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Itna deeply aapne silence ko notice kiya ho… that really means a lot to me.
Padhne ke baad jab maine laptop se nazar hataai, toh kamre mein ek ajeeb sa sannata tha. Bilkul waisa hi sannata jiske baare mein Arnav apne sessions mein baat karta hai. Aapne shuruat mein ek sawal poocha tha: "Agar pagal hi pyar kar le toh?" Iska jawab aapne shabdon se nahi, balki us 'disinfectant ki smell' aur 'perfectly aligned cushions' ke zariye diya hai. Khamoshi ka yeh saundarya shaastra likhna kisi aam kalam ke bas ki baat nahi. Cheekhein toh koi bhi kaghaz par utaar sakta hai, par sannate ko itna deafening bana dena sach mein kamaal hai.
Main hamesha sochta tha ki thriller aur dark romance ke beech ki boundary kahan khatam hoti hai. Aapki kahani padhne ke baad samajh aaya ki wo boundary Anamika ke high heels ke neeche kabki dab kar toot chuki hai. Yeh kahani ordinary lovers ki nahi hai. Yeh unki kahani hai jo apni khamoshi ko ek doosre ki bhasha mein translate karna jaante hain.
Arnav ka character apne aap mein ek walking contradiction hai. Ek aisa forensic expert jo maut mein bhi symmetry dhoondhta hai. Arnav duniya ko apne clinical lens se dekhta hai, par Anamika us lens par padi ek aisi dhool ban chuki hai jise woh saaf nahi karna chahta.
Aur sach kahun toh Arnav ki thodi si aisi haalat dekh kar ek halki si hasi bhi aati hai. Bechara apni forensic lab mein baith kar junoon aur obsession ko test tube mein daal kar measure karne ki koshish kar raha hai. Use lagta hai har cheez ka logic hota hai, par jab pyaar pagalpan ban jaye toh DNA aur blood spatter ki reports fail ho hi jaati hain.
Ab aate hain Anamika par. What a wonderfully terrifying creation she is! Jab society us par ungli uthati hai aur media trial shuru karti hai, toh woh maafi nahi maangti. Saadat Hasan Manto ne ek baar kaha tha, "Main society ke kapde nahi utaarta, woh to pehle se hi nangi hai." Anamika ka kirdar bilkul yahi karta hai. Log uski kitabon se isliye darte hain kyunki unhein unme apna aks dikh jata hai. Uski "I don't mind discomfort, it makes people honest" wali line seedha literature ke kisi classic piece ki tarah hit karti hai.
Aapka writing style bilkul ek sharp scalpel ki tarah hai. Koi extra emotional drama nahi, koi unnecessary rona dhona nahi. Jis tarah se aapne 'The Violence of Quiet' ko portray kiya hai, woh mind blowing hai. Aksar pop culture mein obsession ko bahut loud aur tacky banakar dikhaya jata hai, jahan log kaanch todte hain ya cheekhte hain. Par aapne dikhaya ki asli obsession kitna disciplined hota hai. Woh perfectly banaye hue bed, neatly aligned printer paper aur ek cup coffee mein chhipa hota hai.
Episode 9 aate aate aapne kahani ko jis naye mod par lakar khada kiya hai, usne aage kya hoga, yeh sochne par majboor kar diya. "Pain is inherited" ek aisi line hai jo kisi bhi reader ko andar tak hila sakti hai. Woh teesra insaan jo Anamika ke aesthetic ko chura raha hai, usne is psycho romance ko ek dark existential chess game mein badal diya hai.
Friedrich Nietzsche ne ek bahut mashhoor baat likhi thi, "And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." Arnav ke case mein toh bechare ke saath tragedy yeh hui ki abyss ne usse personally WhatsApp message karke chhedna bhi shuru kar diya hai!
Ek writer ke taur par aapki sabse badi jeet yeh hai ki aapne apne readers ko ek moment ke liye bhi comfortable nahi hone diya. "This story does not seek your comfort" sirf Anamika ki website ki line nahi thi, yeh aapka apne readers ke liye ek khula challenge tha. Aur aap us challenge mein poori tarah jeeti hain. Aapne humein uss forensic lab ki thandak aur uss green room ki suffocating tension dono mehsoos karwayi.
Keep writing, you are really good at it.
@RagVi Singh
Sach batau to update padhte time feel hota hai ke me dono ke bich betha hu aur yeh kahani pyaar ki nahi, survival ki hai. Aur shayad isi wajah se itni bhari mahsus hoti hai.EPISODE 10 — The Things We Don’t Forget
2:38 AM.
Arnav ko neend nahi aa rahi thi.
Room dark tha, bas balcony se city lights aa rahi thi. Table par open notebook, pen uncapped, par blank page untouched.
Uska dimaag baar baar ek hi chehre par atak raha tha.
Anamika.
Uska calm face.
Uski controlled voice.
Uski aankhon mein woh ajeeb sa stillness.
Arnav ne khud se poocha — kya woh sach mein itni composed hai?
Ya woh sirf practice karti hai?
Phone screen glow hua.
Message from Anamika.
Private preview tomorrow. No press. Come if you’re curious.
Curious.
Woh word ajeeb laga.
Jaise invitation nahi, challenge ho.
Arnav ne reply nahi kiya.
Par woh jaane wala tha.
Next evening.
Gallery almost empty thi.
Soft yellow lights. Concrete walls. Paintings distorted — broken silhouettes, overlapping shadows, muted reds.
Anamika center mein khadi thi.
Black silk shirt. Hair open tonight. No heavy makeup.
Less public. More personal.
She noticed him immediately.
“You came.”
“I was curious.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“That’s a dangerous trait.”
“Why?”
“Because curiosity leads to attachment.”
Woh usko dekh rahi thi — seedha, bina blink kiye.
Uncomfortable nahi.
Intentional.
“You look at things like you’re trying to understand them,” she said.
“It’s my job.”
She shook her head.
“No. It’s not professional. It’s personal.”
Pause.
She walked toward a painting — ek female figure jo do opposite directions mein shadow cast kar rahi thi.
“What do you see?” she asked.
“Division,” Arnav said.
“Between?”
“Who she is. And who she was made to be.”
Anamika’s lips curved faintly.
“Made to be,” she repeated softly.
Phir woh uski taraf turn hui.
Her eyes lingered.
“Your eyes seem familiar.”
Arnav still ho gaya.
“Have we met before?”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“It’s not memory of meeting you.”
Pause.
“It’s memory of being watched without judgment.”
Something shifted.
Arnav ne kuch reply nahi kiya.
Kabhi kabhi silence hi safest answer hota hai.
Assistant ne quietly approach karke kuch whisper kiya.
Anamika ne bas nod kiya.
“Walk with me,” she said.
Parking lot quiet tha.
She unlocked her car.
Door open karte hi woh ruk gayi.
Seat par ek red ribbon neatly folded rakhi thi.
Neither dramatic. Nor messy.
Just… placed.
Arnav immediately alert ho gaya.
“Don’t touch it.”
Anamika ne uski taraf dekha.
“I’m not fragile.”
Phir woh tissue se ribbon uthati hai.
Hands steady.
Par uski breathing slightly uneven.
Arnav ne notice kiya.
“Does this mean something?” he asked softly.
She stared at ribbon.
“Everything means something.”
“From your past?”
She didn’t answer directly.
Instead:
“Some memories don’t knock. They let themselves in.”
Wind halka sa move karta hai uske baal.
She looks at him.
“You’re worried.”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
She studies his face carefully.
Jaise confirm kar rahi ho ke yeh sach hai.
Then quietly:
“That’s new.”
Lift ride silent thi.
Mirrored walls mein dono ke reflections side by side.
Anamika suddenly poochti hai:
“Do you pity me?”
“No.”
Immediate.
She watches him through reflection.
“Good.”
Pause.
“I don’t like being pitied.”
Lift open.
Apartment dimly lit hai.
Sirf ek lamp on.
Warm glow.
She places ribbon on coffee table.
Not dramatically.
Bas rakh deti hai.
Arnav khada rehta hai.
“You can sit,” she says.
He sits.
She window ke paas jaake khadi ho jati hai.
City below glitter kar rahi hai.
“People think trauma makes you fragile,” she says quietly.
“It doesn’t.”
Arnav waits.
“It makes you selective.”
“Selective about what?”
She turns.
“Who gets to see it.”
Silence heavy ho jata hai.
Arnav softly poochta hai:
“Are you afraid?”
She smiles faintly.
“I don’t do fear.”
Pause.
“I do control.”
She walks closer.
Stops in front of him.
“You look like you want to fix something.”
“I don’t fix people.”
“Good.”
Beat.
“I don’t need fixing.”
She sits opposite him now.
Legs crossed.
Eyes sharp.
“Tell me something,” she says.
“Did anyone ever teach you how to survive?”
Arnav taken aback.
“No.”
She nods slightly.
“Some of us are trained young.”
He looks at ribbon.
“By who?”
Her expression doesn’t change.
“By whoever benefits from your silence.”
That line hangs.
Not angry.
Not sad.
Just factual.
She leans back.
“You’re thinking too much.”
“About what?”
“About me.”
Arnav doesn’t deny.
She tilts her head.
“That’s dangerous.”
“For who?”
“For you.”
Silence stretches.
Charged. Quiet.
Then suddenly —
She reaches forward and picks up ribbon.
Wraps it once around her wrist.
Not tight.
Just resting.
“See?” she says calmly.
“It doesn’t control me.”
But her fingers tighten slightly.
Almost unconsciously.
Arnav notices.
Doesn’t comment.
Instead he says softly:
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
That line hits differently.
For a split second —
Her eyes lose sharpness.
Something younger flashes.
Gone quickly.
“You’re not like the others,” she says.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s bothering me.”
“Why?”
She stands.
Walks closer.
So close ke unki breathing mix ho jati hai.
“Because you’re not afraid of me.”
Beat.
“You’re afraid for me.”
Air shifts.
Arnav’s voice lower now.
“Does that scare you?”
She holds his gaze.
Long.
Then quietly:
“Yes.”
Honest.
Small.
Real.
She steps back immediately after.
Mask sliding back in place.
“I don’t like needing people.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
She watches him.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m staying.”
Silence.
Heavy.
She looks away first.
Softly:
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if you stay… I might get used to it.”
That’s the crack.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Human.
Arnav stands slowly.
Moves beside her near the window.
Not touching.
Just there.
“Then don’t get used to it,” he says quietly.
“Just don’t push it away.”
City lights flicker below.
Ribbon still around her wrist.
For the first time —
It doesn’t feel like a threat.
It feels like something unfinished.
She glances at him.
“And if I push you away?”
“I’ll decide what to do then.”
That answer surprises her.
She studies him carefully.
Then whispers:
“You’re stubborn.”
“Occupational hazard.”
A faint smile escapes her.
Genuine.
Small.
And then it’s gone.
She removes ribbon slowly.
Places it back on table.
Not as a weapon.
Not as a symbol.
Just as something that exists.
“Stay,” she says softly.
This time not challenging.
Not testing.
Just asking.
Arnav doesn’t reply.
He just sits back down.
And for once —
Neither of them tries to dissect the silence.
They just sit inside it.
Together.
next update soon
stay tuned
Free hote hi read karta huepisode has been posted guys
do check n give ur valuable feedback

Week main kitne update ayenge
Happy birthday![]()
![]()
And congratulations![]()
for new Journey of XF...
Awesome starting please keep writing
I hope story disappointing nahi hogi
Congratulations and best of luck
और जो भी लिखना, व्यूज और रिव्यूज के चक्कर में मत लिखना, बस दिल से लिखना।
Nice ones Raghvi.. finally likhna start to kiya dobara se.. excited to see how it unfolds..
Keep writing![]()
Nice one
राघू![]()
Update kidhar hai![]()
Padhne ke baad jab maine laptop se nazar hataai, toh kamre mein ek ajeeb sa sannata tha. Bilkul waisa hi sannata jiske baare mein Arnav apne sessions mein baat karta hai. Aapne shuruat mein ek sawal poocha tha: "Agar pagal hi pyar kar le toh?" Iska jawab aapne shabdon se nahi, balki us 'disinfectant ki smell' aur 'perfectly aligned cushions' ke zariye diya hai. Khamoshi ka yeh saundarya shaastra likhna kisi aam kalam ke bas ki baat nahi. Cheekhein toh koi bhi kaghaz par utaar sakta hai, par sannate ko itna deafening bana dena sach mein kamaal hai.
Main hamesha sochta tha ki thriller aur dark romance ke beech ki boundary kahan khatam hoti hai. Aapki kahani padhne ke baad samajh aaya ki wo boundary Anamika ke high heels ke neeche kabki dab kar toot chuki hai. Yeh kahani ordinary lovers ki nahi hai. Yeh unki kahani hai jo apni khamoshi ko ek doosre ki bhasha mein translate karna jaante hain.
Arnav ka character apne aap mein ek walking contradiction hai. Ek aisa forensic expert jo maut mein bhi symmetry dhoondhta hai. Arnav duniya ko apne clinical lens se dekhta hai, par Anamika us lens par padi ek aisi dhool ban chuki hai jise woh saaf nahi karna chahta.
Aur sach kahun toh Arnav ki thodi si aisi haalat dekh kar ek halki si hasi bhi aati hai. Bechara apni forensic lab mein baith kar junoon aur obsession ko test tube mein daal kar measure karne ki koshish kar raha hai. Use lagta hai har cheez ka logic hota hai, par jab pyaar pagalpan ban jaye toh DNA aur blood spatter ki reports fail ho hi jaati hain.
Ab aate hain Anamika par. What a wonderfully terrifying creation she is! Jab society us par ungli uthati hai aur media trial shuru karti hai, toh woh maafi nahi maangti. Saadat Hasan Manto ne ek baar kaha tha, "Main society ke kapde nahi utaarta, woh to pehle se hi nangi hai." Anamika ka kirdar bilkul yahi karta hai. Log uski kitabon se isliye darte hain kyunki unhein unme apna aks dikh jata hai. Uski "I don't mind discomfort, it makes people honest" wali line seedha literature ke kisi classic piece ki tarah hit karti hai.
Aapka writing style bilkul ek sharp scalpel ki tarah hai. Koi extra emotional drama nahi, koi unnecessary rona dhona nahi. Jis tarah se aapne 'The Violence of Quiet' ko portray kiya hai, woh mind blowing hai. Aksar pop culture mein obsession ko bahut loud aur tacky banakar dikhaya jata hai, jahan log kaanch todte hain ya cheekhte hain. Par aapne dikhaya ki asli obsession kitna disciplined hota hai. Woh perfectly banaye hue bed, neatly aligned printer paper aur ek cup coffee mein chhipa hota hai.
Episode 9 aate aate aapne kahani ko jis naye mod par lakar khada kiya hai, usne aage kya hoga, yeh sochne par majboor kar diya. "Pain is inherited" ek aisi line hai jo kisi bhi reader ko andar tak hila sakti hai. Woh teesra insaan jo Anamika ke aesthetic ko chura raha hai, usne is psycho romance ko ek dark existential chess game mein badal diya hai.
Friedrich Nietzsche ne ek bahut mashhoor baat likhi thi, "And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you." Arnav ke case mein toh bechare ke saath tragedy yeh hui ki abyss ne usse personally WhatsApp message karke chhedna bhi shuru kar diya hai!
Ek writer ke taur par aapki sabse badi jeet yeh hai ki aapne apne readers ko ek moment ke liye bhi comfortable nahi hone diya. "This story does not seek your comfort" sirf Anamika ki website ki line nahi thi, yeh aapka apne readers ke liye ek khula challenge tha. Aur aap us challenge mein poori tarah jeeti hain. Aapne humein uss forensic lab ki thandak aur uss green room ki suffocating tension dono mehsoos karwayi.
Keep writing, you are really good at it.
@RagVi Singh
Sach batau to update padhte time feel hota hai ke me dono ke bich betha hu aur yeh kahani pyaar ki nahi, survival ki hai. Aur shayad isi wajah se itni bhari mahsus hoti hai.
Late night, Blank notebook. Open pen. Par ek bhi shabd nahi. Yaha jese tum hame ye dikhana chah rahi thi ke Arnav ke mind me kya chal raha hai, kitne thoughts bhare pade hain, par uski express karne ki himmat hi nahi. Woh sirf Anamika ke baare mein nahi soch raha… woh us silence ke baare mein soch raha hai jo uske charo taraf rehta hai.
Gallery wala scene strangely unsettling tha. Paintings ka description minimal tha, par atmosphere esa ke suffocating sa feel ho raha tha. Jab Arnav kahta hai ke “Who she is. And who she was made to be.” — woh line sirf art ko analysis nahi karti balki Woh ek confession jaisa lagta hai. Jaise woh samajh raha hai ki Anamika ka asli conflict duniya se nahi, khud se hai.
Red ribbon ka moment… honestly, woh pure episode ka darkest point tha. Koi loud threat nahi, koi drama nahi. Bas ek neatly folded ribbon. Aur wahi simplicity sabse zyada disturb karti hai. Jab Anamika ne usse apni wrist par wrap kiya aur calmly bola “It doesn’t control me” mujhe laga jese woh kisi aur ko nahi, khud ko convince kar rahi hai.
Aur woh tiny detail — fingers ka slightly tighten hona — woh bahut psychological tha. Control ek illusion hai, aur yaha woh illusion crack ho raha tha.
Sabse chilling line thi:
“By whoever benefits from your silence.”
Yeh line sirf past ka hint nahi thi. Yeh power dynamics ka statement tha. Yeh batata hai ki trauma kabhi sirf incident nahi hota, woh system hota hai. Aur Anamika us system mein trained hui hai — survive karne ke liye, feel na karne ke liye.
Arnav ka character yaha mujhe aur layered laga. Woh fix nahi karna chahta. Woh bas rehna chahta hai Kyunki kisi aise insaan ke paas rehna jo control pe jeeta hai… uske liye presence bhi threat ban sakti hai.
Sabse real moment woh tha jab Anamika ne “Yes” bola. Woh ek second ka truth tha. Bilkul raw. Aur phir mask wapas. Mujhe laga main kisi ko girte dekh raha hoon… par woh zameen tak pahunchne se pehle khud ko sambhal leti hai.
Ending mein jo silence tha, woh romantic nahi tha. Woh loaded tha. Do log ek room mein, par beech mein unka past, unke fears, unke unsaid truths. Aur phir bhi — woh silence break nahi karte. Kyunki kabhi kabhi bol dena zyada dangerous hota hai.
Is episode mein mujhe sabse zyada yeh cheez touch ki — yeh kahani vulnerability ko weak nahi dikhati. Yeh vulnerability ko dangerous dikhati hai. Aur shayad isi liye beautiful bhi.
Ye update slow poison tha. Dheere dheere andar utar gaya. Aur ab jab khatam hua hai… tab bhi us ribbon ka image mind se ja nahi raha.
Next update ka wait hai — par sach kahu, thoda sa darr bhi hai. Kyunki lag raha hai ab jo tootega, woh chup chaap tootega.
Episode 11 posted guysFree hote hi read karta hu![]()
Is baar update kafi jaldi aa gaya, padhte waqt aisa laga jaise main kisi thande, khali kamre mein khada hoon jahan ghadi ki tick-tick bhi shor kar rahi hai. Raghav aur Arnav ki conversation ne wahi sawal khada kar diya— kya hum waqayi control mein hain, ya humne bas apne darr ko ek naya naam de diya hai?Episode 11: The Distance He Chose
Room bilkul waisa hi tha jaise pehle tha.
Muted walls. Half-drawn curtains. Table par rakha ek glass bowl jisme smooth white stones the. Raghav ne unhe kabhi align nahi kiya. Arnav har baar karta tha.
Aaj woh stones thode uneven the.
Arnav ne notice kiya.
Par touch nahi kiya.
Raghav opposite chair par baitha tha. Notebook open thi, par pen cap laga hua.
“Late ho,” usne bas itna kaha.
“Hmm.”
Silence.
Raghav ne seedha sawal nahi poocha. Woh jaanta tha — Arnav ko direct intrusion pasand nahi.
“Tumhari lab wali jacket pe coffee ka stain hai,” Raghav ne casually observe kiya.
Arnav ne neeche dekha. Small brown mark.
“I didn’t notice.”
“Tum usually notice karte ho.”
Pause.
“Busy tha.”
Raghav ne halki si nod ki. “Busy ya distracted?”
Arnav ne aankhen utha kar dekha. “Difference?”
“Busy mein mind sharp hota hai. Distracted mein mind loud hota hai.”
Room quiet.
Clock ki halki tick-tick audible thi.
Arnav ne finally kaha, “I’m fine.”
Raghav ne seedha jawab nahi diya. Bas dekhta raha.
Yeh woh gaze thi jo force nahi karti. Bas hold karti hai.
“Kab se avoid kar rahe ho?” Raghav ne dheere se poocha.
Arnav ka jaw thoda tighten hua. “Avoid?”
“Anamika.”
Naam hawa mein steady raha.
Arnav ne aankhen hatayi nahi. “Distance clarity deta hai.”
“Clarity mil rahi hai?”
No answer.
Raghav ne chair mein halka sa shift kiya. “last session yaad hai?”
Arnav ne halka sa exhale kiya. “I remember.”
“Tab tumne kaha tha — ‘Madness is attractive because it lacks structure.’”
Pause.
“Ab?”
Arnav ka voice flat tha. “Structure collapse karta hai jab madness personal ho.”
Raghav ne kuch likha nahi. Bas suna.
“Kya change hua?” usne poocha.
Arnav ne jawab turant nahi diya.
Window ke bahar se ek bike guzri. Sound fade hua.
“Someone’s been messaging me,” Arnav ne finally kaha.
Tone matter-of-fact tha. Emotionless.
“Threat?” Raghav ne poocha.
“Not exactly.”
“Personal?”
“…Yes.”
Silence.
“Tumhe zyada disturb kis cheez ne kiya?” Raghav ka sawal steady tha. “Message ka content? Ya yeh fact ki koi tumhe observe kar raha hai?”
Arnav ne aankhen band nahi ki. Bas fixed rahi.
“I observe people. That’s my profession.”
“Hmm.”
“Being observed is inefficient.”
Raghav ke lips par faint sa expression aaya. “Inefficient.”
Pause.
“Ya uncomfortable?”
Arnav ne jawab nahi diya.
Raghav ne dheere se poocha, “Tum usse suspect kar rahe ho?”
“Probability exists.”
“Trust bhi exist karta hai.”
“Trust is assumption without evidence.”
Raghav ne halka sa head tilt kiya. “Aur doubt?”
“Protective mechanism.”
Silence phir se settle ho gaya.
Raghav ne table ke stones ko dekha. “Aaj align nahi karoge?”
Arnav ki nazar un par gayi.
He didn’t move.
“Har cheez align karna zaroori nahi,” Arnav ne calmly kaha.
Raghav ne sirf ek line boli:
“Ya phir tum thak gaye ho control maintain karte karte.”
Woh line room mein thodi der tak rahi.
Arnav ne posture straight kiya. “I’m choosing distance.”
“From her?”
“Yes.”
“Ya from yourself?”
Pause.
Raghav ne aur push nahi kiya.
“Phone silent mat rakha karo,” usne bas itna kaha. “Silence jab force kiya jata hai, woh loud ho jaata hai.”
Session khatam ho gaya.
Teen din.
Arnav ne Anamika ke messages open nahi kiye.
Lab mein woh zyada systematic ho gaya. Reports double-check. Files reorder. Gloves perfect fold.
Control external spaces mein increase hua.
Internal space unstable tha.
Raat 10:43 PM.
Phone vibrate hua.
Unknown number.
Screen par message:
Distance suits you. You almost look like yourself again.
Arnav ne stare kiya.
Almost.
Second message nahi aaya.
Bas wahi ek line.
Usne phone table par rakha.
Do minute baad phir vibration.
She doesn’t like when you step back.
“She.”
Third person.
Deliberate.
Arnav ka throat dry hua.
Agar yeh Anamika hoti, woh aise refer nahi karti.
Ya karti?
Doubt clarity se zyada corrosive hota hai.
Usne reply type kiya.
Who are you?
Delete.
Reply nahi bheja.
Anamika ke apartment mein lights dim thi.
Coffee untouched.
Usne phone screen dekha.
Unread.
She smiled faintly.
“Interesting.”
Avoidance predictable hota hai.
Par predictable log boring hote hain.
Woh window ke paas khadi rahi.
Teen din ka silence.
She typed:
Distance is not indifference, Arnav.
Send.
No reply.
Expression change nahi hua.
Par eyes thodi colder ho gayi.
Usko unknown number se bhi ek message mila tha kal raat.
He’s pulling away.
She didn’t reply to that either.
Someone was inserting themselves.
Aur Anamika ko interference pasand nahi.
Agla din.
Parking lot almost empty.
Arnav apni car unlock kar raha tha jab usne usse dekha.
Anamika.
Black coat. Hair pinned. Face unreadable.
Woh dramatic entry nahi karti.
Bas presence create karti hai.
“You’re difficult to reach,” she said.
Voice calm. English crisp.
“I’ve been working.”
“You’ve been retreating.”
Silence.
“I prefer clarity,” Arnav ne kaha.
“You had it.”
“No. I had intensity.”
“And that frightened you?”
“It complicated things.”
She stepped closer.
“Complication is not chaos.”
“It becomes chaos when there’s manipulation.”
A slight pause.
“You think I’m manipulating you.”
“Are you?”
Her gaze didn’t flicker.
“If I wanted control, you wouldn’t notice.”
“Then explain the messages.”
“I don’t explain anonymous cowards.”
“That’s not denial.”
“It’s not admission either.”
Wind halki si move hui.
He watched her carefully.
“You’re choosing distance,” she said softly.
“Yes.”
She held his gaze for a long second.
“Distance won’t protect you from curiosity.”
“I’m not curious.”
“Liar.”
Silence stretched.
She stepped back this time.
“Fine,” she said evenly. “Take your distance.”
Pause.
“But don’t assume you’re the only one being watched.”
That line heavy nahi thi. Bas precise thi.
Woh mud gayi.
Car door close hua.
Arnav khada raha.
Phone vibrate hua.
Unknown number.
See? She notices everything.
Is baar message ke baad koi follow-up nahi.
No threat.
No reveal.
Bas observation.
Arnav ne phone pocket mein rakha.
Distance choose kiya tha usne.
Par distance ne noise eliminate nahi kiya.
Bas amplify kar diya.
stay tuned
next update soon
EPISODE 10 — The Things We Don’t Forget






Kya baat hai...do do updates chemp diye tumne,Episode 11: The Distance He Chose


EPISODE 10 — The Things We Don’t Forget
2:38 AM.
Arnav ko neend nahi aa rahi thi.
Room dark tha, bas balcony se city lights aa rahi thi. Table par open notebook, pen uncapped, par blank page untouched.
Uska dimaag baar baar ek hi chehre par atak raha tha.
Anamika.
Uska calm face.
Uski controlled voice.
Uski aankhon mein woh ajeeb sa stillness.
Arnav ne khud se poocha — kya woh sach mein itni composed hai?
Ya woh sirf practice karti hai?
Phone screen glow hua.
Message from Anamika.
Private preview tomorrow. No press. Come if you’re curious.
Curious.
Woh word ajeeb laga.
Jaise invitation nahi, challenge ho.
Arnav ne reply nahi kiya.
Par woh jaane wala tha.
Next evening.
Gallery almost empty thi.
Soft yellow lights. Concrete walls. Paintings distorted — broken silhouettes, overlapping shadows, muted reds.
Anamika center mein khadi thi.
Black silk shirt. Hair open tonight. No heavy makeup.
Less public. More personal.
She noticed him immediately.
“You came.”
“I was curious.”
She tilted her head slightly.
“That’s a dangerous trait.”
“Why?”
“Because curiosity leads to attachment.”
Woh usko dekh rahi thi — seedha, bina blink kiye.
Uncomfortable nahi.
Intentional.
“You look at things like you’re trying to understand them,” she said.
“It’s my job.”
She shook her head.
“No. It’s not professional. It’s personal.”
Pause.
She walked toward a painting — ek female figure jo do opposite directions mein shadow cast kar rahi thi.
“What do you see?” she asked.
“Division,” Arnav said.
“Between?”
“Who she is. And who she was made to be.”
Anamika’s lips curved faintly.
“Made to be,” she repeated softly.
Phir woh uski taraf turn hui.
Her eyes lingered.
“Your eyes seem familiar.”
Arnav still ho gaya.
“Have we met before?”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“It’s not memory of meeting you.”
Pause.
“It’s memory of being watched without judgment.”
Something shifted.
Arnav ne kuch reply nahi kiya.
Kabhi kabhi silence hi safest answer hota hai.
Assistant ne quietly approach karke kuch whisper kiya.
Anamika ne bas nod kiya.
“Walk with me,” she said.
Parking lot quiet tha.
She unlocked her car.
Door open karte hi woh ruk gayi.
Seat par ek red ribbon neatly folded rakhi thi.
Neither dramatic. Nor messy.
Just… placed.
Arnav immediately alert ho gaya.
“Don’t touch it.”
Anamika ne uski taraf dekha.
“I’m not fragile.”
Phir woh tissue se ribbon uthati hai.
Hands steady.
Par uski breathing slightly uneven.
Arnav ne notice kiya.
“Does this mean something?” he asked softly.
She stared at ribbon.
“Everything means something.”
“From your past?”
She didn’t answer directly.
Instead:
“Some memories don’t knock. They let themselves in.”
Wind halka sa move karta hai uske baal.
She looks at him.
“You’re worried.”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
She studies his face carefully.
Jaise confirm kar rahi ho ke yeh sach hai.
Then quietly:
“That’s new.”
Lift ride silent thi.
Mirrored walls mein dono ke reflections side by side.
Anamika suddenly poochti hai:
“Do you pity me?”
“No.”
Immediate.
She watches him through reflection.
“Good.”
Pause.
“I don’t like being pitied.”
Lift open.
Apartment dimly lit hai.
Sirf ek lamp on.
Warm glow.
She places ribbon on coffee table.
Not dramatically.
Bas rakh deti hai.
Arnav khada rehta hai.
“You can sit,” she says.
He sits.
She window ke paas jaake khadi ho jati hai.
City below glitter kar rahi hai.
“People think trauma makes you fragile,” she says quietly.
“It doesn’t.”
Arnav waits.
“It makes you selective.”
“Selective about what?”
She turns.
“Who gets to see it.”
Silence heavy ho jata hai.
Arnav softly poochta hai:
“Are you afraid?”
She smiles faintly.
“I don’t do fear.”
Pause.
“I do control.”
She walks closer.
Stops in front of him.
“You look like you want to fix something.”
“I don’t fix people.”
“Good.”
Beat.
“I don’t need fixing.”
She sits opposite him now.
Legs crossed.
Eyes sharp.
“Tell me something,” she says.
“Did anyone ever teach you how to survive?”
Arnav taken aback.
“No.”
She nods slightly.
“Some of us are trained young.”
He looks at ribbon.
“By who?”
Her expression doesn’t change.
“By whoever benefits from your silence.”
That line hangs.
Not angry.
Not sad.
Just factual.
She leans back.
“You’re thinking too much.”
“About what?”
“About me.”
Arnav doesn’t deny.
She tilts her head.
“That’s dangerous.”
“For who?”
“For you.”
Silence stretches.
Charged. Quiet.
Then suddenly —
She reaches forward and picks up ribbon.
Wraps it once around her wrist.
Not tight.
Just resting.
“See?” she says calmly.
“It doesn’t control me.”
But her fingers tighten slightly.
Almost unconsciously.
Arnav notices.
Doesn’t comment.
Instead he says softly:
“You don’t have to prove anything.”
That line hits differently.
For a split second —
Her eyes lose sharpness.
Something younger flashes.
Gone quickly.
“You’re not like the others,” she says.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s bothering me.”
“Why?”
She stands.
Walks closer.
So close ke unki breathing mix ho jati hai.
“Because you’re not afraid of me.”
Beat.
“You’re afraid for me.”
Air shifts.
Arnav’s voice lower now.
“Does that scare you?”
She holds his gaze.
Long.
Then quietly:
“Yes.”
Honest.
Small.
Real.
She steps back immediately after.
Mask sliding back in place.
“I don’t like needing people.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
She watches him.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I’m staying.”
Silence.
Heavy.
She looks away first.
Softly:
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if you stay… I might get used to it.”
That’s the crack.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Human.
Arnav stands slowly.
Moves beside her near the window.
Not touching.
Just there.
“Then don’t get used to it,” he says quietly.
“Just don’t push it away.”
City lights flicker below.
Ribbon still around her wrist.
For the first time —
It doesn’t feel like a threat.
It feels like something unfinished.
She glances at him.
“And if I push you away?”
“I’ll decide what to do then.”
That answer surprises her.
She studies him carefully.
Then whispers:
“You’re stubborn.”
“Occupational hazard.”
A faint smile escapes her.
Genuine.
Small.
And then it’s gone.
She removes ribbon slowly.
Places it back on table.
Not as a weapon.
Not as a symbol.
Just as something that exists.
“Stay,” she says softly.
This time not challenging.
Not testing.
Just asking.
Arnav doesn’t reply.
He just sits back down.
And for once —
Neither of them tries to dissect the silence.
They just sit inside it.
Together.
next update soon
stay tuned

