Chapter 1: The Diary That Didn’t Want to Be Found

The train’s whistle tore through the foggy morning like a sigh that had waited too long to be heard.

Aarav boarded the 6:40 express from Meera Junction with his usual disinterest. He had always found stations too noisy, people too rushed, and life too repetitive. He carried no dreams, only documents. A man in his late twenties, his quiet demeanor made him invisible in crowded compartments — just how he preferred it.

As he slid into his window seat, his eyes caught something unusual tucked between the side of the seat and the wall — a notebook, wrapped in a pale blue cloth. Curious, he pulled it out.

It wasn’t just any notebook. It was a diary.

Worn at the corners, tied loosely with a faded silk ribbon, it seemed… waiting.

He hesitated. Opening someone’s diary wasn’t something he would normally do. But something about the way it lay there — almost deliberately forgotten — made his hands move before his conscience could protest.

The first page was blank.

The second had only one line, written in a neat, flowing hand:

> "If you find me, don’t return me. Just read me."

Aarav froze.

He looked around. No one seemed to be searching for anything. The compartment was filled with drowsy passengers, sipping tea or scrolling on their phones. He glanced at the diary again. The ink had smudged a little — maybe from a tear. Or maybe from a rush of emotion too heavy to hold.

And so, slowly, reverently, he turned to the next page.

> “Day 1: I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe I just want to be heard. Not fixed, not saved, just… heard. There are days when I feel like a whisper in a world full of noise. Maybe someone out there will understand. Or maybe not. But if you're reading this, stranger, then I suppose the universe wanted me to be found."

Aarav blinked.

He hadn’t expected her voice to be like this — honest, raw, and almost achingly soft. He flipped ahead.

> “Day 3: I love watching people leave the station. There’s something poetic about watching someone walk away, not knowing they’re being watched. It makes me wonder if someone has ever looked back for me.”

He smiled faintly, but it faded just as quickly.

Who was this girl? Why did it feel like she had written not to herself, but to someone she was hoping would find her?

The train rocked gently on the tracks, and Aarav continued reading, unaware of time passing.

> “Day 6: Today I sat near Platform 3. It was raining. I counted 12 couples holding hands and one old man feeding pigeons. I didn’t bring an umbrella. I wanted to feel the rain. It reminded me that I’m still here — still human. Do you ever need proof you exist too?”

Aarav swallowed. The weight of her words curled into his chest like a quiet ache. He looked out the window, where the sun was slowly breaking through the clouds. The world felt unchanged, but inside him, something had shifted.

He placed the diary gently in his bag. He didn’t know who she was, where she was, or if he’d ever meet her. But he knew one thing:

He was going to read every word.

Because for the first time in years, he felt something more than numb.

He felt curiosity.

He felt warmth.

He felt her.

Chapter 2: The Girl in the Margins

It had been three days since Aarav found the diary.

Three days, and yet he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.

Not her face — because he didn’t know what she looked like.

Not her voice — because he had never heard it.

But her words... her words had rooted themselves in the softest part of his mind, blooming there like secrets that finally had air.

Each night, under the dim lamp on his bedside table, he read a few more pages. Slowly. Reverently. Like her diary was a holy text and he, a devoted pilgrim.

Tonight, the rain returned — soft and rhythmic, like fingers tapping glass with a story to tell.

Aarav opened the diary again.

“Day 9: Today I followed a scent. Isn’t that strange? Not a person. Not a voice. Just a scent — of old books, rain-soaked earth, and something I can’t name. It reminded me of my father’s coat. Or maybe a memory I never lived. Funny how things find you when you stop looking.”

Aarav paused.

He had smelled something similar just this morning on the train — faint, like old paper and clove. He had thought it was from a nearby passenger. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

He kept reading.

“Day 10: I passed a stranger today who looked lost — not in the physical way. Emotionally misplaced. I almost wanted to ask him, ‘Do you feel like you belong anywhere?’ But I didn’t. Because I don’t either. Maybe that’s what home is — not a place, but a person who lets you be lost without making you feel guilty about it.”

Aarav leaned back.

No one had ever spoken the way she did. Her thoughts weren’t filtered. They weren’t built for admiration. They were honest — raw enough to bleed.

And in that honesty, he found something he hadn't known he was missing.

The next page surprised him.

There was no dated entry — just a sketch.

A half-drawn face. Only the eyes were complete — large, tired, and gentle. They stared back at him as though they knew him. Underneath was a single line:

“I think if someone looked at me long enough, they’d see all the parts I hide.”

Aarav closed the diary slowly.

The rain outside grew heavier, its rhythm now almost matching the thud of his heart.

He didn’t understand it.

This wasn’t love — it couldn’t be. How do you love someone you’ve never met? But it was something close. Something softer, deeper. Like recognition in a forgotten dream.

He lay back on his pillow, staring at the ceiling, the diary resting on his chest.

The next morning, Aarav took a different route to work — without meaning to. He ended up near the old city library, the one he hadn’t visited since college. The scent of damp pages floated out as he passed it.

Just like she wrote.

He didn’t go inside. He just stood there.

Listening.

Searching.

Feeling foolish — and yet, completely at peace.

And as he turned to leave, something caught his eye.

A mural across the street. Painted on a crumbling wall. Faded, but visible. A girl holding a book to her chest, standing alone in a crowd of shadows. Underneath, in pale blue:

“Some people are stories waiting to be read.”

Aarav froze.

He had read those exact words. Page 5. Second paragraph.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Could it?

He didn’t know what this was — fate, obsession, or the beginning of something he’d never understand — but he knew one thing:

She wasn’t just a voice in a diary anymore.

She was out there.

Somewhere.

Chapter 3: The Weight of Unspoken Words

The days had begun to bleed into one another, each one indistinguishable from the next. Aarav’s routine, once comfortable in its monotony, now felt like a cage. He kept waking up early, unable to shake off the pull of the diary. Each page, each word, tangled itself in his thoughts, making him restless.

That night, as the rain continued its gentle, endless rhythm outside, Aarav opened the diary again. He didn’t even need to force it anymore. The act of reading it had become a ritual — one that calmed his mind, even as it stirred his heart.

“Day 12: I wonder if everyone has a secret they’re afraid to say out loud. I think mine is that I’m afraid of being seen. Not seen in the way we all are in public, but seen in a way that makes someone truly understand you. Because once they understand, they’ll see your flaws, your cracks. And if they see that, they might leave.”

Aarav stopped, his thumb hovering over the next page.

Her words settled into his chest, heavy but quiet, like something unspoken but understood. He had read them before, but now they felt different. Personal. As though they weren’t just Meher’s thoughts anymore. They were his.

He put the diary down and stared out the window.

Was it possible to fall for someone you hadn’t even met? Someone you had no proof of, other than the ink on a page? Was it foolishness, or just the craving of a soul that had never been seen, reaching out to another that seemed just as invisible?

He was losing himself in these words. In her.

It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. He wanted to know her. Her laugh. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous. Her smile — real and raw, the kind that wasn’t meant for anyone else but her.

But it was all a fantasy.

He closed his eyes, the image of her elusive face flashing in his mind like a dream he could never quite touch.

The next day, Aarav couldn’t focus at work. Every glance at his phone screen felt like a betrayal, pulling him away from the one thing that had captured his attention — her words.

He felt torn. A quiet ache had taken root inside him. Every part of his life felt distant now — the people he spoke to, the tasks he completed, the routine he once clung to for comfort.

He didn’t care about the projects that needed his attention. He didn’t care about the colleagues who came and went. He only cared about the girl in the pages.

It wasn’t love, not yet. But it was something stronger — a pull he couldn’t explain. Something raw and real, like a current running through the air.

That night, as he read another entry, he felt himself unraveling.

“Day 15: I passed by someone today who reminded me of you. Or maybe it was just the feeling. The way you look at the world. There are times I think we must be the same. Not in the obvious ways. But in the parts we hide. I wonder if you’re searching for me too.”

Aarav’s hand trembled as he closed the diary. His breath caught in his throat. She knew. She had to.

She had felt him too.

He had been thinking of her — her words, her thoughts, her presence — but here she was, telling him, without even knowing him, that she had felt something too.

That maybe, just maybe, they weren’t so different after all.

His pulse raced. He needed to know more. He had to find her.

But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, another one came, darker and quieter:

What if I can’t?

What if this was all a fantasy? A story he had built around a single page of words. What if Meher didn’t exist at all? What if the whole thing was just some strange coincidence, some trick of the universe?

His mind spun in circles, caught between longing and fear.

The next day, as Aarav walked through the city, the air around him felt heavier than usual. It wasn’t the weight of the rainclouds. It was the weight of something else — something inside him.

He passed the familiar streets, his footsteps lost in the noise of the city. But everything felt distant now. Unimportant. He wanted to scream, to run, to tear through the world until he found her.

The girl with the words that spoke to him.

But she was gone. Out of reach. Like a dream he had no right to chase.

He paused near the station, where they had first crossed paths. He didn’t know why, but his feet led him there — as if the universe had decided he needed to be here. He stood for a long time, watching the trains pull in and out.

And for the first time since he had started reading her words, Aarav asked himself:

What if she had never wanted to be found?