Chapter 1: The Man Who Walked Through Chaos
The morning city choked in its own noise —
honking horns, racing wheels,
and restless souls trapped in a red-signal pause.
Four roads tangled into one moment of stillness,
as if the universe paused to breathe…
And just then,
he stepped out of a running bus.
Not hurried.
Not afraid.
As if the world parted just for his feet to touch the ground.
His shoe — black, gleaming, with a red stroke that sliced the dust —
landed like punctuation at the end of silence.
He wore it like a signature.
Like poetry on leather.
He was just twenty-two.
But carried himself like the city bowed before his stride.
Thick, ruffled hair danced to the wind’s silent rhythm.
Fair face glowing in the soft morning haze.
A smile — calm, composed, magnetic —
like he knew every eye would turn.
And they did.
He wore a crisp white shirt,
tucked into a tailored black pant.
No crease dared cross it.
His shoulders straight, steps sharp — like time ticked with his heel.
The traffic behind him faded into a blur.
For the world now moved in slow motion.
He wasn’t walking on the road.
He was walking through it —
as if reality adjusted itself with every breath he took.
To his left,
a tea stall hissed with boiling chai.
A tired man dipped a bun into a steel saucer,
lost in thoughts far away from the city.
Young boys stood near plastic tables,
laughing between bites of idli and upma,
their shirts half-tucked, dreams still waking up.
To his right,
a mechanic wiped grease from his fingers,
while his radio played an old romantic song
nobody had time to listen to.
A fruit seller shouted,
“Banana five rupees! Fresh grapes!”
But his voice faded into the city’s loud heartbeat
as our hero walked past.
Behind him, a child cried.
Ahead, a woman ran to catch her bus.
But between them walked a man untouched by the morning’s mess —
as if the chaos moved aside,
just for him to pass.
His smile didn’t change.
His steps didn’t slow.
He wasn’t part of this rush.
He was the pause within it.
Ahead stood a towering 20-floor glass building,
its façade catching the early sunlight,
like a lighthouse waiting to greet its captain.
The giant structure reflected him as he approached,
as if even the building remembered his name.
He didn’t look back.
Didn’t need to.
He walked with the grace of a man
who knew where he was going
and had no reason to explain it.
The guards at the entrance straightened their backs.
He gave them a smile — not a nod —
because his smile was enough to make anyone feel seen.
As the glass doors slid open,
and he stepped into the marble silence of the lobby,
the world outside exhaled.
He had arrived.
And somewhere, fate whispered...
"Some men chase time. But some…
make time follow their shadow."
📖 Chapter 2: The Girl in the Lift
The lift doors opened at the ground floor
with a soft mechanical sigh.
He stepped in — calm, unbothered, as always —
but the universe had just planned its first twist.
It wasn’t empty.
Five or six people stood inside —
For within the square of mirrored walls,
stood a girl —
not a stranger, not yet a memory — but something in between.
She.
The world didn’t go silent.
She was barely twenty,
but carried a presence that felt older than time.
A soft pastel dress draped her like morning light.
Her hair flowed long and open,
silky strands falling gently over her shoulders
like they had their own rhythm,
and her neck —
graceful like a brushstroke on canvas.
His eyes — they moved on their own.
Top to bottom. Slowly. Softly.
From her parted hair to her forehead where a few strands danced,
to the quiet beauty of her brows —
arched like unsaid questions.
Her eyes…
Two verses of poetry.
Not just brown — but deep, deep brown.
Like dusk in a village far from the city.
And her lashes?
They were the curtain that guarded secrets he now wanted to earn.
His gaze moved again —
to the curve of her cheek,
the gentle slope of her shoulders,
to her hands — soft, still, clutching a file
that bore her name like a mystery.
Her dress flowed till her calves,
and her feet rested in pointed black heels,
still as though even the ground respected her walk.
And yet —
she hadn’t looked at him once.
And somehow, that made him want her attention even more..
His heart… paused.
A moment of complete surrender.
Not the loud kind, but the quiet, breathless one.
“So this is what it feels like,”
he thought, “when time slows not because of magic… but because someone like her walks into it.”
The lift moved.
1st floor.
His fingers twitched. His breath steadied.
2nd floor.
She stepped out.
And so did he.
Opposite directions.
Opposite corners.
Yet… one moment had already joined their stories.
He stood still, pretending to check his phone,
but in truth — he watched her from the corner of his eye.
The soft sway of her steps,
the grace in her movement —
like a violin note stretching into silence.
She entered her office —
the corner block on the left end of the floor.
He turned and walked to his.
The opposite corner.
Same floor. Same moment. Same fate.
He signed in with trembling fingers,
but his mind was still in the lift.
That small box,
crowded with people,
yet she was the only one who existed.
She didn’t look at him…
But he had already seen forever in a single elevator ride.
And before the coffee even cooled on his desk,
he found himself standing outside again —
not for air, not for light… but for her.
She wasn’t there.
She had vanished into her office like morning mist.
But he now knew the door.
The name on the file.
The floor she walked.
And most dangerously…
the feeling she awakened.
“What if love isn’t loud like thunder…
What if it’s just a quiet blink in a crowded lift…
but the heart never forgets?”
He is on work but his heart and his dreams on her
📖 Chapter 3: The Corner of Her Presence
They worked on the same floor,
but in a world of glass and corners,
they might as well have lived in galaxies apart.
Two opposite edges of a twenty-story tower —
one north-facing, one west-lit.
Each with its own set of stairs,
its own rhythm of movement.
But ever since that morning in the lift,
he had chosen her side.
The lift?
A forgotten luxury.
He preferred the old staircase now —
the one beside her office door,
just to walk by her.
To catch a glimpse.
To breathe the air that carried her perfume.
Day by day,
step by step,
his routine turned into a ritual of devotion.
And she —
sat near the front desk of her office,
unaware that her presence was more powerful
than any rising sun outside the glass windows.
Her chair faced the glass wall —
and when the glass door opened with a soft click,
her face would glow in soft lighting,
like a deity framed by devotion.
He passed.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice a day.
Sometimes with papers in hand,
pretending to deliver.
Sometimes just empty-handed —
a smile hidden behind a phone.
Each time —
he looked.
She never noticed.
But in that half-second —
when her eyelashes danced as she looked at her screen,
when a soft strand of her hair slipped over her eyes,
when her hand gently adjusted her dupatta,
he felt eternity.
For a week,
this silent romance bloomed without a word.
No "Hi",
no "Who are you?",
not even an accidental eye-lock.
Just him —
collecting colors of her every day.
One day in yellow —
like the warmth of fresh mango blossoms.
Another in green —
like the peace of a village field.
One in white —
where she looked like a dream waiting to be written.
And slowly,
she became a memory museum inside his chest.
“She wore the same smile, but different dresses,
And I wore the same heart, but different aches.”
His soul didn’t need her voice.
It only needed her presence.
That daily passing-by was enough
to turn ordinary days into poetry.
He never told her.
Never dared.
But in his heart —
he had already painted
a gallery of her
with soft strokes of memory and wild hues of longing.
“They say love needs conversation,
But mine grew in silence,_
watered by footsteps,_
and lit by the glow of a girl I never truly met…”_
📖 Chapter 4: The Day She Noticed
Days floated by like autumn leaves —
soft, slow, sacred.
Each one a silent poem
he never dared to speak aloud.
And then,
one ordinary morning became extraordinary.
She walked in —
wearing a red shirt that sang of fire and fate,
paired with black pants
that danced with every step
like shadows following light.
She sat at her usual place —
front desk, glass door, golden aura.
But today…
something shifted in the stars.
He, as always,
walked by with his silent hope stitched to his chest.
His eyes, half-hiding wonder,
tried to steal one more glimpse
of the girl who never saw him.
But then it happened.
Her eyes lifted.
And for the first time —
they met his.
A flicker.
A spark.
A second stretched into eternity.
She noticed him.
A boy with dreams in his eyes,
wind in his walk,
carrying a thousand unsaid poems behind his smile.
And in that small moment,
when her gaze paused on him,
the world stood still —
like a movie frame stuck on the best scene.
He didn’t smile.
He couldn’t.
His heart had forgotten how to beat.
But inside,
oceans of joy crashed against the shores of his soul.
“She saw me today —
not the world, not the walls,
but me…
the boy who passed silently like a breeze
now had sunlight on his face.”
He walked past her glass door that day,
but his feet touched the sky.
She didn’t say a word.
She simply looked,
and in that look —
she gave him a lifetime of rainbows.
That night,
he didn’t sleep.
He rewound the moment in his heart
a hundred times —
each time brighter than the last.
“She wore red — like a question burning the sky,
And my answer was tears I never cried…”
From that day,
everything changed,
though nothing was spoken.
She had seen him.
And that was enough
to write a thousand new mornings in his soul.
Chapter: The First Hello
—Where Silence Dared to Speak
The sun had barely finished yawning when he stepped into the building,
a strange courage blooming in his chest,
watered by a single glance she gifted him the day before.
Her gaze had found him,
and in that fleeting moment,
his world had rearranged itself into meaning.
No longer content with passing shadows and chance sightings,
he walked —
straight, steady, stirred by heartbeats louder than reason —
towards the office where she ruled his dreams.
She sat at her desk,
wrapped in a rich black dress
that shimmered like midnight woven with starlight.
Every fold of her outfit whispered elegance.
Her presence outshone the dawn.
She stood like a verse plucked from a forgotten poem,
where every strand of hair whispered secrets to the breeze.
She looked up.
Her eyes,
half-moon crescents brimming with curiosity,
glanced sideways —
as if searching for a moment she once dreamt.
A tiny bindi, like a drop of dusk,
rested on her forehead —
the perfect punctuation in a story written by stars.
Her lips,
gently curved like an unopened letter of love,
held the mystery of a thousand unsaid smiles.
And her hair —
wild, soft, untamed —
floated like shadows dancing with sunlight.
Clothed in a dark elegance,
she was not just a girl,
she was a silent song —
the kind you don’t hear, but feel
deep in the softest corners of the soul.
She didn’t pose.
She existed —
and that was enough
to stir poetry in the stillness of the world.
Their eyes met —
and time, ever so obedient, slowed for their greeting.
He smiled.
A nervous tremble hid behind his lips,
but his eyes held the warmth of a thousand unsent letters.
With practiced calm masking trembling heart, he spoke:
"Hi… Is there any job available in your company?
Any hiring going on?"
Her smile was the answer he would remember forever —
soft, polite, radiant with a trace of curiosity.
"No… not right now," she said gently,
her voice like distant wind chimes.
"Oh… okay, thank you," he replied,
though gratitude was too small a word
for what he felt in that moment.
Just before leaving —
as if destiny tapped on his shoulder —
he noticed the landline phone resting on her table,
quiet, firm, and full of future possibilities.
He walked out.
But something had shifted.
It wasn’t just a conversation.
It was the first sentence
of a story he’d been longing to write —
not with ink,
but with glances,
footsteps,
and everyday moments
that meant everything to his heart.
Chapter: The Call That Stirred the Silence
—Where Voices Met Before Hearts Did
The morning was calm, like a lake holding secrets,
and at 9 sharp, the world inside her office began to hum.
She walked in with elegance unspoken,
draped in dignity and dreams,
and settled into her chair as if the chair, too, waited for her.
The landline rang —
a crisp trill slicing the morning quiet.
She lifted the receiver, her fingers like verses brushing the phone,
and softly said,
"Hello?"
On the other end came a voice, tentative but anchored:
"Hello… is this Emey Valley?"
Her tone, ever warm yet professional, responded:
"Yes, it is."
"Who is this?" he asked,
as if names were doorways to stories he longed to enter.
A pause. Then gently,
"I'm Pratyusha."
A beat skipped in his heart.
"Beautiful name…" he murmured —
as though the syllables were blossoms he’d waited seasons to utter.
She smiled — not out of flirtation, but reflexively,
as if his words were an unexpected breeze on a summer noon.
"Thank you," she replied,
not knowing gratitude would soon turn to confusion.
But then —
words spilled like poetry from the other side.
Not just compliments,
but descriptions wrapped in metaphors —
her eyes like monsoon clouds,
her smile like moonlight on restless waves,
her voice like an old melody rediscovered…
And slowly,
that breeze turned into a strange wind.
Her brow furrowed.
Her grip on the receiver tightened — not in fear,
but in realization.
This wasn't just a caller.
This was someone calling for her.
With gentle composure, she covered the mouthpiece
and looked toward her colleague,
a man used to mundane calls and unromantic realities.
"Here," she said, passing the phone like a fading whisper,
"Please talk."
The colleague answered, voice firm and suspicious:
"Who is this?"
There was silence.
A second later, the phone clicked.
Disconnected.
A conversation ended without a name,
but a story left behind in echoes.
She sat quietly, thoughtful.
Somewhere between annoyance and intrigue,
somewhere between flattery and mystery.
And far away,
the boy sat near the same old streetlight,
listening to the dial tone,
heart full —
not with regret,
but with the thrill of having spoken.
Even for a moment.
Chapter: Whispers Beyond the Glass Door
—Where Eyes Spoke First, and Words Followed Like Rain
He hadn’t stopped.
Not his footsteps past her glass-door world,
not the quiet glances that gently caressed her silhouette,
not even the heartbeat that sped up at 9 AM sharp.
Every morning, he walked by—
as if time paused just enough
for him to frame her in his memory
like a portrait lit by destiny itself.
And every day,
after imprinting her presence into his heart,
he dialed the familiar number
with trembling fingers and a steady soul.
The ring.
The pause.
Then her voice, soft and unaware of who waited at the other end.
"Hello?"
And then came the same ritual,
his voice no longer uncertain—
but poetic, delicate,
touched with reverence.
"You look ethereal today…
green like new leaves in spring,
paired with white leggings that make morning clouds jealous."
Silence.
She didn’t interrupt.
She didn’t hand the phone anymore.
She listened.
Every day, he described her—
her dress, her hair,
the shade of her kajal,
the rhythm of her movements,
the way light followed her like a lover.
She didn’t reply much.
She didn’t ask,
"Who are you?" —
but the question echoed louder each day in her mind.
At first, confusion wrapped her like fog.
Was this admiration… or obsession?
Was it romantic… or strange?
Yet, she didn’t stop listening.
She didn’t scold or accuse.
Because behind that unknown voice
was a sincerity
so rare, so delicate,
it trembled like a candle in the wind.
In the quiet hours,
she pondered.
"Who is this soul
that sees more than my clothes?
More than my face?
Who speaks as if he’s known me from another life?"
And slowly,
a spark of curiosity ignited within her.
Not fear.
But wonder.
"Is someone truly following me…
just to call,
just to speak in poetry,
just to admire from afar
and never cross the line?"
Now, she watched her glass door too—
not just the files and forms.
She waited,
half-expecting his silhouette to pass again.
And when it did,
her heart—once still—beat in sync with a question:
"Is it you?"
And so,
while he walked to catch a glimpse,
she sat with her gaze tracing his path,
and the space between them
was filled not with silence—
but a strange, fragrant anticipation.
Chapter: Absence Spoke Louder Than Words
—When Eyes Couldn’t Meet, But Truth Found Its Way
She needed to know.
Not just the voice that painted her in soft metaphors,
but the soul behind the steps,
the one who turned passing glances into poetry.
And so,
she stopped sitting by the front desk.
Four mornings.
Four doorways walked past in silence.
Four times his heart sank like a stone in a still pond.
She was gone.
Not truly—
but from his world.
The world that lived only in stolen glances and ringing phones.
And with her absence,
so too faded the color from his days.
The phone in her office fell silent.
No compliments.
No verses.
No voice dancing gently through the receiver.
He couldn't call.
Because how does one describe a sky
they can no longer see?
Each step he took felt heavier,
as if he walked a road paved with heartbreak.
He waited by the stairs,
looked from corners,
hoped to catch even the shadow of her presence—
but she was nowhere.
And behind her office glass,
she watched.
Her plan, subtle and quiet,
was working like a soft wind revealing hidden petals.
She counted the days.
And the silence.
No call.
No poetry.
No green dress compliments.
No soft smiles through the line.
Her lips curled faintly, not in cruelty—
but in quiet triumph.
“So, it’s him,” she whispered to herself.
The mystery voice,
the unseen admirer,
the man who walked her way
just to etch her presence into his heart
and pour it out as verses through a telephone wire.
He didn’t know she was watching.
He didn’t know she noticed the ache in his steps.
But now she knew.
His silence, when she vanished,
was louder than any confession.
And in that silence,
she discovered the truth—
not with proof,
but with poetry’s most honest compass: feeling.
She sat by the window that evening,
looking at the corner stairway he always chose,
and her heart whispered:
“You miss me too, don’t you?”
Chapter: When Eyes Met, Not By Chance—But By Choice
—The Day Love Stepped Out from Shadows
The fifth day arrived like spring after a stubborn winter.
She sat again at the front desk,
her eyes occasionally flicking toward the hallway.
Not the phone.
Not the files.
Just the corridor—
his stage of silent appearances.
12:50 PM
The clock whispered his hour.
And like rhythm in a song,
he appeared.
Same steps.
Same path.
But this time—
a storm of joy rose in his heart.
There she was.
Again.
After four days of emptiness,
the universe returned his sunshine.
He didn’t stop.
He couldn’t.
His heart was sprinting even as his legs walked calmly.
He floated past her door,
eyes drinking in her presence like a thirsty traveler at a river.
Down the stairs,
beside her corner—
his favorite path.
To the canteen,
where crowds hummed, vessels clattered,
and aromas danced in the air.
He ordered something, sat alone—
but not lonely anymore.
Just as he lifted his spoon,
a rustle behind him.
A soft footstep.
A presence.
He turned.
And there she stood.
His heartbeat forgot its rhythm.
The air paused.
His spoon froze mid-air.
She walked—grace in motion—
to the counter,
took a token,
and ordered: "Sambar rice."
Simple words.
But to him, it sounded like poetry.
A melody sung just for him.
She turned, plate in hand,
and without hesitation,
walked to his bench.
Not the one next to it.
His.
Chapter: The Number Between Us
—A Silence Louder Than Words
She sat beside him—
her eyes not curious anymore—
but calm, aware, kind.
not with accusations,
nor with suspicions.
Only with that smile
that carried the breeze of understanding
and the warmth of forgiveness.
She didn’t speak of the phone calls,
or the whispered compliments
that once danced through the receiver.
She didn’t ask,
"Was it you?"
Because now,
she knew.
But she chose grace over confrontation,
curiosity over judgment,
and kindness over confession.
And after a quiet bite,
she smiled.
She simply said—
"You came to my office one day, asking about jobs… right?"
His soul fluttered like a paper boat on a rainy street.
He nodded, softly,
his voice catching the wind of his relief.
"Yes," he replied,
eyes lighting up with unspoken gratitude.
"And… now… are there any openings?"
She stirred her rice with a gentle smile,
as if blending fate with conversation.
"Maybe next week," she said.
"Accidentally saw you here today… thought I should let you know."
He blinked.
Did she just say accidentally?
But her tone was deliberate.
Her presence—intentional.
She leaned forward slightly,
as though sharing a secret with the stars.
"Note my number," she said,
her voice now wrapped in trust.
"Call me. I’ll tell you the exact date for the walk-ins."
He opened his phone,
thumb trembling like a string in wind.
He typed each digit
as if carving it on his heart.
And then,
like a gentle warning wrapped in silk,
she said softly:
"Don’t call the landline again…"
her eyes now holding a playful glint.
"Just this number."
He smiled—
not because she forgave him,
not because she gave her number—
but because for the first time,
they were no longer strangers.
There was now
a bridge.
A name.
A number.
And a memory
only they would understand.
Chapter: The Weight of an Evening
—When Eyes Speak, but Hearts Stay Silent
Evening fell
like a slow curtain over his hope.
6 o’clock shadows danced on the pavement
as he stepped out,
heart fluttering,
footsteps drifting
toward the steps beside her office—
the same old path
where glimpses bloomed like flowers
and silence sang a secret song.
But today…
fate held a different tune.
She was coming down the same steps—
not alone,
but beside a man,
a colleague perhaps,
with laughter
that echoed louder than thunder in his chest.
They walked
side by side,
their conversation painted in smiles,
their eyes easy,
unbothered.
He passed them—
a quiet stranger
to her new moment,
his smile stolen by the weight
suddenly stitched into his soul.
He did not speak.
He could not.
Their paths crossed—
but not their destinies.
The evening air felt colder,
the road longer.
He didn’t take the bus—
as if punishment lived in his steps,
he walked all 5 kilometers
towards the emptiness
he now called home.
And when he arrived,
the room didn’t welcome him,
the walls offered no peace.
He tossed
and turned—
a heart haunted
by a walk,
by a smile that wasn't his,
by the silence
that screamed her name.
He had her number now—
a sacred key
he could use.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
His fingers paused above the phone,
like trembling clouds
too heavy to pour.
Not a call.
Not a message.
Not even a "Hi."
He chose dignity
over desperation,
even as sorrow
wrapped itself around his chest
like an old familiar friend.
At last,
just before dawn,
sleep took him—
not in peace,
but in fragments
of her laughter echoing in his heart.
Chapter: The Morning That Never Began
—When the Sun Rose, But He Didn't
The sun had long risen—
climbing boldly to the center of the sky,
but he…
lay still beneath the faded ceiling,
where time moved
yet he remained
unmoved.
It was 8:45 AM.
The world outside bustled—
horns cried,
vendors shouted,
buses groaned with life.
But inside him,
only silence.
He opened his eyes
as if waking
was punishment.
No smile.
No spark.
Not even the familiar ache—
just emptiness
draped over him like an old, unwelcome coat.
He rose,
but not with purpose—
like a puppet
bound by habit,
not hope.
He stood before the mirror—
water on his face,
soap in his hands,
but none could wash away
the heaviness shadowing his gaze.
The face that looked back
was clean,
but not fresh—
it bore no light.
The morning felt bitter,
like coffee left out too long.
He didn’t like the hour.
He didn’t like the day.
He didn’t like the city,
the people,
the walls of his room,
even the sky felt cruelly bright.
Most of all,
he didn’t like
himself.
Still, he went.
To the office.
To the desk.
To the same files,
the same screens,
the same lifeless buzz of fluorescent lights.
But today,
he wouldn’t pass her office.
Wouldn’t walk the corridor
that once felt like poetry in motion.
Wouldn’t risk
another glimpse of her smile
that wasn’t his.
He chose stillness
over sorrow,
chose to stay buried in work
than watch joy
belong to someone else.
And so,
he sat in his office all day—
a man breathing,
but not alive,
a heart still beating,
but without rhythm.
The day dragged on,
gray and heavy,
until the sun folded its golden arms
and even the night
seemed less dark than his thoughts.
He had disappeared
from the one place
his heart always longed to be.
But would she notice?
Would she wonder?
Or would he simply vanish
like a name forgotten
in the wind?
Chapter: The Lift That Lowered the Heart
—When Goodbye Wasn't Spoken, Only Felt
The clock surrendered the day.
Work, though done,
left no sense of completion.
Just a dull ache,
like music fading mid-melody.
He walked—
but not his usual path.
Today, he took the lift.
A box of mirrors and still air,
a quiet descent,
just like his spirit.
The doors parted—
and so did the silence.
There she was.
Like a frame carved from golden dusk,
standing by the building's edge—
unexpected, yet perfectly placed,
like poetry written
without plan.
Wheat-colored shirt kissed her skin,
bottomed with ocean blue denim,
and her hair moved
like a thought too soft to speak.
His eyes met her.
She saw him.
But her voice…
was tired.
“Office over?”
he asked,
but not with hope—
only habit.
“Haa…”
came the reply,
barely brushing the wind.
No questions.
No smiles.
No light.
No spark.
No bridge between them.
He walked past.
She remained.
Still her same self.
Chirping joy through a murmured song,
as if the world had never been unfair.
Her feet tapped gently on the slope—
cement kissed by evening sun—
making her way to the main road,
where a white color car waited
like a period at the end of a sentence
never written.
She opened the rear door,
stepped inside—
a moment too casual
for the storm he felt.
The door closed.
The engine whispered.
And she was gone.
He stood on the pavement,
emptied of hope,
his heartbeat echoing the sound
of everything unsaid.
There was no jealousy.
No anger.
Just silence,
dense as wet earth after rain.
He turned.
And walked.
One foot after the other,
like dragging memory across stone.
Back to his room.
Back to the same walls.
Back to the ache
that dressed itself
in her wheat-colored smile.
Chapter: A Cup of Silence
—Not all mornings come with sunlight. Some arrive wrapped in questions.
The morning crept gently into the office,
its footsteps muffled by the soft rustle
of curtain shadows and humming ceiling fans.
She sat at her desk—
alone but not lonely,
early but not eager.
Her fingers traced the rim of the table,
but her thoughts traced someone else.
Why hasn't he called?
she wondered,
her mind forming his name
but her lips refusing to echo it.
Yesterday, he had seen her,
but his voice carried no warmth,
his eyes had no questions,
his smile—nowhere to be found.
She leaned back in her chair,
a quiet breath caught in her chest.
Just then,
a familiar sound broke the hush—
the soft scuff of old sandals,
the gentle clink of a tea cup.
It was, the office boy—
forty-something, dark-skinned,
with wisdom in his wrinkles
and stories in his silence.
He approached like clockwork,
a steaming cup in hand,
the scent of cardamom trailing behind.
He placed the tea gently on her desk
and with the other hand,
began wiping the surface
with his old cloth—
each stroke echoing years of routine.
In a casual sweep,
his hand brushed against her waist.
She gasped—then smiled,
knowing it was not mischief
but muscle memory.
Still, with playful retaliation,
she stepped back and gave him
a soft punch to his belly.
“Oho madam!” he chuckled,
his eyes crinkling like sunlit rivers.
They both laughed—
not because it was funny,
but because some mornings
deserve a little warmth
before the hours get heavy.
One by one,
chairs rolled in,
screens lit up,
keyboards clicked—
like a symphony tuning up for another
ordinary day.
She sipped her tea,
still wondering.
Not about work.
Not about the weekend.
But about a boy
who used to pass her door
like a poem in motion.
And now,
was just a pause
in her thoughts.
Chapter: The Lift Between Us
—Sometimes the closest distance is the farthest away.
The morning light slanted through the office atrium,
spilling gold upon cold floors and silent expectations.
He stepped into the building,
his eyes heavy, his heart heavier—
not for the work,
but for what he was trying to forget.
She was there.
Waiting.
Not by accident—
but not with certainty either.
By the lift, with a folder in hand,
she stood poised,
though her eyes trembled like wind-touched leaves.
He saw her.
For a second.
The world paused.
His breath knew her fragrance,
his memory recognized her shadow—
but his feet betrayed him.
He walked forward,
as if she was a stranger in his story.
He entered the lift.
She followed—
along with a handful of quiet strangers,
briefcases and Monday moods.
He didn’t turn.
Didn’t glance.
Didn’t let silence bloom into conversation.
The lift moved like time—
slow yet irreversible.
With each floor,
her courage climbed,
but his walls rose higher.
Second floor. Ding.
He slipped out like a secret,
swift as regret,
disappearing into the corridor
before her voice could find him.
She stepped forward—
hesitating—
wanting to call,
but her throat held no sound
that could stop a boy fleeing from memory.
His office door took him in.
As always.
Reliable escape.
She stood there,
in that hallway filled with flickering tubes and footsteps,
and lowered her eyes.
The lift doors closed again—
this time with her inside.
She walked to her desk,
not defeated,
just...
disappointed—
Chapter: A Heart That Weeps in Silence
—To love someone you can’t accept is the cruelest contradiction.
He sat in his chair,
papers before him,
emails blinking—
but his soul was elsewhere.
Inside, he was breaking quietly.
He thought of her—
not just her face,
not just the way she looked at the world—
but how she was in it.
He wanted her.
God, he wanted her.
To hold her hand through mundane Mondays,
to laugh under the sky with no reason,
to drink chai with her silence,
to sit beside her when words had no place.
He dreamed her in moments:
Walking beside him,
eating beside him,
waking up beside him in a home built of little joys.
But still—
something didn’t sit right.
A corner in his soul resisted.
A flaw he couldn’t ignore.
He didn’t like her character.
She was everything he didn’t want,
but also everything he couldn’t stop loving.
She was noise when he needed quiet,
mystery when he craved clarity.
She was charm with no anchor.
And so,
the pain was not just of distance—
but of contradiction.
He wanted her,
but not like this.
Not in a version where love meant suffering.
Not in a rhythm where one danced,
and the other dragged their feet.
His heart wept—
not in tears,
but in aching silences between keystrokes.
No one noticed.
Because men like him don’t cry.
They just breathe differently,
sit a little quieter,
and smile like cracked glass.
Sweet pain lived in him now—
not bitter,
but slow,
like sugar dissolving in tea
that’s already gone cold.
He couldn't call her.
He wouldn’t.
Not with this chaos in his chest.
But in the theater of his mind,
he was with her always—
not touching,
not talking—
just existing beside her
in the life that would never be
Chapter: A Glimpse That Turned Away
—Some meetings are louder in silence than in words.
Evening fell
like a sigh over the city.
The road outside the office
buzzed with a thousand feet,
cars honking like broken violins,
people chasing their own tired tomorrows.
He stepped out—
shirt creased by a restless day,
heart heavier than his bag.
Another sunset,
another chance to forget her.
But fate had other plans.
She stood there—
waiting.
Not by accident,
not in passing,
but as if she had stitched her will
to that one fragile moment.
Cream-colored dress dancing in the wind,
a shoulder bag resting gently like a poem.
Eyes searching, heart whispering,
lips pressed with a nervous prayer.
She looked beautiful.
Not in the way magazines describe,
but in the way someone looks
when they wait for a person
who may never stop to see them.
He saw her.
The universe paused.
One second stretched
into a lifetime.
Shock caught in his eyes.
Recognition,
confusion,
and then—
retreat.
His gaze dropped like rain,
feet sped up as if chased by a truth
he wasn’t ready to accept.
She watched him pass—
no smile, no word,
no glance back.
Her breath caught in the silence he left behind.
Disappointment, soft but sharp,
danced in her chest.
The noise of the world returned.
But for her, it was all a hush.
Because sometimes,
what breaks a heart
is not a goodbye,
but a turning away
when all it wanted
was to be seen.
Chapter: A Temple in the Rain
—Some wounds are carved deeper than memory, where even rain cannot wash them away.
The next evening fell
just like the one before.
Same steps, same sky,
but the wind whispered
a different kind of silence.
He walked out,
hope quietly hiding behind his ribs,
maybe today…
But she wasn’t there waiting.
No searching eyes,
no anxious smile.
She was already walking—
not alone.
Beside her was another shadow,
a man whose shoulders
carried her bag.
They shared no secrets with the world,
but the silence between them
screamed something sacred.
Her hand swayed gently.
In it, a glimmering iPod—
earbuds cradling her ears
like someone whispering love
where he once dreamed to speak.
It hit him like fate’s cruel dagger.
A gift. His gift. Confirmed.
But not from him.
The heart doesn’t break politely.
It collapses,
sinks to its knees
even when the body keeps standing.
Behind them, he fell—
not into the earth,
but into himself.
They walked away,
laughing somewhere between
his love and her indifference.
Then came the rain.
Not a drizzle,
but a downpour
that matched the monsoon inside him.
Tears?
They were lost in the flood
falling from heaven,
as if even the skies couldn’t bear
his story.
He walked.
Not home.
Not to shelter.
But to forget.
To a bar where souls
try to drown what won’t die.
Glass after glass,
the pain sank deeper.
But what he tried to pour down his throat
was instead coming out through his eyes.
Not tears.
But liquid sorrow.
pain coming out
Transparent wounds
from a heart that bled silence.
He wasn’t drunk.
He was destroyed.
And still—
she lived like a temple
inside him.
Chapter: The Truth That Broke Him
—Not every truth sets you free; some truths bury you alive.
He didn’t want to believe it.
But truth…
Truth has a cruel way of confirming itself
in the quietest of moments.
One evening,
as twilight painted the sky in tired gold,
he saw her again—
stepping into a dark-tinted car,
alone, yet not alone.
Another night,
she sat in a corner booth of a restaurant,
not facing him,
but facing someone else.
Someone new.
Someone different every time.
Smiles were exchanged,
glasses raised,
laughter echoed across
the table he had once dreamed
of sharing with her.
And slowly,
like dust settling on forgotten dreams,
it came to him—
the unbearable truth.
She wasn’t his muse.
She wasn’t his dream.
She wasn’t even the storm he could weather.
She was a mirage.
A face in passing.
A call away… to anyone.
He wanted to scream.
To rage.
To run.
But he did none of that.
Instead—
he drank.
Not for joy.
Not for celebration.
But to erase…
to blur her face,
to silence her voice
that still hummed in his soul.
Glass after glass,
he was no longer living—
just floating
in an ocean of liquor and lies.
His body weakened.
Eyes darkened.
Face turned pale
like a moon that had forgotten how to glow.
But he didn’t care.
He had loved her
more than she deserved,
more than he understood,
and now that love
was a poison he drank
night after night.
His friends faded.
Work stumbled.
Life passed him by
like strangers on a street
he no longer wished to walk.
She?
She moved on—untouched, unbothered.
But he?
He was collapsing—
not from heartbreak,
but from hope that refused to die
even after truth had killed it.
And so he sits,
under dim lights,
with a shattered liver
and a shattered soul,
holding one more drink
as if it were her hand.
But no matter how much he drinks,
he cannot drown
a temple built in the wrong name.
Final Chapter: The Last Signal
—Not all love stories end with togetherness; some end with timeless silence.
He called her that day—
a quiet voice,
shaken by storms no one else could hear.
"Any job vacancies…?"
he asked.
But she knew—
it wasn't about work.
Not really.
It was him. It was her.
It was everything that remained unsaid between two wounded hearts.
"I want to meet you…
Today.
Evening.
Office 4 Signal… Bus stop."
He didn’t wait for a reply.
He cut the call—
like a final chapter closing itself
before the pen finishes its ink.
That evening,
she arrived—
draped in elegance, unaware
that this beauty would meet death.
He was already there.
Leaning.
Swaying.
Broken from within, but standing tall for one last truth.
No greetings.
No smile.
Just his trembling voice
drowning in yesterday's bottles and today’s heartbreak.
“Sorry…
for wasting your time.
Because I don’t love you.
I hate you…”
Her eyes widened—
but he continued,
voice breaking like glass with every word.
“Yet I live you—every day.
But you?
You are everywhere…
with everyone.
I dreamt of growing old with you—
white hair, wrinkled hands,
two cups of tea and love that never aged.
But now?
You made me cry,
every day.
You… don’t even know what love is.
You know price… not feelings.
You count notes… not emotions.
You share touches like it's currency—
but I…
I touched you without ever touching you…
That’s love.”
She began to cry—
but his eyes,
those hollow eyes,
refused to accept it.
He stepped back.
“Don’t…
don’t touch me.
Don’t pollute what I made sacred.
Let my love stay clean—pure—undisturbed by your hands.”
She choked between sobs,
“I understand now…
Your love… it's real.
I’ll change.
I’ll fix myself.
I love you.
I want you.
Marry me.
Let me live with you—forever.”
He gave a smile—
not made of joy,
but of wounds.
“Forever?”
he asked,
“Who will live forever?
You… or me?”
She looked—
confused, trembling.
Before the question could leave her lips,
he collapsed.
Sunlight touched the street
one last time on his fading face.
Blood kissed the tar road—
slow, deep, final.
He had taken poison.
A slow goodbye he’d rehearsed in his silence.
She rushed to hold him—
but he pulled back,
even in death's doorway.
“I hate you…
Don’t touch me.
Don’t… taint my love.”
And just like that,
he died.
Not in her arms,
but under the sky they once shared,
now covered in clouds.
She stepped back.
Crying.
Screaming without sound.
The heavens answered her tears with rain.
Heavy, brutal rain.
The body on the road didn’t shiver—
didn’t tremble.
It lay there,
drenched in tears from the sky,
but peaceful—
almost beautiful.
A statue of devotion.
A temple in the storm.
Because sometimes,
true love doesn't end in marriage—
it ends in memory,
forever etched in a puddle of rain and roses.
🎵 "I Loved You Without Touch"
Genre: Soft acoustic / soul-pop
Theme: True love, heartbreak, dignity in love, poetic purity
[Verse 1]
I saw you shining in a world so loud,
Golden skin beneath the crowd,
But I never reached, I never tried,
I just loved you from the quiet side.
You smiled at strangers, danced through fire,
But I held dreams, not wild desire.
You chased the lights, I built a flame,
You wore your beauty, I wore your name.
[Chorus]
I loved you without a single touch,
In my heart, that was enough.
You never knew the tears I’d hide,
I died a little more each night.
You were everywhere, but never mine,
Still I kept you like a sacred sign.
True love fell where beauty stood—
But I loved you the way no one could.
[Verse 2]
You walked in heels I couldn’t hold,
With stories paid and stories sold.
But I painted temples in my chest,
While you wore diamonds on your dress.
You never knew what silence said,
Or what a tear could mean unsaid.
But I kept hope behind my eyes,
Built forever out of goodbyes.
[Chorus]
I loved you without a single touch,
In my soul, that was enough.
You chased the world, I chased a dream,
Where love was pure and hearts were clean.
You were lost in noise and shine,
But I held on to your soul like mine.
True love broke where beauty stood—
But I loved you the way no one could.
[Bridge]
Now the rain is falling,
And I’m not calling.
I said goodbye without a word,
But I know my love was heard.
Not by you… but by the sky,
That we once walked under, you and I.
[Final Chorus]
I loved you without a single touch,
Through storms and silence, that was enough.
Though you belong to another place,
I still remember your soul, not your face.
You were never mine, and that’s okay,
I gave my love, then walked away.
True love lost where beauty stood—
But I loved you the way no one could.
🎶 "I loved you... the way no one could..."
Fade out with soft guitar picking, light rain sound.
🎵 "నీ స్పర్శ లేకుండానే ప్రేమించా"
శైలీ: మృదువైన హృదయమైన గీతం (సోఫ్ట్ సౌల్-పాప్)
తీమ్: శుద్ధమైన ప్రేమ, హృదయభంగం, అందంపై ప్రేమ పరాజయం
[పల్లవి 1]
అందర్లో నీవు వెలుగులో మెరిసావు,
ఆ వణుకు జనంలో నీవు తేలిపోతావు,
నిన్ను తాకలేక ప్రేమించా,
నిశ్శబ్దంగా తపించా.
అతిథులమధ్య నీ నవ్వు సాగింది,
నా కలలకోసం నేను మౌనంగా సాగాను.
నీ వెలుగు వెంట ప్రపంచం పరిగెత్తింది,
నేను మాత్రం హృదయంలో ఆలయాన్ని కట్టుకున్నా.
[చరణం]
నీ స్పర్శ లేకుండానే ప్రేమించా,
నా హృదయంలో అది చాలనిపించేది.
నీవు చూసినా నన్ను కానీవు,
ప్రతి రాత్రి కొంచెం చచ్చిపోయేవాణ్ని.
నీవు అందరితో, కానీ నాది కాదవు,
అయినా నిన్ను నా స్వాసలాగా మోశాను.
అందం ఉన్న చోట ప్రేమ ఓడింది,
కానీ నిన్ను ప్రేమించింది ఎవరూ చేయలేని ప్రేమతో.
[పల్లవి 2]
నీ అడుగులు ఎవరూ నెట్టలేరు,
నీ కథలు ఎవరో కొనిపోతున్నారు.
కానీ నీ కోసం నా గుండెలో గుడిని కట్టుకున్నా,
నీవు బంగారు ధరించినా, నేను ఆశను ధరించాను.
నీవు నిశ్శబ్దం లోని మాటలు వినలేరు,
నీరేడినా అర్ధం చేసుకోలేరు.
నా కళ్ల వెనక ఆశ పండింది,
గుడ్బైలతో నిత్యం ప్రేమను నిర్మించాను.
[మళ్ళీ పల్లవి]
నీ స్పర్శ లేకుండానే ప్రేమించా,
నా ప్రాణంలో అది చాలిపోయింది.
నీవు ప్రపంచం కోసం పరుగులు,
నేను మాత్రం కల కోసం నడిచా.
నీవు వెలుగుల్లో కలవడి,
నిన్ను నా అంతరాత్మగా నమ్ముకున్నా.
అందం ఉన్న చోట ప్రేమ ఓడింది,
కానీ నిన్ను ప్రేమించింది ఎవరూ చేయలేని ప్రేమతో.
[బ్రిడ్జ్]
ఇప్పుడు వాన కురుస్తోంది,
కానీ నేను పిలవను.
నిశ్శబ్దంగా నేను వీడ్కోలు చెప్పా,
కానీ నా ప్రేమ ఆకాశం విన్నది.
నీవు కాదు... కానీ ఆ ఆకాశమే,
మనం కలిసిన క్షణాల్ని గుర్తుచేసే ఆకాశమే.
[చివరి పల్లవి]
నీ స్పర్శ లేకుండానే ప్రేమించా,
వేధనలలో కూడా అది చాలింది.
నీవు వేరే లోకానికి చెందినవాళ్ళవు,
కానీ నీ ఆత్మను నేను గుర్తుపెట్టుకున్నా.
నీవు నాది కాకపోయినా, నాకు సరి,
నా ప్రేమను ఇచ్చి, మౌనంగా వెళ్లిపోయాను.
అందం ఉన్న చోట ప్రేమ ఓడింది,
కానీ నిన్ను ప్రేమించింది ఎవరూ చేయలేని ప్రేమతో.
🎶 "నిన్ను ప్రేమించా... ఎవరూ చేయలేని ప్రేమతో..."
(వీణా వాయిద్యం మరియు లేత వర్షపు శబ్దంతో ముగింపు)
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