❝ 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔'𝒏𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 - 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒐𝒈𝒍𝒚. ❞
•••
Sometimes love doesn't knock on the right door. Sometimes it slips in through a misdial, a l...
टूटे थे जो सपने कल तक, आज फिर से सजने लगे हैं, जो रास्ते थम से गए थे, अब कदम उन पर चलने लगे हैं...
𓇢𓆸
When Hope Knocked Again
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Author's POV-
The mirror reflected someone who looked like she had her life together—even if the cluttered room said otherwise.
Mira stood in front of her tall mirror, arms crossed, weight shifted lazily to one hip. A cream and black striped sweater was knotted effortlessly around her shoulders, framing the sleeveless white tank top tucked neatly into high-waisted shorts. Her sunglasses sat snug on the bridge of her nose—indoors, because Mira Sharma believed fashion didn't need logic, only vibes.
She clicked her tongue at her reflection, ran her hand through her hair with casual flair, and gave herself a small nod of approval.
"Main apni favourite hoon." The old line rolled off her tongue like second nature.
And it was true. On most days.
But then, like every other day for the past few weeks, her smile faltered for just a breath.
Her gaze softened.
Arjun.
What was he doing right now?
Was he still sulking in his room, scrolling through old matches and hiding behind stats that no longer comforted him? Or was he trying to fix his thoughts with that same stubborn discipline he had for the game?
Her heart tugged.
"Buddhu..." she muttered, giving herself a mock glare in the mirror, like scolding a best friend who had fallen in love but refused to admit it.
(Fool)
"Itna soch rahi hai uske baare mein toh jaa na uske paas. Yahaan khadi ho ke kya trophy banegi?"
(If you are thinking so much about him, then go to him. Will you become a trophy by standing here?)
She tossed her sunglasses into her sling bag, grabbed her pink helmet, and made her dramatic exit.
Outside, Shaanti—her beloved Activa—waited like a loyal partner, ready for one more ride. Mira mounted it with ease, patted the dashboard affectionately, and sped off, wind teasing her ponytail loose, heart beating just a little faster than usual.
Arjun's house stood at the end of a quiet, tree-lined street. The compound gates were slightly ajar, welcoming but quiet. She rolled Shaanti inside carefully and parked it like she owned the place—because these days, in some ways, she did. Emotionally, at least.
