Shivam's POV

I had just returned to my room, freshened up after a long day, when something unusual touched my ears. It wasn’t the sound of the fan, nor the quiet rustle of the curtains brushing against the evening breeze. No—this was something far softer, far sweeter. It was a voice. A girl’s voice.

And not just any voice.

It had that rare texture that lingered in the air even after the words faded, a melody so tender that it felt like it belonged to some other world. There was something so achingly beautiful in it that I couldn’t ignore it. My heart reacted before my mind could—urging me, pulling me toward it, whispering that I needed to see the girl behind that voice.

I don’t know why it happened. This had never occurred to me before. I had met many women in my life—some graceful, some kind, some beautiful—but never once had I felt this instant, magnetic pull. I had always thought myself too detached, too focused, too uninterested to be swayed by something as fleeting as a voice. And yet, here I was, standing still in my room, every nerve awake, every thought consumed by the desire to see the girl who owned that sound.

It felt as if someone had thrown a spark into my chest, and the quiet of my heart caught fire.

I moved toward the door, my steps cautious but strangely eager. Just as I reached for the handle, the house was swallowed in sudden darkness. The current had gone.

For a second, disappointment threatened to rise, but then my eyes fell on the faint golden glow from the candle burning quietly in my room. Its flame danced softly, filling the space with a warm, cozy light, casting shadows across the walls that seemed almost alive. The air grew gentler, and the silence thicker, broken only by the distant rhythm of raindrops tapping against the tiled roof outside.

Taking that candle in my hand, I walked to the door. My fingers brushed against the knob, cold against my skin, and with a slow push, the door opened.

The sound it made was small but sharp—a low crack that seemed louder in the hush of the power cut.

And then, I saw her.

She was standing just a step away from me, a petite figure, smaller than me, yet radiating an unexplainable presence. The dim light of the candle caught only the edges of her form, leaving the rest to imagination. But what struck me first wasn’t her face—it was her scent.

The moment her fragrance touched me, I inhaled deeply, as if my body refused to let it escape. Sweet, subtle, intoxicating—it was like vanilla laced with honey, warm and lingering, the kind of scent one could drown in. I had never believed that something as invisible as fragrance could anchor someone’s soul, but in that moment, I knew I could live inside that smell forever.

I didn’t even realize when the words slipped from my lips.

“Kon ho aap?”

The question was simple, almost foolish, but it was the only thing I could manage. My voice came out lower than usual, threaded with curiosity and something else—something unspoken.

Before she could answer, another voice filled the hall. Owner of the house.

He came toward us, casual, smiling, and said that she was their neighbor’s daughter. Neighbor. The word rang in my head, repeating itself like a mantra I couldn’t let go of. Neighbor. Neighbor. Neighbor. I wanted to know her name, wanted to etch it into my memory, but it slipped past me.

She gave only a small nod, silent, and began to move away. My heart, restless, leaned forward as if trying to hold her there a moment longer. But she descended the staircase slowly, her silver anklets singing with every step. The delicate chime mingled with the sound of rainfall outside, weaving together a melody so soft, so heartbreakingly beautiful, that I thought I might never forget it.

I stood there, candle trembling slightly in my hand, watching her. She didn’t look back—not at first. Her pace was unhurried, almost dreamlike, but just when she reached halfway down the stairs, she turned.

That one glance.

Even in the dim glow, her eyes found mine, and for a brief heartbeat, the world felt suspended. It wasn’t long—not even a full second—but in that fleeting connection, something stirred. Something neither of us could name.

I couldn’t see her face fully, not in the wavering candlelight, but what I felt was enough. Enough to know that she had left something behind, an invisible thread tying me to her without my consent.

And then, she was gone.

Only the sound of the rain and the fading echoes of her anklets remained.

I don’t remember what uncle said afterward. His words fell around me like meaningless syllables, never reaching my ears. My mind was elsewhere, caught in the storm of a feeling too new, too unexpected to be named.

Was it attraction? Was it fascination? Or was it something far deeper—something I had been too blind to believe in until now?

All I knew was this:

That night, I had seen only a shadow, heard only a voice, caught only a scent, and yet—my world had shifted.

The girl with the voice like music, with the fragrance of vanilla and honey, with the gaze that lasted a heartbeat but felt like eternity—she had pulled me toward her like electricity itself.

And for the first time in my life, I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to resist.

Isha's POV

The moment I stepped inside the house, I closed the door behind me with a quiet thud. My back pressed lightly against it, and for a second, I let the silence of my own room settle around me. But silence couldn’t calm me tonight. My heart hadn’t been still since the moment I saw him—since my eyes met that stranger’s gaze in the dim flicker of candlelight.

Something had happened in that instant. Something I couldn’t name.

It was ridiculous, really. I had only seen him for a breath, spoken nothing, left without a word. And yet, here I was, pacing in my own room, trying to steady the storm inside me. His voice, his eyes, the way the candlelight had curved across his features—it had all carved a memory into me. Why? Why should it matter? He was no one to me. Just a stranger. And yet… he didn’t feel like one.

I shook my head, as if I could drive away the thought, but it stayed. It clung to me like the rain outside, steady and unstoppable.

Desperate to distract myself, I switched on my phone. The familiar glow of the screen was a comfort, pulling me back into the reality I had built for myself. My eyes moved instantly to the application I had submitted earlier that week—the one to a company that promised a good salary, a real chance, a doorway to the life I had always imagined.

My breath caught. I traced the screen with my thumb, almost reverently. That application wasn’t just a formality. It was my lifeline.

Baba had once dreamed of giving me everything—an education, respect, a place in the world where I could stand tall and be called not just someone’s daughter or granddaughter, but a woman of my own worth. Even though he was gone, his dream hadn’t vanished. It had become mine. His unfinished wishes lived in me, beating in my veins with every heartbeat.

That was why I had worked so hard—why I had pushed myself through sleepless nights, why I had graduated from a good college when everyone said it was too difficult, why I was now holding onto this fragile hope of a job. If I could get this opportunity, it wouldn’t just change my life. It would mean I hadn’t let him down.

A sigh escaped me. For a moment, I closed my eyes, imagining his face, imagining the smile he might have worn if he could see me now. Baba, I’m still trying… still fighting.

I placed the phone down carefully on the table and stepped softly across the room. The night had deepened. The power hadn’t returned, and only the occasional streak of lightning from outside touched the walls of the house. I didn’t want to disturb anyone, especially not Dida.

Quietly, I walked to her room. The door creaked faintly as I pushed it open, but she didn’t stir. I tiptoed inside, careful not to wake her, and the sight that met me loosened something heavy in my chest.

Dadi was asleep. Her breathing was slow, steady, peaceful, her frail figure curled beneath the thin blanket. I had grown up watching those same hands work tirelessly, cooking for me, comforting me, holding me when I was lost in grief after Baba’s passing. She was the one constant in my life, the one person I could always count on.

And yet, every time I saw her like this—small, fragile, vulnerable—I felt a fear I could never put into words. A fear of losing her.

Quietly, I knelt by her bed. My forehead rested against her feet, a gesture I had done since childhood, one that gave me more peace than anything else in this world.

If she wasn’t here, who would I have? She had given me everything she could. Raised me. Taught me. Protected me. Loved me enough for two parents. She was the reason I had not collapsed under the weight of my struggles. And so, deep inside, I carried a promise—an unspoken vow—that one day, I would give something back to her. That she would see me succeed, see me smile, see me live a life she could be proud of.

The rain outside grew heavier, its sound wrapping the room in a soft rhythm. For a long moment, I stayed there, my heart calming at last, anchored by her presence.

But even as I sat there, half-hidden in the shadows of the room, a fragment of memory returned. That stranger. The way his eyes had found me. The way his question had lingered in the air—Kon ho aap?—as if he was asking more than just my name.

I tried to brush it aside. This wasn’t the time. My life didn’t have space for foolish distractions, not when I had responsibilities, not when Baba’s dream rested on my shoulders. And yet, as I laid my head lightly against Dida’s feet and closed my eyes, that moment returned again.

The crack of the door opening. The glow of the candle. The warmth in his voice.

Why was it still there? Why did it matter?

Sleep tugged at me slowly, but my thoughts drifted between two worlds—the world of duty, of ambitions and promises, and the world of an unknown pull, a stranger’s gaze that had left me restless.

By the time sleep finally claimed me, the rain was still falling, and my heart was still carrying a question it didn’t know how to answer.

Something had happened tonight. Something I couldn’t name.

But it had begun.

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Khikhi I am back . Guys do vote please it's a request and .... promise for a new life and new beginning. Take care .

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