Chapter 1: The Stranger in the Second Row
The morning sun filtered through the dusty bus window, casting golden streaks across the pages of Akshvi’s book. She was tucked into the window seat of a two-seater, her natural hazelnut hair falling over her shoulders like a silken veil. She wasn’t just reading; she was living inside the ink. The title on the cover, “Just Friends?” by Abhay Verma, was worn at the edges—a sign of a story loved too many times.
Next to her sat a presence that felt like a quiet shadow. He was tall—easily 6 feet—with jet-black hair that caught the light, dressed simply in a black T-shirt and dark pants. He was leaning back, seemingly looking out the window, but his attention was entirely caught by the girl beside him.
Suddenly, Akshvi’s phone vibrated. She picked it up, her voice hushed but bubbling with excitement as she talked to her friend.
“Yar, I just love the words of this author... he is amazing, fabulous! Yar, shabd khatam ho jaye par taarif na ruke. I’m literally re-reading my favourite book right now because nothing else compares.”
A small, knowing smile tugged at the lips of the stranger next to her. Abhay didn’t move, but his heart raced. Hearing his own soul being described as “fabulous” by a girl who looked like she belonged in one of his poems was a feeling he couldn’t name.
He turned slightly, his voice deep and calm as he broke the silence between them.
“Maine iss author ki saari kitaabein padhi hain,” he said, his eyes meeting hers for the first time. “He is my favorite author as well.”
Akshvi’s eyes lit up. Finding someone who actually knew Abhay Verma’s work was like finding a rare gem. She didn’t notice the mischievous glint in his eyes or the way he carefully avoided mentioning his last name.
For the rest of the journey, the bus became a private sanctuary. They talked about how the author was so underrated, how he deserved the kind of fame that reached the stars, and how his words felt like they were written specifically for people who felt too much.
When the bus finally screeched to a halt at the school gates, Akshvi stood up, adjusting her bag. She felt like she had known this stranger for years, not minutes.
“It was nice meeting a fellow fan,” she smiled, stepping off into the morning bustle, heading toward her Class 12 PCM block.
Abhay watched her go from the window, the “underrated author” finally feeling like he had been truly seen.
~Deewaniyat - Souls, Whispers, and Ink.
