Whishpers of the Unwritten

Episode 1

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.