru said, stirring her iced coffee.

Arvisha sighed. "I’ve been… distracted."

Mehru’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Oh? Distracted by what? Or should I say—whom?"

Arvisha hesitated for half a second too long.

Mehru gasped, slamming her hands on the table. "I knew it! Tell me everything!"

"Shh!" Arvisha glanced around the café, cheeks burning. "It’s nothing like that!"

Mehru leaned forward. "Liar. I know that look. You’re hiding something juicy."

Arvisha exhaled. Maybe Mehru was exactly the person she needed to talk to.

"You know how I always sit at the same table when I write?"

"Yeah?"

"Well… I started finding letters there. Anonymous ones."

Mehru’s jaw dropped. "Letters? Like love letters?!"

"I don’t know if they’re love letters," Arvisha muttered, pulling out the latest note and sliding it across the table.

Mehru snatched it up, her eyes scanning the words. "Oh. My. God. This is straight out of a novel!"

Arvisha groaned. "I knew you’d say that."

Mehru ignored her. "So, do you have a suspect?"

"I have no idea. That’s the problem."

Mehru tapped her chin. "It has to be someone who watches you. Someone who knows you well enough to write like this."

Arvisha frowned. "You make it sound creepy."

Mehru shrugged. "Romantic. Creepy. It’s a thin line."

Arvisha sighed, sipping her coffee. "I just wish I knew who it was."

"Then we find out," Mehru declared.

Arvisha raised an eyebrow. "We?"

"Obviously! You can’t solve a mystery without your best friend."

Arvisha shook her head but smiled. Mehru was impossible—but maybe that was exactly what she needed.

Meanwhile, Elsewhere in the City

Vayansh Rathore sat in his office, fingers drumming against the mahogany desk. The letter was gone. Delivered. And yet, he found himself waiting—anticipating—wondering.

"You're lost in thought," Shaurya Malhotra’s voice interrupted.

Vayansh blinked, glancing up at his best friend. "Not really."

Shaurya smirked, dropping into the chair opposite him. "You're such a bad liar. Who is she?"

Vayansh stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

Shaurya chuckled. "You only get this distracted when something—or someone—is on your mind."

Vayansh exhaled. "It's nothing."

Shaurya studied him for a moment before grinning. "Fine. Be all mysterious. But when you finally crack, I want front-row seats to the drama."

Vayansh shook his head, but a small smirk tugged at his lips.

Shaurya had no idea.

At the Cafe

That evening, Arvisha sat at her café table, heart pounding slightly faster than usual. Mehru sat at a different table, pretending to read but obviously watching.

Arvisha placed her notebook down, pretending to write. The café was bustling, but she focused on one thing—waiting.

And then, it happened.

A shadow lingered near her table. A subtle movement. A slip of paper placed gently beside her notebook.

She turned quickly—but the person was already gone.

Her heart hammered as she unfolded the letter.

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

Arvisha swallowed hard.

Whoever this was… they weren’t just leaving notes.

They were writing her story.

---

( TO BE CONTINUED......)