'Some people spend their lives searching for answers. Others spend their lives carrying burdens. And sometimes, destiny introduces them to each other.'

The world had a peculiar habit of judging people too quickly.

A single mistake became a reputation.

A single rumor became a truth.

A single headline became an identity.

Few people bothered looking beyond what was visible.

Fewer still cared enough to search beneath appearances.

Perhaps that was why understanding someone was one of the rarest forms of love.

Because understanding required patience.

It required listening.

It required choosing curiosity over assumptions.

And in a world that constantly rushed toward conclusions, there existed two people who stood on opposite sides of that truth.

One spent her life asking questions.

The other spent his life carrying answers he could never fully explain.

Neither knew it yet.

But somewhere between curiosity and responsibility, destiny was quietly preparing a story of its own.

🎵तू नज़्म नज़्म सा मेरे

होंठो पे ठहर जा

मैं ख्वाब ख्वाब सा तेरी

आँखों में जागूं रे

तू इश्क इश्क सा मेरे

रूह में आ के बस जा

जिस ओर तेरी शहनाई

उस ओर मैं भागूं रे 🎵

The blinking cursor on my laptop mocked my existence.

I narrowed my eyes.

The cursor blinked again.

Slowly.

Patiently.

Almost as if it knew I had been staring at the same unfinished article for twenty-three minutes.

"Don't test me."

The cursor remained fearless.

I sighed dramatically and collapsed backward onto my bed.

My room looked exactly like what happened when curiosity became a personality trait.

Books occupied every available surface.

Sticky notes covered half the wall.

Three coffee mugs sat on my study table.

One contained coffee.

One contained cold coffee.

The third had become a mystery nobody was brave enough to investigate.

My laptop remained open.

Several tabs remained open.

Approximately fifty-seven tabs, to be precise.

Though I firmly believed fifty-seven tabs was a sign of intelligence rather than poor life choices.

Outside my bedroom window, the city glowed beneath the darkness of late evening.

Inside, however, chaos reigned supreme.

And I loved it.

My phone buzzed.

A message from my editor appeared.

Article?

I stared at the message.

Then at the unfinished document.

Then back at the message.

A reasonable person would have responded immediately.

Me, unfortunately, was not always reasonable.

Instead, I opened another tab.

Five minutes later I was reading about cyber security.

Ten minutes later I was researching a twenty-year-old corruption case.

Fifteen minutes later I somehow found myself watching a documentary about penguins.

The article remained untouched.

My editor sent another message.

Tavira.

I winced.

Caught.

With a groan, I finally returned to work.

Journalism had always felt natural to me.

Not because I enjoyed writing.

Though I did.

Not because I enjoyed attention.

I certainly didn't.

It was because I hated unanswered questions.

Ever since childhood, curiosity had followed me like a stubborn shadow.

If someone said:

"Don't ask."

I immediately wanted to know.

If someone said:

"It's none of your business."

I became convinced it was entirely my business.

Truth fascinated me.

Not the polished version people displayed for the world.

The real version.

The hidden version.

The version buried beneath appearances.

Perhaps that was why I became a journalist.

Stories mattered.

People mattered.

Truth mattered.

Even when it was uncomfortable.

Even when it was messy.

Even when nobody wanted to hear it.

A soft smile appeared on my face as I finally completed the article.

Victory.

At last.

Stretching my arms above my head, I glanced toward the family photograph resting beside my desk.

My parents.

My younger brother.

Myself.

The smile widened.

For all my chaos, I loved deeply.

Fiercely.

Unconditionally.

Whether it was family.

Friends.

Or causes I believed in.

Once my heart chose something, it remained loyal.

That loyalty had gotten me into trouble more times than I could count.

Yet I  wouldn't change it.

Because some things were worth fighting for.

Even if the world thought otherwise.

Little did I know that one day my curiosity would lead me toward a man everyone seemed to have already formed an opinion about.

And being Tavira Talwar...

That would only make me want to know him more.

🎵Roothi Ae Sabte Rabba

Rabba Dil Bhi Hai Rootha

Sab Kuchh Hai Bikhra Bikhra

Bikhra Sa Rootha Rootha

Chup Maahi Chup Hai Ranjha

Bole Kaise Ve Na Ja

Bole Kaise Ve Na Ja

Aaja Aaja

Bole Kaise Ve Na Ja

Bole Kaise Ve Na Ja

Chup Maahi Chup Hai Ranjha

Aaja Aaja 🎵

The office lights should have been off hours ago.

Most of the staff had already left.

The corridors had fallen silent.

The city outside had begun preparing for sleep.

Yet the lamp on my desk continued to glow.

A mountain of files occupied one side.

A half-finished cup of black coffee occupied the other.

Neither seemed likely to disappear anytime soon.

Achyut adjusted my glasses and continued reading.

Another report.

Another request.

Another responsibility.

The work never truly ended.

It merely paused long enough to begin again.

People often assumed power made life easier.

I had learned the opposite.

Power brought responsibility.

Responsibility brought sacrifice.

And sacrifice rarely announced itself.

It appeared quietly.

One missed family gathering at a time.

One sleepless night at a time.

One difficult decision at a time.

My gaze drifted toward the city visible through the large office window.

Thousands of lights sparkled beneath the darkness.

Thousands of lives continued moving forward.

Each carrying its own worries.

Its own hopes.

Its own struggles.

And somehow, despite the criticism that accompanied my position, I never forgot who I worked for.

The people.

Not the praise.

Not the recognition.

Not the headlines.

The people.

A knock interrupted my thoughts.

A junior officer entered.

"Sir."

I looked up.

"You haven't gone home yet?"

The younger man laughed awkwardly.

"Neither have you, sir."

A rare smile touched my lips.

Brief.

Almost impossible to notice.

Yet genuine.

The officer blinked.

Because moments like these were uncommon almost rare.

Most people knew me as disciplined.

Reserved.

Professional.

A man who rarely revealed what I felt.

Few people realized kindness often existed quietly.

Without announcements.

Without witnesses.

Without expectations.

After the officer left, silence returned.

Comfortable.

Familiar.

I leaned back slightly in my chair.

For a moment, exhaustion settled upon my shoulders.

Not physical exhaustion.

Something deeper.

The kind that came from carrying responsibilities nobody else could see.

Yet despite everything, I would choose this life again.

Because helping people mattered.

Because doing the right thing mattered.

Because some responsibilities were worth carrying.

Outside, the city continued moving.

Inside, I returned to my work.

Unaware that somewhere in the same city, a curious journalist was unknowingly moving closer to becoming a chapter in his story.

And for the first time in a very long while...

Life was preparing to surprise him.

Ending quote for the chapter

'The curious seek the truth. The responsible carry it. And sometimes, fate decides that both deserve to be understood.'

Questions time

1. Which character intrigued you more in this chapter—Tavira or Achyut?

2. What do you think is harder:

constantly searching for the truth like Tavira, or constantly carrying responsibility like Achyut?

Stay tuned

Gaura 🧿

And don't forget to let me know

about ur views.