Episode 3

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.

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( TO BE CONTINUED......)

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