Two different worlds
Kanpur was not a city people wrote love stories about
It wasn’t filled with aesthetic cafés, perfect sunsets, or quiet streets where people magically fell in love. It was noisy, crowded, a little chaotic… and very real.
But maybe that’s what made it dangerous.
Because in a city like this—
when love happens, it doesn’t feel like a fairytale.
It feels… unexpected.
Ahan stood alone on the terrace of his house, the cold night breeze brushing against his face.
It was past 11.
The city below was still alive—bike engines, distant conversations, the occasional honk breaking the silence. But up here, it felt different.
Quieter.
Safer.
This was his place.
He adjusted his earphones, played a soft instrumental track, and closed his eyes.
For a few seconds, he didn’t move.
Then slowly… he started singing.
His voice wasn’t loud enough for the world.
But it was enough for him.
Every note carried something—frustration, hope, exhaustion… and a dream he refused to let die.
At 21, he wasn’t living the life he had imagined.
Mornings were rushed.
Days were exhausting.
Evenings disappeared in responsibilities.
And nights…
Nights were the only time he belonged to himself.
“Ahan!” his father’s voice echoed from downstairs.
“Light band karo aur so jao, kal subah jaldi uthna hai!”
He stopped mid-line.
Reality had a way of interrupting him.
“Ji!” he replied, his voice instantly normal, controlled.
The same voice that just moments ago… carried emotions no one had ever heard.
He removed his earphones slowly, staring at the dark sky.
“No one’s going to wait for your dreams,” he muttered to himself.
He had tried, once.
Tried to tell his father he wanted to pursue singing seriously.
The response?
A long silence… followed by disappointment.
“Gaana gaane se ghar nahi chalta.”
That line had stayed with him.
Since then, he stopped explaining.
Stopped expecting.
Now, he just… continued quietly.
For himself.
And maybe, for a future he couldn’t fully see yet.
He picked up his phone and opened his recordings.
Dozens of voice notes.
Different songs. Different nights.
Same loneliness.
He played one.
Listened carefully.
Then shook his head.
“Not good enough.”
He deleted it.
Again.
Across the city…
Aisha lay upside down on her bed, her legs resting against the wall, a pencil loosely held between her fingers.
Her room was… chaos.
Sketchbooks everywhere.
Half-finished drawings.
Sticky notes.
Fairy lights that blinked randomly like they had their own mood swings.
A soft lamp glowed near her bed.
And a novel lay open beside her—its pages slightly crumpled, as if it had been read a hundred times.
She wasn’t studying.
She wasn’t sleeping.
She was just… existing.
Comfortably.
Carelessly.
“Aishaaa!” her mother’s voice came again.
“Kitni der se bula rahi hoon!”
Aisha groaned, flipping over dramatically.
“Coming!” she shouted back, clearly not moving.
Five seconds later…
she picked up her sketchbook instead.
Priorities.
At 17, Aisha lived in a world that made sense only to her.
A world where small things mattered—like the way sunlight hit her window in the morning, or how a certain line in a book made her feel.
She loved stories.
Loved creating them.
But living one?
No.
That sounded exhausting.
Her phone buzzed beside her.
Arpita calling.
She picked it up lazily, putting it on speaker.
“What?” Aisha said flatly.
“Attitude dekho madam ka,” Arpita laughed. “Kal aa rahi hai na?”
“Where?”
“Library. Notes complete karne hain.”
She rolled her eyes, staring at the ceiling.
“I’ll come… but I’m not studying.”
“Obviously,” Arpita said. “Tu bas baith ke drawing karegi aur mujhe distract karegi.”
“Main creative hoon,” Aisha corrected.
“Tu lazy hai.”
“Same thing.”
Both laughed.
There was a comfortable silence for a second.
Then Arpita said casually,
“Waise kal waha ek new guy aata hai… suna hai achha gaata hai—”
“Not interested,” Aisha cut her off immediately.
“Arre sun to—”
“Arpita.”
“Okay, okay!” she laughed. “Tujhe koi interest nahi hota kisi me.”
“Exactly.”
“Ek din hoga.”
“Not happening.”
She said it so confidently… like she already knew her future.
And maybe she did.
Or maybe…
Life was just waiting to prove her wrong.
Call ended.
Anshika sat up slowly, pulling her knees close.
For a moment, she just stared at her sketchbook.
Then, without thinking much, she started drawing.
Random lines.
A silhouette.
A figure standing alone.
She paused.
“Hmm…” she murmured, tilting her head.
Something about it felt… incomplete.
She shrugged and closed the book.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Not everything needed to be finished.
Back on the terrace…
Ah finally turned off the light.
The darkness swallowed everything.
The city noise faded slightly.
And for a brief moment… everything felt still.
He looked up at the sky one last time.
“Bas ek chance,” he whispered.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for the night to hear.
Then he walked downstairs.
Two lives.
Running parallel.
No connection.
No expectations.
No idea…
That somewhere between responsibilities and laziness,
between dreams and disinterest—
something was about to begin.
Not because they wanted it.
Not because they were looking for it.
But simply because…
they were meant to meet.
