Prologue
The Girl with the Sketchbook
The hum of the airplane engine was steady, almost comforting, like a lullaby for the sky. Clouds drifted past the window, soft and slow, but her hands moved fast—charcoal pencil dancing across the page with a familiar rhythm.
She sat by the window, lost in a world that only existed in her sketchbook.
Page after page, line after line… and there he was again.
The same face she’d drawn a hundred times before—sharp eyes, half-smile, the curve of his jaw under the helmet. India’s cricket hero. Her harmless little secret.
Her crush. Her impossibility.
Anvika exhaled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she added a few final strokes to his eyes—the part she always got lost in. She didn’t even notice when someone took the seat next to her, the aisle seat.
He was quiet. Wore a black hoodie, a black mask, a cap pulled low. Just another traveler, she assumed.
Until she felt his gaze.
Not the creepy kind. Curious. Soft. Still, she instinctively moved her elbow, subtly covering the sketchbook.
But too late.
The man turned slightly toward her, his voice muffled but deep—steady, and oddly familiar.
“Dikhegi nahi hame jo bnaya hai.”
Her fingers froze.
She turned her head, slowly.
Eyes widened.
And for the first time in her life, Anvika felt like the ground beneath her had disappeared—except she was thousands of feet above it already.
Because the voice… the tone… even behind the mask...
It felt like sheknewhim.
And worse?
She wasdrawinghim.
Right there, in her diary.
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