Yes, he is not a man but a devil, but<br /> you are his cure.<br /> <br /> Aisha, an innocent and clever college student whose life, until now, has been confined to books, dreams, and small joys, suddenly finds herself at a crossroads where she has t... Yes, he is not a man but a devil, but<br /> you are his cure.<br /> <br /> Aisha, an innocent and clever college student whose life, until now, has been confined to books, dreams, and small joys, suddenly finds herself at a crossroads where she has to make a decision that will change her entire world. A broken mother pleads with her—"You are his only cure..."—and Aisha is presented with a marriage proposal, but this marriage is not a loving bond, but a concrete agreement. A relationship... with the man whom the college calls "Professor"—Arjun Kapoor. Who has two forms, one good and the other cruel.<br /> He is a man who thinks with wounds, not with his heart; whose eyes do not hold love, but the ashes of the past burn; and who is afraid of his own shadow because his darkness has consumed his very soul.<br /> <br /> Aisha accepts this relationship—but not out of love, but by bowing to the helpless plea of a mother's tears. But can this agreement ever become a relationship? Can an innocent girl heal a mentally wounded man who plays with people's blood, not their feelings? Can love flourish where every wall is fear and every silence has become a scream?<br /> <br /> This is a story where relationships begin with signatures and, after being tempered in the fire of longing, turn into a real test. Where a girl tries to touch the ashes of a soul with her innocence, and a man, fighting the demon within him, longs to become human.<br /> <br /> This is the story of an agreement that becomes the most difficult beginning of love. A relationship where every day is a battle... and after every battle, there is hope.<br />
Page 1 of 11
Title: "There was something behind the glass..."
Darkness had swallowed everything—voices, breaths, intentions. Now, only the sound of heartbeats striking the wall remained.
He—wrapped in a leather sheath, breathing cold air, slowly moved from a corner of the room. The heels of his shoes clattered against the broken glass on the floor. With every step, it was as if the air was shrinking around him.
She—silent, with half-open eyes, pressed against the wall. Her breaths were rapid, but soundless. She was trembling, perhaps not from fear, but from the shiver that comes not from a stranger's touch, but from the memory of an old sin.
He rested his hand on the wall—there was something behind it. But something else was more important before him.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him, so fast that she crashed against his chest. Her breath was now flowing onto his neck.
"I want to break you... like this wall..." he muttered. His fingers slid from her neck to her collarbone, rubbing—as if reading every vein.
She gave no reply. She merely let his fingers sink into her skin.
"Your silence... pricks me." He caught her tongue and pressed a deep, long kiss on her lips. So intense, as if he wanted to consume her from within—as if he wanted to steal not just her body, but her screams.
He pushed her against the wall, but this time she collided herself. The last flame of the candle flickered and died.
Now there was only darkness.
His hands had already gone inside her clothes—the warmth of her skin, the scent of sweat, and the frantic heartbeats... all were in his grasp.
"Are you scared?" he asked.
"I'm breaking..." she whispered.
"But I want to shatter you. Completely."
His fingers were now in the hole in the wall—there was something behind the crack. The layer of glass was removed, and something like an old iron safe emerged. But he didn't open it.
"First, you have to be opened..." he whispered, and pulled her closer forcefully.
Her body was now in his grip—it was not control, it was subjugation.
In the darkness, she was pressed against the wall, her legs now around his waist. Her back against the wall trembled, and from her lips came a sound that perhaps the entire mansion had never heard before—an echo of desire, lust, and some deep secret.
And then—the lock of the iron safe opened with a "clink" sound.
They both stopped.
His face was still close to her lips.
"Behind the wall... what is this?" he asked, but his own voice trembled.
"Your truth... or my past..." he said.
And when the lid of the safe lifted—there was another face inside.
A mask.
Which was exactly like the one on her face.
The groans of pain echoed from the walls of the desolate old mansion. Mohan stood outside the door, listening to the sounds coming from within with hurried breaths.
"Ahhh... baby, it hurts so much... please... gently..."
The girl's sobbing voice seeped through the walls and melted into Mohan's ears. There was both sensuality and a strange pain in whatever was happening behind the closed door. Mohan nervously lowered his gaze and slipped away quietly. Returning to the small servant's quarters behind the kitchen, he fell asleep reluctantly.
The dawn's mist began to spread. Mohan made tea and, with trembling hands, approached the room where sobs had echoed all night. He gently opened the door.
The scene before him sent shivers down his spine. The room still carried the scent of the night. A young man, Arjun, sat on the bed, half-naked. A bloody knife gleamed in his hand. A girl, Neha, lay dead on the bed. A knife wound marked her chest. The sheets were stained with blood.
Mohan's panicked voice escaped,
"Sir! You've killed Madam Neha too... This is your...!"
Arjun bowed his head with a devilish smile and said,
"Yes."
Then, a sudden innocence appeared on his face, as if he knew nothing.
"But what can I do... you know, I don't like it when girls don't listen to me."
He whispered softly, "The same happened with the first two girls... and now Neha. So what if it hurt? She should have stayed quiet and comfortable."
Mohan stammered,
"What do we do now, sir?"
Arjun ordered in a cold, ruthless voice,
"Do what you did before. Dig a hole in the backyard and bury her."
Mohan bowed his head and fled. Within a few hours, Neha's body was also buried in the earth, like two more unfinished stories.
A little later, Arjun got ready and sat in his black car. His eyes, blue... deep... mysterious, as if the soul of a devil was peeking out. His car stopped in front of a college. He opened the door and stepped out.
All the students standing at the college gate looked at him with respect—
"Good morning, Professor Arjun!"
He nodded with a slight smile and moved forward. None of them had any idea that their beloved professor's soul was stained with blood. As Arjun reached the classroom to write on the board, the door suddenly opened.
A fresh voice echoed,
"So... sorry sir... I'm late..."
Arjun turned. And then... time stopped.
The door opened gently. And in that moment, it was as if time took a long, deep breath. Aisha... Ria, as innocent as ever, wrapped in a white top... her palms tightly gripping the bag's strap, stood hesitantly at the doorway. Her large eyes were scared, as if she had knocked on the door of a new world. A blush of shyness lay on her cheeks, and her lips trembled slightly.
"So... sorry sir... I'm late..."
Her voice was soft, like a dewdrop falling on silk fabric.
Information:
Why did one innocent girl have to marry five brothers?
Was it merely a custom?
Or the price of a deal...?
Or a secret that forced five lives to be mortgaged to one woman?
A girl's helplessness, the truth of five shadows, and the unheard scream of a relationship...
This story hides the struggle between human lust and the call of the soul.
Why
In his blue eyes, which until now had only shone with a hunter's winter, a gentle wave of warmth coursed for the first time. The chalk held in his palm stopped slipping. His breath slowed for a moment.
Aisha's face was innocent, but there was a strange depth in her eyes—exactly what Arjun had never seen before.
"Sit down... Aisha," he said, controlling his voice. The sternness was still there, but behind the words, there was a subtle tremor—one perhaps only he could feel.
Aisha quickly lowered her head and slowly walked towards the back of the classroom. With every step, the sound of her feet was clear to Arjun, as if falling directly onto the ground of his heart.
Her light blue jeans, the cluster of curly hair falling on her shoulders, her gentle sway as she walked—something new began to write within Arjun, something he was afraid to even recognize.
Aisha chose a corner at the very back and sat there. She placed her bag on the desk and nervously took out a book. But her eyes? Her gaze kept drifting towards Arjun, unknowingly.
Arjun picked up the chalk, but now his fingers felt a slight restlessness. Even while writing on the board, his eyes kept darting back.
Whenever he turned slightly while writing, Aisha's eyelids would lower nervously. Whenever his voice echoed in the room, the tips of Aisha's ears would turn a slow, gentle red.
There were other students in the class, but an invisible thread had been drawn between Arjun and Aisha—a slow, tightening bond.
At the end of the class, Arjun called everyone to distribute a paper. Aisha rose listlessly, gathered her books, and slowly moved forward with lowered eyes.
When she reached Arjun's desk, her bag slipped from her shoulder and fell to the ground. Books slid and scattered all around.
A moment of silence.
Aisha was flustered. Anxiously, she began to bend down to gather the books. Arjun's heart filled with an unknown pang.
Without thinking, he too bent down to help her pick up the books.
Aisha's hand was on a book, Arjun's too. Their fingers brushed for a moment.
Electricity. Both looked up simultaneously. Aisha's breath was fast, her eyes wide and scared. Arjun's blue eyes deepened, as if he wanted to peer into Aisha.
There was no lust in that touch, no violence. Just... a soft restlessness, an unspoken call.
Aisha quickly pulled her hand back and sat down. Her eyes lowered, her face turned even pinker.
Arjun placed the books in her bag and said in a very quiet voice,
"It's okay. Walk carefully."
Aisha thanked him with a lowered head and hurried back to her seat. But Arjun stood there for a few moments.
A war had broken out within him. Devil and human...
For the first time, a girl was silencing the beast within him. For the first time, he felt like 'cherishing' someone, not 'breaking' them.
The class ended. Children began to leave slowly. Aisha picked up her bag last.
When she reached the door, Arjun called her,
"Aisha."
She froze. Her heartbeats went haywire. Slowly, she turned.
"I wanted to talk to you," Arjun said. His voice was steady, but his eyes couldn't hide his restlessness.
"Yes, sir?" Aisha asked in a trembling voice.
Arjun sensed her nervousness and composed himself.
"If you need any help understanding today's topic... you can come to my office hours, if you'd like."
Aisha looked into his eyes for a moment. Those deep, blue eyes no longer scared her. There was something in them that was pulling her in.
"Yes... Thank you, sir..." she whispered and quickly went out.
Arjun watched her go. With every step she took, something broke and then mended within Arjun.
When he sat in his car, the same small things swirled in his mind—Aisha's nervous smile, her dropping the book, their fingers brushing...
Arjun gripped his car's steering wheel tightly and closed his eyes.
He knew—this girl... this innocent, gentle girl... had she come to change his life? Or something else?
And now, even if he wanted to... he wouldn't be able to distance himself from her.
But is a devil allowed love? Can a soul stained with blood become pure for anyone?
Sunlight fell on his face through the car window, but Arjun felt as if his soul was falling into a dark abyss... and a tiny light was trying to catch him.
"A Game of Silent Heartbeats"
A little later, Ayesha's footsteps echoed from the other side of the corridor—light, fearful, yet with an unknown pull. As if an unseen string was dragging her from behind. Arjun stood by the window, watching her leave; his palms were wet with sweat.
Fighting with himself, Arjun took a step back.
"She's just a student," he tried to convince himself.
"A student... and nothing more."
But his blue eyes knew—it was a lie.
Arjun took a deep breath and, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, headed towards the office. The afternoon sun had become intense. The noise of students in the college corridors had subsided; only the sound of pages turning and the old click-clack of a typewriter could be heard from somewhere far away.
The office room—the same place where he checked thousands of papers every day, wrote disciplinary notices, or sat silently in staff meetings. But today, it was as if the walls themselves were breathing.
He spread the books on the table, but his mind was elsewhere. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.
Knock-knock.
His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment.
"Y-you may come in," he said, composing himself.
The door opened slowly—and that same shiver ran down his spine. Ayesha.
The same white top, the same trembling, soft voice.
"Sir, you called...?"
Her eyes were still downcast, but an unknown curiosity floated in them.
"Yes, come in."
Arjun said, getting up from his chair, but he stopped himself from looking at her.
Ayesha slowly entered the room. Her fragrance mingled with the closed air of the room—like fresh flowers—and Arjun's breath suddenly became heavy.
"Sit," he gestured.
Ayesha slowly sat on the chair opposite him, clutching her bag in her lap, as if it were a shield between her and Arjun.
Silence lingered between them for a while. Only the ticking of the wall clock.
Arjun picked up a book and, opening to the topic, began to explain—focusing on the words, controlling his heartbeats.
But Ayesha... she wasn't listening to him, she was listening to his voice. Each word descended slowly into her ears—like the first rain on parched soil.
Suddenly, Arjun felt Ayesha's gaze fixed on him.
He stopped. From beneath his eyelids, he saw Ayesha's hesitant, fearful, and yet captivating eyes. She was looking—at the hard lines of Arjun's face, at the unspoken pain hidden in his blue eyes.
"Understood?" Arjun asked, regaining his composure with a rough voice.
Ayesha nodded slightly.
"Yes, sir... just..."
She paused.
"Just?" Arjun asked in a gentle tone.
Ayesha pursed her lips. Then, gathering courage, she said,
"Sir... why are you always so... so angry?"
It was as if everything in the room stopped. Something inside Arjun cracked and broke. He was stunned for a moment. No one had ever asked him such a question. No one had ever tried to reach the devil within him with such innocence.
Aisha nodded slightly.
"Yes, Sir... just..."
She stopped.
"Just?" Arjun asked in a soft tone.
Aisha pursed her lips. Then, gathering courage, she spoke,
"Sir... why are you always so... so angry?"
It was as if something in the room froze. Something inside Arjun snapped. He was stunned for a moment. No one had ever asked him such a question. No one had ever tried to reach the devil within him with such innocence.
"Because..." he said, with a tired laugh, "it was necessary to be a devil for the world."
Aisha looked at him softly. There was no fear in her eyes now. Just... deep, soft understanding.
Suddenly, a scream echoed—from outside.
"Arjun Sir! Arjun Sir!"
Two students came running in, their faces etched with terror.
"Sir! A girl has been attacked on the ground floor! There's a lot of bleeding!"
Arjun jumped out of his chair without thinking. Aisha also got flustered.
"Stay here!" Arjun ordered her and ran out.
There was chaos in the corridor. A crowd of students, screams, the smell of blood—everything happened suddenly. On the ground floor, a girl lay on the floor, blood streaming from her forehead. According to the eyewitness students, someone had pushed her from behind—perhaps with a different intention, perhaps an attack.
Arjun immediately called the security guards. He put the girl in the car and sent her to the hospital.
But a fear kept echoing in his mind—
"What if it had been Aisha?"
He clenched his fists. He swore—he would protect her at any cost.
When he returned to the office, Aisha was still there—looking scared. Arjun closed the door and walked towards her.
"Is everything okay?" he asked in a low voice.
Aisha nodded. But fear was evident in her eyes. For the first time, Arjun gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"I will never let anything happen to you again," he whispered.
Aisha looked into his eyes—and for the first time, she smiled. A small, trembling smile. But for Arjun, that smile was his universe.
The distance between them began to melt slowly. His touch didn't scare Aisha—it felt like a safe circle. Arjun forcefully pulled himself back.
"Shall I drop you home?" he asked.
Aisha nodded. Her fear still lingered—but with Arjun, she felt a sense of trust for the first time.
There was silence in the car. Arjun was quiet on the way. Aisha was looking out the window, but her fingers kept crushing the strap of her bag.
"You are very different," Arjun said suddenly.
Aisha was startled. Her gaze fixed on Arjun.
"The world thinks I'm a devil," Arjun said with a slight smile, "but you... you saw something else in my eyes."
Aisha said softly, "Sometimes, even devils are just... lonely, Sir."
Their eyes met. And in that one moment, Arjun knew—this innocent girl was going to be his greatest weakness.
But love was not easy. The shadows of his past, his enemies, and the ink of his own soul—all were ready to surround him.
The car stopped slowly outside Aisha's house. Aisha picked up her bag, about to open the door.
"Aisha," Arjun called her name softly.
She turned. Arjun leaned towards her and said—
"If ever... anything happens... just say my name."
Tears welled up in Aisha's eyes. She nodded gently and hurried towards the door of her house.
Arjun remained seated there—for a long time. Restraining himself. Fighting himself. Because he knew—his life was no longer his own. He had now become indebted to that innocent smile.
"Questions Rising in the Silence of the Night"
A soft yellow light peeked out from the windows of the small two-story house. A gentle cool breeze was blowing outside, rustling the branches of the Gulmohar trees lining the road.
With tired steps, Aisha opened the iron gate and stepped inside. As she pushed the door open, the aroma from the kitchen – Puries fried in ghee, hot potato-tomato curry, and the faint scent of tea – washed over her like a soft blanket, easing her fatigue.
"She's here, my child?"
Sharda Aunty, her friend Siya's mother, emerged from the kitchen with a smile.
"Yes, Aunty," Aisha replied softly, taking off her shoes and placing her bag in a corner. Her voice carried the burden of the day, but her eyes held a different kind of unease.
Siya came running, tugging at her hand.
"Come quickly, everyone's waiting at the dining table."
Aisha smiled, but the smile was tinged with weariness. She followed Siya into the dining room.
At the table sat Siya's father, Ramesh Uncle, with a corner of his newspaper folded. Across from him, head bowed, scrolling on his phone, sat a boy – Aarav, Siya's brother.
As soon as Aarav saw Aisha enter, he put his phone down and looked at her for a moment.
Those weren't ordinary eyes. They held a gentle warmth – hidden, raw.
Aisha averted her gaze.
"Come, Aisha dear, sit down. You must be hungry," Ramesh Uncle said kindly.
"A little..." Aisha nodded slightly. The truth was, her appetite had vanished somewhere in that one moment in college when Professor Arjun's fingers had brushed hers.
She shook herself and sat down.
Siya teasingly said,
"Why are you late today? Did you get stuck with someone?"
Everyone chuckled at Siya's joke. But a shiver ran through Aisha’s face for a moment.
Had anyone seen that closeness?
"No, I just... the new chapter was a bit difficult," Aisha made an excuse.
"I'll help you, don't worry," Siya said, filling her plate.
Aarav quietly passed the plate towards her. The light touch of his fingers grazed Aisha's hand. Unintentionally. Perhaps intentionally too.
Aisha bowed her head and said, "Thank you," but her heart trembled slightly once more.
Even while eating, Aisha found herself repeatedly caught in Professor Arjun's deep blue eyes. The warmth of that fleeting touch still lingered on her fingertips.
That night, when everyone had gone to sleep, Aisha stepped out onto the balcony. The gentle breeze played with her loose hair.
Moonlight was scattered all around. Down in the street, a cat walked silently.
She leaned on the railing, resting her elbows.
Her thoughts kept returning to the same place – to Arjun Sir's silent face, to the fleeting unease in his blue eyes.
"Why am I thinking so much?" she whispered to herself.
"He's my professor. That's all. Nothing more."
But her heart was saying something else entirely.
Then, softly, the door opened.
"Can't sleep?"
It was Aarav's voice. Soft, hesitant.
Aisha turned. She offered a slight smile, which quickly faded.
"Just a little..." she whispered.
Aarav came near her but stood at a respectful distance.
A few moments of silence passed. The wind blew between them.
Then Aarav said softly, "If... something is bothering you, you can tell me. I... I can listen."
Aisha was startled. Was her pain written on her face?
"No... it's nothing," she said quickly.
Aarav tried to smile, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes.
"Okay."
He turned, but as he left, he cast one last glance at Aisha – a look that seemed to carry a wish to say something.
Back in her room, Aisha tossed and turned for a long time. She buried her face in her pillow. Two names kept reappearing in her eyes:
Arjun... and Aarav.
One, burning like fire in the depths of her soul. One, knocking like peace into her life.
But her heart knew – fire is not easy to extinguish. And the devil with blue eyes, written in her destiny, would somewhere, somehow, draw her back.
Where? How? When?
Thinking of this, a slight moisture shimmered in Aisha's eyes before sleep claimed her.
And somewhere far away, in the stillness of the night, the silencer of a car gently roared. Arjun's car. Passing through this lane without a sound... just to catch a glimpse.
The Mystery of Heartbeats and a Blue Gaze
The first rays of morning gently touched Aisha as they peeked through the window. Resting her head on the pillow, she lay with her eyes closed. The night's disquiet still lingered in her breath—the glint of Arjun sir's blue eyes, his gentle smile...
Slowly, Aisha got up and looked at herself in the mirror. There was a faint tiredness beneath her eyes, and an invisible tremor within her heart.
Sia's voice echoed from downstairs, "Aisha! Hurry, Arjun sir's seminar is today!"
Arjun sir. The name began to carry a new weight within her—quietly.
The college hall was buzzing with activity. Posters were hung, lights were decorated, and whispers rippled through the students. Aisha chose a light blue top—she didn't know why, but that was the color that reminded her of Arjun sir's eyes.
As soon as she entered the hall, Arjun sir was on the stage—in a black blazer, exuding confidence. His voice resonated throughout the auditorium:
"Emotion and Intellect—it is only when they move together that a person can truly discover."
Aisha's gaze unconsciously lifted towards him. For a few moments, his eyes too slipped from the stage and settled on her face—so fleeting, yet so intense that Aisha's heart began to race erratically.
Arnav sat in a back seat, observing everything—quietly, composedly. He wasn't a student at this college, but he was like a shadow, always accompanying Aisha through every turn—even today.
During the break, as the students dispersed into the corridor, Arjun sir gave Aisha a subtle signal to stay back. His gesture was very restrained—no haste, no insistence.
"Can you spare two minutes?"
His voice was steady, but a silent question flickered in his eyes.
Aisha quietly followed him.
There was a small garden behind the college, where old stone benches and the music of dry leaves lay spread.
"I want to ask you something," Arjun said.
Aisha slowly nodded her head.
"Are you one of those people who understand only through their eyes?"
His soft, yet direct gaze confused Aisha.
She couldn't say anything. Her breath merely swayed with the wind.
"Sometimes," Arjun said, "some relationships become seeds in the very first meeting. They need time—to grow, to be recognized."
Aisha's breath seemed to catch.
"I don't want you to be afraid of me," he said in a controlled tone. "Or to think that I will be a burden to you."
For the first time, she took a sigh of relief.
"I... I am trying to understand, sir," Aisha said softly.
Arjun smiled faintly—a smile that was half there, and half just in his eyes. Then he turned away—without touching, without stopping.
In the evening, Aisha sat in a corner of the library. Her diary was open:
"Some relationships demand a voice, some just grow in silence."
Just then, the light flickered briefly—the entire room plunged into darkness for a moment.
"Is anyone there?" she called out in a soft voice.
The sound of footsteps approached—steady, slow.
"No need to be afraid," the voice said.
It was Arjun.
He held a small envelope in his hand.
"This is for you," he said.
Hesitantly, Aisha took the envelope. Inside was a small piece of paper—it read:
"Every answer comes in its own time. Learn to trust yourself. - A."
No locket. No direct words. Just a hint—and patience.
Aisha lowered her head—and felt something deep growing within her. Slowly. Without a sound.
Outside, raindrops were falling gently. And somewhere far away, a person sitting in the back seat of a car was looking at Aisha's picture on a mobile screen—a strange darkness in his eyes.
"The story has just begun, Aisha..."
He whispered.
The rain had stopped, but a damp humidity still lingered in Aisha's breath. As she exited the library, her fingers brushed against the edge of the small paper, as if it held another message written in invisible ink. She slipped the envelope into her bag and started towards home, but her attention was caught by the sound of footsteps behind her. She turned – no one was there.
"Perhaps it's just my imagination," she told herself, but her heart refused to accept the explanation.
That night, while everyone else was lost in sleep in their rooms, Aisha sat by the window, trying to write in her diary. But between every word, Arjun's gaze would surface – steady, understanding, and hesitant to reveal something. At the same time, someone else's whisper echoed in her mind: "The story has just begun, Aisha..."
The next morning, the campus was abuzz with activity. Someone mentioned that a new research team had arrived at the college to digitize the archives of the old building. Aisha had no particular interest in the news, but she was surprised when her name appeared on the list as a "Project Assistant."
"Sir himself nominated you," the project lead said with a smile.
"Which sir?" Aisha asked, taken aback.
"Professor Arjun," they replied.
A shiver traced its way from Aisha's back down to her fingertips.
The old building stood a little away from the college – walls covered in blue moss, rusted locks, and the scent of a forgotten era. As the team entered, they were faced with a sea of thousands of papers, files, and dusty registers.
"You scan these folders," Arjun instructed her. His voice held a contained tension, as if he were searching for something with little time left.
"Are you looking for anything specific, sir?" Aisha inquired.
"Sometimes history demands answers," he said softly. "And sometimes, questions present themselves... unasked."
Suddenly, something fell from a file – an old sketch. It depicted the faint outline of a girl, her eyes the same as Aisha's.
"Whose is this?" she asked, startled.
"A story from the past," Arjun replied, but his eyes were fixed on some distant time.
The afternoon began to wane. The rest of the team had gone out for lunch. Arjun was still trying to open an old locker. Aisha stood there, the sketch in her hand.
"There's something in this girl's eyes," she said. "Like a hidden secret..."
"Her name was 'Anvesha'," Arjun said softly. "And she was once part of college life."
Aisha's breath hitched.
"What... what happened to her?"
"Lost," Arjun replied in fragments. "And perhaps she took something with her that was mine."
There was no pain in his voice, but a cold chill – as if a wound from years past still left a dampness.
That evening, when Aisha returned home, a small packet was placed on her desk. Without a sender. Her hands trembling, she opened it – inside was the same sketch, and written on the back:
"History repeats itself – and this time, answers are essential. - R"
"R?" Aisha repeated to herself.
Arjun? Or someone else? She immediately picked up her phone and called Aarav.
"Where are you?"
"I'm right here, Aisha. As always... around you," his voice held a peculiar warmth.
"Are you following me?"
"No," he laughed. "I'm just protecting you—from those who appear one way and are another."
"Who are you talking about?" Aisha cried out.
"Stay away from Arjun sir," he said softly. "You don't know who he is... or what he wants."
The call ended.
That night, Aisha couldn't sleep. In her dream, there was an old mansion. A girl was running, the sketch in her hand. Behind her, a man was chasing – his eyes filled with obsession, and his lips murmuring a name...
"Anvesha."
Aisha woke up with a scream. Her breathing was rapid, her forehead damp with sweat. She drank some water, then gently opened her diary and wrote:
"When history begins to invade dreams, reality becomes frightening..."
And the next day, Aisha found another envelope in her bag – this time without a name. It contained only one line:
"Now it's your turn, Aisha. Not to ask questions, but to choose answers."
Somewhere outside, the same man sat in a car – his eyes filled with darkness.
"Now, this game has truly begun."
The air in the old building's basement was a little heavy—as if every brick, every wall was telling a suppressed story that required profound silence to be heard.
Aisha sat by the locker. Amidst the faint hum of the scanner, her fingers traced the edges of the sketch. She saw more in those lines—a poem, a hidden threshold.
"Do you want to say something, Aisha?" Arjun's voice came from behind her—measured, tired, but somehow soft within.
"I..." Aisha looked up, startled. "Were you here all along?"
"I am often here. Amidst the questions. Far from the answers."
Aisha bowed her head, then asked softly, "Was Anvesha lost in questions too?"
Arjun remained silent for a few moments, then a faint smile played on his lips—not a smile, just a slight movement of his mouth—as if his heart had tried to smile, but his mind hadn't permitted it.
"She was the question, Aisha. Perhaps the answer too. But time decided who would know what."
Aisha extended the sketch towards him. "Did you draw this?"
Arjun looked at the sketch, then said, "It's... a mirror."
"Whose?" Aisha's voice softened.
"Sometimes, someone's eyes take you to places where you forget yourself. And only a picture remains—incomplete, but true."
His eyes were no longer on Aisha, but fixed somewhere beyond the wall. Aisha felt as if she wanted to ask him something, but the words caught in her throat. She simply curled her fingers—with an unknown restlessness.
"Why did you give my name to the project?" Aisha suddenly asked.
"Because you can hear—beyond the noise that deafens everyone."
"I never... said anything..." Aisha's voice faltered.
"Exactly because of that."
A light silence fell between them—a silence that spoke more than words.
Arjun moved forward, picking up some old papers and looking at them. Aisha just watched him—the lines on his hands, the wrinkles on his forehead, and a hidden sorrow within him that didn't speak but was present in every movement.
"Sometimes someone sees us—not to understand us, but to forget themselves," Aisha said.
Arjun looked at her—for the first time, for a while.
"Have you forgotten yourself, Aisha?"
She said nothing. Her eyes merely became a little moist.
"I had a dream," Aisha said, "in it, a girl was running, holding a sketch... and someone was calling her name..."
"What was the name?" Arjun asked, but his voice seemed to already know.
"Anvesha," Aisha said.
Arjun's face tensed for a few moments, then he looked away.
"Never take dreams lightly," he said. "They are often the key to a door we believe is locked."
As they were leaving that evening, the rain began to fall lightly again.
"Didn't you bring an umbrella?" Arjun asked.
"I'm not afraid of the rain," Aisha said with a smile.
"Neither am I," he said, and walked a few steps ahead.
Then he stopped and turned back. "But sometimes, tears hidden in the rain go unrecognized."
Aisha couldn't say anything to his words.
Arjun took an old key from his pocket and placed it in her palm.
"What is this?" she asked.
"Another layer of the old locker."
"And why did you give it to me?"
"Because some stories aren't complete without someone like you."
Aisha's breath deepened—as if she were stepping onto an invisible bridge for the first time.
That night, sitting by the room's window, Aisha opened her diary.
"Can someone see another person like that—as if descending into them and reading their silence?"
"And if yes, can that silence also become an answer?"
She quietly looked at the locker key, then at the sketch.
Then a new envelope slipped out from beneath her book.
This time, it was not blue—but white.
It contained only one sentence:
"This time, not someone else, but your own shadow will question you."
Tea of Silence
The mixed aroma of ginger and cardamom floated through the air from Siya's kitchen. The gentle chime of a bell hanging on the wall held the afternoon captive—not too quiet, not too noisy a day.
"Hey Aisha, don't sit by the window for so long, it's the rainy season—you'll catch a cold," Siya said, placing two cups on a tray.
Aisha turned her head and smiled, "I'm not afraid of the rain anymore. I just like its sound."
"Is this the effect of Arjun sir?" Siya asked, winking.
Aisha chuckled softly, "It's less of an effect, more of a confusion."
"Meaning?" Siya sat down beside her, tucking her legs up onto a cushion.
"Meaning... when someone is in front of you, yet seems stuck in another time—what do you say to them?" Aisha picked up her tea cup, the steam brushing her eyelashes.
"Sometimes, some people are complete, but don't seem so."
"Exactly," Aisha agreed, "as if every sentence hides an incompleteness."
Siya held her hand, "But why do you feel so much? This is a professional project, isn't it?"
"I wish everything were this professional," Aisha said softly. "There was something in that sketch from the locker. Something... that isn't seen, only felt. And when I asked him—he didn't say anything, but his face became the answer."
Siya looked intently into her eyes, "You're getting to know him, Aisha."
"No... perhaps I'm getting to know myself through him."
For a moment, they were both silent. Outside, raindrops were hitting the balcony railing.
"Tell me, what was that about the key?" Siya asked, putting down her tea.
"It's an old locker—perhaps in that same basement. He said it has 'another layer'."
"Meaning some more documents or old files?"
"Or maybe another story," Aisha said slowly. "But this time, I have to open it. He clearly said—'Some stories are not complete without someone like you'."
"Then go open it!"
"Not yet," Aisha closed her eyes. "Sometimes, you don't choose the door, the door chooses you."
Siya smiled, "Did Arjun sir say that line too?"
"No," Aisha laughed, "this is the effect of the tea's warmth."
Both of them laughed.
The afternoon was waning, and Siya was taking out clothes from the cupboard for the old almirah.
"Have you ever thought about how different we both are?" Siya asked.
"You're practical, I'm emotional?" Aisha replied.
"Yes! I think, 'Where to keep the file', you think, 'Whose shadow is in this file'."
"And that's the difference between true discovery and reporting," Aisha said with a smile.
"Don't push it, or this habit of yours, 'finding poetry even in silence', will make me emotional too."
"Sometimes we should be emotional," Aisha said, "because some things only the heart can understand."
"By the way," Siya said mischievously, "whose name appears more in your diary now—Anvesha's or Arjun sir's?"
Aisha was silent for a few moments, then said, "Anvesha is a door, but Arjun... is a mirror."
"Meaning you're caught between both?"
"No... I'm connecting myself to both," Aisha said seriously. "Anvesha's past and Arjun's silence—both resonate with some incomplete layer of my own."
Siya nodded, "You talk very deeply, but don't get lost in that depth."
"If I get lost, will you find me?"
"You're not lost, you're just finding yourself—that too with tea," Siya said, picking up her cup.
Evening was starting to fall. Aisha glanced out the window—the streetlights were slowly turning yellow.
"I'll go back to the basement tomorrow," Aisha said.
"What do you expect from there?"
"Not an answer—perhaps another question," Aisha said softly. "But this time, it won't be me asking the question, but my shadow."
"And the answer?"
"Perhaps the same silence that resides in Arjun's eyes."
Siya said nothing. She just came and sat beside her and rested her head on her shoulder.
At night, when everyone was asleep, Aisha opened that sketch again. Her fingers traced the lines—as if someone was touching an old wound, trying to understand if it was pain now, or just a memory.
Then she picked up the key and placed it under her pillow.
"Perhaps I won't find anything new tomorrow," she wrote in her diary, "but whatever it is, I will be in it—without fear, without noise."
The rain outside had stopped, but the air coming through the window still carried moisture.
Aisha closed her eyes—and for the first time, realized that sometimes silence is the clearest voice.
The Scent of Tea and Conversations by the Window
Sia's house was quiet. The soft hues on the walls, the simplicity of old rugs on the floor, and the gentle sunlight filtering through the window filled every corner with a soft luminescence. To Aisha, this house always felt like an old postcard – a little out of time, moving at its own pace.
They were both sitting in the small corner near the kitchen, furnished with two wooden chairs and a round table holding two mugs of tea. The steam from the tea carried the fragrance of ginger and basil.
"Where's your sketching box?" Sia asked, taking a sip of tea.
"It's in my bag. I brought it along, but I don't feel like it right now," Aisha replied, turning to look at the window.
"What do you see in the window that you always settle here?"
"Perhaps because what's outside keeps changing. But this window... it remains constant."
"And you too, Aisha. You don't change either."
Aisha laughed. "Is that good or bad?"
"So far, it’s been good. When you're here, it feels like someone is paying close attention to the house."
The tea mugs warmed both their hands. Light clouds had gathered, but it wasn't raining. Only the wind occasionally brushed the curtain by the window.
"Sometimes I feel you're too quiet," Sia said.
"I'm not quiet, Sia. I just spend my words thoughtfully."
"Wow, well said. Have you started writing poetry now?"
"No, dear, it's just... some thoughts naturally fall into lines."
Sia got up and brought some biscuits. "You didn't tell me, did you meet Arjun sir again?"
"Yes, we met. He was in the basement, with some old documents."
"Your project is still going on, isn't it?"
"It is. But it's not very technical anymore. Some things... revolve around sketches and stories."
Sia looked at her. "That's good. At least you're doing something. I'm very tired now."
"Why?"
"I'm bored with the routine. The same traffic every day, the same people, the same. One day I feel like running away from it all. But then the next day, it's all the same."
"Where would you run?"
"Perhaps somewhere in the mountains. I'd open a bookstore. I'd keep you with me—you would draw on the walls."
"And we'd both drink ginger tea all day?"
"Absolutely," Sia laughed. "And at night, we'd sit on the balcony and listen to Mozart or Gulzar."
Aisha smiled. "Dreams are beautiful because they haven't come true yet."
"You're being very philosophical today."
"No, I just feel a little lighter."
"Why?"
"Perhaps because after a long time in this city, I'm staying in a house that feels like home."
Sia smiled softly and patted her back. "This is your home too, you silly."
"Thank you," Aisha bowed her head.
A moment of silence followed—the kind of quiet that exists between close friends when everything has been said, yet the feeling of togetherness remains.
"You'll think I'm crazy, but I had a dream last night," Sia said.
"What?"
"You were in an old fort, holding a sketch, and a door was slowly opening."
Aisha wasn't startled, just smiled faintly. "One should never take dreams lightly."
"Now you're speaking those lines too?"
"Some things have an effect."
"Is there something between you and Arjun sir?"
"No, Sia, there's nothing. It's just... sometimes conversations, sometimes silences, that are a little different."
"Oh... but you haven't shown me that sketch you've been carrying around for so long."
Aisha took the sketch out of her bag—it was a little creased now, with slight folds on the edges.
Sia looked closely—there were lines, walls, a kind of texture that looked like an old stone structure.
"Is this a map of some old building?"
"Hmm, but not everyone would call it a map. To some, they're just lines. To me... a kind of poem."
"You really are different, Aisha."
"Maybe. But I'm not afraid of being different anymore."
Sia looked at the sketch for a while, then said, "Come on, let's go out today. To a nearby cafe. Let us introduce you to the hustle and bustle of the city."
"Alright."
They quickly finished their mugs, picked up their bags, and left the house. The roads were slightly damp, but it wasn't raining. Only the scent of earth in the air felt fresh.
The cafe was nearby—small, with wooden furniture, playing old Bollywood songs softly. Aisha took a seat by the window.
"People like you always sit by the window," Sia said.
"Why?"
"Perhaps because windows don't just show the outside—they let you peek inside too."
They both ordered hot coffee. There were a few other people in the cafe—someone was reading a book, someone was typing on a laptop.
"Have you ever felt that life has become too straightforward?" Sia asked.
"No. I feel life has stopped taking turns. Now it just moves slowly—without saying anything."
"And perhaps it's tired too."
"We're all a little tired, Sia."
The coffee had arrived. Aisha picked up her cup and looked out the window—some children were flying kites on the street. The wind wasn't strong, but the kites were somehow going up.
"Look, kites," Aisha pointed.
"How good it was in childhood—there wasn't that fear of heights. Just the passion to fly."
"There still is. But we've started fearing falling."
Sia sighed softly. "Conversations these days are very light, Aisha. But still, something feels heavy sometimes."
"That's because we're not just talking, we're living ourselves."
"When you speak like this, it feels like listening to an old radio. Faint, but clear."
They both laughed.
As they walked back home in the evening, a light darkness had fallen on the way. But their spirits were light. A few casual conversations between two friends, some sips of tea, and moments spent gazing at windows—life sometimes fills up with these small things.
Aisha came into the room and quietly looked at her sketch again. There was no mystery, no question. Just a line that wasn't straight, and perhaps that's why it was beautiful.
She placed the sketch on the table and went to sit by the window.
The wind was blowing.
But inside, everything was quiet.
The morning sun fell on the college building like a light golden wash on an old canvas—soft, perfectly balanced.
Aisha was on her way to the classroom, flipping through her sketchbook. Siya wasn't with her today—she had some bank work. But Aisha was used to walking alone. She had the time to notice the sunlight on the path, the shade of the campus trees, and the motivational posters on the walls.
The corridor was as bustling as always—someone running, someone teasing from behind, someone behaving like a beggar for photocopies of new notes.
"Hey, Sketchbook Queen!" a voice called from behind.
She turned—it was Avi. The same guy from the Fine Arts department who was very confident about his smile.
"Aren't you going to class?" he asked.
"I am."
"Since you're here, tell me, do we have to submit yesterday's art assignment or not? Professor Sharma told me, 'Make it when you get time.' Now, I don't understand this interpretation of 'time'."
Aisha laughed. "Does that mean you haven't made anything yet?"
"I've made a lot in my mind. Now I just need to bring it to the surface with a pencil."
"Well done," Aisha said with a smile and moved on.
Professor Kavya was already in the classroom—as usual, in a saree, but her hair was tied back with a large clip, which always distracted some student's attention.
"Good morning, students. Today there are no models, we will draw—space without objects, meaning not what is seen in empty space, but what is felt."
Some students immediately took out their mobiles—perhaps to search on Google what it meant.
"Ma'am, we are in empty space only one day before the exam," Avi's voice came.
Laughter erupted in the class.
Mam Kavya replied with a smile, "Yes, and then in that same space, we also pray for grace marks."
Now everyone started laughing.
Aisha quietly started sketching on a blank page of her sketchbook. She was looking out the window—but she had to sketch something else. Perhaps the space that remained empty amidst the day's hustle—the last bench in the class, or a broken stool kept in the corner.
"Aisha, what are you drawing?" Professor Kavya came near her table.
"The space where no one is sitting—but whose presence is still felt."
"You are going in the absolutely right direction. Your thinking goes beyond what is visible. Keep up this habit."
Tanishq, sitting next to her, said softly, "And my thinking doesn't go beyond the samosas in the canteen."
"Then sketch a negative space of a samosa packet," Avi suggested. Then he himself burst into laughter.
The atmosphere in the class was light—no pressure, no seriousness. Everyone was sketching in their own world, but from time to time, someone was asking for a pencil, someone had lost their eraser.
The sunlight outside had become a little brighter now.
During the break, Aisha went to the canteen. There was a corner she favored—from where the sports ground was visible. She had iced tea today—it was a little warm. At the table in front, Avi appeared again—this time with his two friends. They were laughing loudly at some video.
"Look, isn't this the guy who played the king in the play and his crown fell on stage!" one boy said.
"Yes, yes, and then he said—'The crown bows on its own'."
Again, a fountain of laughter.
Aisha smiled—she didn't join in the laughter, but there was a slight sparkle in her eyes. This is the most beautiful thing about a campus—laughter that comes suddenly, without any reason.
At that moment, Tanishq came and asked for permission to sit near her. "What's up, Queen of Sketches?"
"Nothing. Just drinking iced tea because I felt like tea."
"You didn't laugh in class today."
"Everyone was laughing, I was watching."
"Your facial expression is also like a sketch—saying a lot with few lines."
"Is this a compliment or a metaphor?"
"Catch whatever you want. I'm not an art student, but I'll draw lines for you."
"Don't draw them, stick to the samosa packet."
Both burst into laughter.
In college, the conversation of one friend, the reply of another, then a leaf suddenly falling from a tree—small things that determine the beauty of a day.
Aisha reached home in the evening. Siya had returned, and some utensils were clattering in the kitchen.
"How was your day?" Siya asked.
"Very light. Very peaceful. Full of smiles."
"Then it's fine. Keep smiling—this house feels complete only then."
Aisha nodded, and went and sat by the window.
Outside, the same sunlight was there again—light, soft, a little melancholic... but full of life.
The Foundation's Tale – When Thought Sprouts on Earth
Looking out the windows of the second-floor seminar hall, Aisha felt for the first time that buildings, too, sometimes breathed. The creepers climbing the walls, the whistle-like sounds from the ventilation ducts, and the light filtering from the ceiling – all moved like a living body.
"People think architecture is just design," Professor Vedant Malik's voice echoed in the class. "But true architecture begins with sustainability. It starts with understanding that a house isn't just walls; it's also where air, sunlight, soil, and emotions reside."
Aisha scribbled two words in her diary – "Living Buildings."
Her mind was completely absorbed in the class discussion. This course on sustainable architecture wasn't just an academic pursuit for her; it was the beginning of a new way of thinking. Something she couldn't touch, but could feel – like the scent of the earth after the first rain.
"This week, we have a team project," the professor announced. "You need to find an old but still functional building in your local area and determine its extent of sustainability. Focus on planning, aerographics, water management, ventilation, local materials – everything."
"Sir, who will form the groups?" Tanishq asked from the back.
"You will form them yourselves. And yes, try to work with people you haven't worked with before. Because true creation happens when ideas collide from different directions."
When the class ended, the corridors buzzed with the usual activity – some trying to form pairs, others trying to avoid it.
"You're in my group," Siya said, holding Aisha's bag.
"I'm always with you. Let's try something new this time," Aisha replied.
"Meaning you're leaving me?" Siya playfully rolled her eyes.
"You're my home, my heart, but not my only group."
Both of them laughed.
At that moment, Avi, Tanishq, and two other boys approached them.
"Aisha, will you join our group?" Avi asked. His voice carried its usual confidence, but this time, there was a hint of hesitation.
"Why?" Aisha asked, tilting her head slightly.
"Because we need someone who actually works," Tanishq quickly added. "Otherwise, Avi will spend the whole week just choosing the theme for the slides."
"What will be your research area?" Aisha asked directly.
"Matunga's 'Desert House'," Avi said. "It's an old bungalow. It has layers of mud on the roof, and people have lived there for years without air conditioning. And you know, its drainage system even works on natural gravity."
Aisha's face lit up slightly.
"Okay. I'll join. But I'll handle the planning. You guys can do the interviews and reporting."
"Deal," Avi said. "And yes, the meeting is this evening in the library."
In the evening, the college library was relatively quiet, yet every table had someone bent over, as if reading not books, but the maps of their own minds.
Aisha, Avi, Tanishq, and a girl named Jahnvi – the four of them sat at a table. In the center lay an old map they had downloaded from the municipal corporation's website.
"Look at this," Avi said. "The walls of the Desert House are about 18 inches thick. This prevents heat from entering."
"And the small garden next to it prevents water runoff," Jahnvi added.
"So, we can divide the report into four parts – Design, Climate Adaptation, Water Management, and Material Analysis," Aisha suggested.
"Why are you sounding like a professor?" Tanishq asked, laughing.
"Because I don't want to be a professor. I want to create something that can be preserved – a thought that keeps homes livable."
A moment of silence followed her statement.
Then, Avi suddenly said, "And I want sunlight to fall on my roof without me having to pay an electricity bill."
Everyone laughed.
"That's a very high-end goal," Jahnvi commented.
"Not high-end, light-end," Avi replied with a smile.
The meeting concluded, and everyone dispersed with their notes.
The college stairs were now bathed in the soft pink glow of the evening sun. As Aisha descended, she thought – a house is not just a place to live. It's an idea – a piece of land where time can pause.
Back home, Siya was sitting at the table, eating something – peanuts and jaggery.
"Did a love story blossom along with the architecture in the meeting?" she asked without looking up.
"Your mind never changes."
"No, but you are changing – you think before you speak now."
"Sometimes, thinking is necessary."
"And sometimes, peanuts are."
Both of them laughed.
That night, Aisha took out her notebook – this time, there were no sketches. Only words.
"If buildings can breathe, can we also hurt them? Can a home also get upset – if we forget to cherish it?"
She knew – her studies were no longer just academic. It was a journey – from foundation to roof, from soil to thought.
The Saturday afternoon was slightly drowsy, as if the sun itself wanted a little rest. As Aisha stepped off the bus, shielding her eyes with her hand, she looked ahead—an old, two-story bungalow, surrounded by a thin layer of greenery, like a sheet of peace spread over an old wound.
"Desert House," Arjun said, approaching from beside her. "The name sounds like it's in the middle of Jaisalmer, but the location is Matunga. Quite a strong contrast."
"More than the name, the simplicity is in the execution," Aisha replied without looking.
"Oh wow, did you bring poetry along too?"
"No, just thoughts. And you?"
"I've just come to talk to the walls."
Tanishq and Jahnvi had joined them from behind. All four were now standing in front of the small wrought-iron gate. A brass plate was affixed to the gate—"Shri Chandarmal Sawla Nivas—Since 1932".
The door opened from inside, and an elderly gentleman, in a white kurta-pajama and sparkling glasses, came out.
"Come in, come in... you're from the college, aren't you?"
"Yes, Professor Malik must have told you," Arjun said, joining his palms in greeting with a smile.
"Yes, yes. I am Chandarmal's son, Naval Sawla. The sole heir to this house now. But this house manages me, not the other way around."
As he spoke, he invited them inside.
Stepping into Desert House felt like entering an old film—Moroccan tiles on the floor, wooden inlaid panels on the walls, and a long corridor that opened directly into a courtyard.
"Wow," Jahnvi exclaimed, "it feels cooler in here than outside!"
"That's why it's called Desert House," Mr. Naval said, laughing. "Even the heat feels shy here."
There were windows everywhere in the house, but none with glass. Only fine wooden lattices and sheer fabric shadows. The air circulated inside, as if every corner was mapped in its trajectory.
"We've come to document the plan of your house," Aisha said politely. "And we'd like to record some of your thoughts as well."
"Absolutely. I serve my thoughts with my tea."
There were four chairs and a small round table in the courtyard. Sunlight filtered through from above, casting a soft light. Mr. Naval went inside, and a short while later, an elderly woman appeared with a tray of tea and besan ladoos.
"This is my sister. Her name is Uma. She doesn't speak much, but she hears everything," Mr. Naval said.
"That's good," Arjun remarked. "Sometimes, the one who hears is the one who saves the house."
"You think a bit too much, don't you?" Aisha said without smiling. "Is there a plan to become wise directly?"
"No, I just came to eat ladoos. But the tea has made me philosophical."
Tanishq and Jahnvi burst into laughter.
Now the real work began. Aisha started measuring the courtyard’s length and width, Jahnvi drew the thickness of the walls and ventilation details, and Arjun climbed onto the roof—from where he was sketching the topography of the entire area.
"How thick is the roof's mud plaster?" Arjun asked from below.
"About 8 inches," Mr. Naval replied. "I get it plastered with cow dung and mud twice a year. The heat doesn't penetrate."
"Were you intentionally making it eco-friendly, or was it all traditional?" Aisha asked.
"It was traditional... but now I feel, this is the future."
Arjun came down the stairs, his face flushed from the sun.
"Your roof is very smart," he told Mr. Naval.
"Hmm... and you are very talkative." Mr. Naval laughed.
Now everyone started looking at the rooms inside. The rooms were small but had high ceilings. A small ventilation slot on every wall—allowing air to enter and exit as it pleased.
"These vents are called 'jali windows'," Aisha explained. "They are very useful for regulating the interior temperature."
"Is all this going into your notes?" Jahnvi asked.
"Yes, and into my mind too."
"You think with your mind?" Arjun widened his eyes.
"Yes, and you probably think with your tongue."
"Oh wow, even that jibe was eco-friendly."
Evening began to fall. The four of them sat on the veranda outside. The report was almost complete. The second round of tea had arrived.
"Do you ever feel like you get too attached to these buildings?" Arjun asked Aisha.
"Yes. Because they don't change. And if they do change, it's slowly, carefully. Not like humans."
"And would you like to change?"
"If it could add something to myself, then yes."
Then came a long, quiet moment.
"Looking at you two, it's like Discovery Channel and Netflix are sitting together," Tanishq joked.
"And what are you?" Aisha asked.
"I'm Hotstar—I shut down after a while."
Everyone burst into loud laughter.
When Aisha reached home that night, she opened the draft report file on her laptop—and wrote the title:
"Desert House—When Understanding is Built, Not Just Houses from Mud."
Arjun's voice echoed in her mind—"Your roof is very smart"—and then, in her own thoughts, a new building began to take shape.
When Walls Speak in Words
The college lecture hall was as busy as ever, but today there was something different. The cool morning air was exhaling on the windowpanes, and the students sitting inside had a different kind of seriousness on their faces. Everyone seemed a little more prepared—perhaps because it was the day for the 'Field Study Project Presentations'.
Aisha, in a light blue long kurta and white palazzo, sat in a corner, her hair neatly tied back, reviewing her notes. Janhavi, sitting next to her, was sketching some fresh lines in her diary. A little ahead, Professor Arjun, rolling up his jacket sleeves with one hand, was checking the time on his mobile screen.
"Our time slot is third," Tanishq said softly. "First, Anuj's team... then Seema's... then us."
"Let them speak first," Professor Arjun said reluctantly. "We've come to talk to walls... they're used to talking to people."
"Why do you romanticize everything?" Janhavi smiled.
"Because I am Arjun," he winked.
On stage, Anuj's team had already begun their presentation. The PowerPoint slides were gleaming—glass buildings, metal structures, and LED walls.
"What they've built is good for corporate show-off," Aisha said in a low voice. "But not sustainable."
"We don't have glass in our homes," Professor Arjun added. "Our homes have breath."
"And you?" Aisha asked.
"I just am... I breathe. But not in words, in lines."
The three looked at each other, as if even making eye contact was part of understanding.
Now it was their turn.
Professor Malik raised his head slightly—"Team 3, you can come up."
Professor Arjun clicked the pen in his hand. Aisha connected the screen with her tab. Janhavi took out the roll charts, and Tanishq kept the water bottle nearby.
Slide 1: 'Desert House – When Walls Breathe'
"Namaste," Aisha began. Her voice was soft, but clear.
"Our study is based on an old residential building, built in 1932—named 'Desert House'. It is located in the Matunga area of Mumbai."
The slide showed a picture of a vintage house, with yellow walls, covered with red tiles, and intricate shrubs in the garden in front.
"This house is not just a construction, it is an idea. A way—to live slowly and deeply in this fast-paced city."
Professor Arjun now came forward.
"The specialty of this house is not its walls, but the air that flows between the walls. The layers of mud on the roof, the windows with fine mesh, and the design in every corner that respectfully invites the sun and air inside."
The slide changes—a cross-section of the roof.
"We observed that its roof has an 8-inch thick layer of mud, plastered with cow dung and lime—which stabilizes the temperature."
Now Janhavi was speaking—"The walls are up to 14 inches thick, and each room opens towards a central courtyard—maintaining natural ventilation."
Slide—a sketch of the courtyard. Children playing, two chairs, and the shadow of a tree.
"We also noted that this is not just architecture... it is memory," Aisha added. "This house is a shelter for an elderly person, for whom these walls are like relationships—old but alive."
Now Tanishq came to the front of the stage, with a lighter mood.
"Our work was not to show how beautiful the house is... but to understand what makes beauty. And we found—mud, air, sunlight, and a little bit of heart."
Slide—'Low Cost, High Durability'
"The annual maintenance of this house is only ₹5000," Janhavi informed. "And despite that, it doesn't need AC. Not in summers, not in winters."
"So you could say," Professor Arjun smiled, "that this house is not 'sustainable', but 'conscious'."
Professor Malik's eyebrows rose slightly—which, in his opinion, was a 'wow'.
The presentation concluded.
There were a few questions from the students.
"Why did you find this house the most unique?" Seema asked.
"Because this house had no pretense," Aisha said calmly. "It was not proving itself. It was completely sufficient within itself."
"And you?" Anuj pointed towards Professor Arjun.
"It was there that I first saw that roofs could also hum," he replied with direct eye contact.
Some people laughed, but many had a thoughtful look on their faces.
Professor Malik stood up.
"What your team has presented is an idea... an experience. I don't know who among you worked harder—but all of you, together, have made a house a breathing entity."
Aisha, Professor Arjun, Janhavi, and Tanishq bowed their heads slightly in acknowledgment.
As they walked back down, Professor Arjun said softly—
"Your voice was louder than the slides today."
"And your words felt real today."
"Does that mean they feel fake on other days?"
"No... on other days you are a poet. Today you were a witness."
That night, Aisha opened her diary.
She wrote:
"Today, for the first time, I felt that my profession is not just building structures... perhaps it is also building relationships. And Professor Arjun—he said less today, but conveyed more."
Below, there was no sketch, just one word written—
"Breath"
Connection – When Something Begins to Grow on the Ground of Silence
The hot afternoon of college was quieter than usual. The canteen was empty, and the shadows of trees lay like waves on the campus lanes. It was June, when even the air in Mumbai became lazy. But there was something in this laziness, as if someone was trying to understand someone else at a slow pace.
Aisha, a student of Archaeological Environmental Design, was a little careless about her field project for the first time. She didn’t want anything too technical – just a place that didn’t speak, but said something.
Professor Arjun, the most unpredictable professor in the world so far, was not formal but focused. His notes were incomplete, but his eyes weren't searching for a full stop – rather, they seemed ready to get stuck at a comma.
“What have we come here to see?” Aisha asked, as they both stood in front of an old, deserted mansion-like house in a small suburb.
“I don’t know. Maybe something that isn’t made anymore,” Professor Arjun said softly.
The rest of the college team was also with them – Jahnvi, Tanishk, and two junior students. But as soon as everyone went inside, those two got carried away in a different rhythm.
The roof of the mansion was broken, but the bricks scattered in the sunlight shone like a heritage.
“Look at this wall,” Aisha said, running her hand over it. “This dampness isn't just moisture… it feels like a layer of someone’s breath.”
Professor Arjun looked at her lightly – neither smiling nor surprised. As if he was hearing her for the first time, not seeing her.
“You feel the walls?” he asked.
“I feel everything that is still… because that’s what changes the most.”
She moved towards an old window, where the blue sky outside was framed within a square.
“Sometimes I feel,” she said, “that we are also like this… a window closed within ourselves, towards which no one comes to peek.”
Professor Arjun remained silent.
Sounds from the team were coming from below – “Sir, the camera here…” “Aisha, we need measurements…” but the two of them were looking for something else – not a part of a plan, but a fragment of a feeling.
Professor Arjun pointed to a corner – a few thin tendrils of grass growing on the floor.
“Look at this. Even in such old walls, some seed must have remained dormant.”
“Or perhaps a tear fell…” Aisha said. “Which turned into a seed.”
Then both fell silent. The silence stretched long. The air was also in a rhythm. There was no word that should have been spoken, and no silence that needed to be broken.
Evening began to fall.
The other team members were preparing to return. But Professor Arjun and Aisha were still sitting near that window.
“You hide something,” Professor Arjun said suddenly.
“What?”
“Your fear. The fear of not letting anyone enter you.”
“And you?”
“Me? I let everyone in… so that one day, someone might stay.”
“And I am the one who doesn’t stay,” she said.
“Perhaps… that’s why I pause again and again.”
The last piece of the sun passed through the window and fell on Aisha’s face.
It wasn’t light – it was like a prayer, asked without words.
“Shall we go?” Aisha asked softly.
“No… let’s sit here a little longer.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t feel like leaving from here. And this heart wants very few things.”
On their way back, they both walked, not on their bikes.
Professor Arjun’s bike was parked nearby, but he didn’t feel like riding it.
“Sometimes, the path should be long,” he said.
“And the companion understanding?” Aisha smiled.
“No… just someone who doesn’t speak… but stays with you.”
The college building started to come into view.
Lights were on, people were engaged in their work. The noise had returned. But Professor Arjun and Aisha were still walking, carrying the warmth of that quiet corner within them.
“Will you write something in your diary today?” Professor Arjun asked.
“Perhaps not,” Aisha said. “It feels dishonest to write things that are not understood.”
“Then what will you do?”
“I’ll sleep. Perhaps in a dream, that thing will come on its own.”
That night…
Professor Arjun wrote a line in his old notebook:
“She said nothing. But today, every voice seemed less than hers.”
And Aisha closed her diary, without writing a word.
There was a connection. That they hadn’t touched. But it was breathing between them. Like sunlight quietly descending into a closed window.
"Witness of Colors, Talk of Silence"
The light from the dim yellow bulb at the end of the corridor spilled onto the floor. A gentle hum of activity filled the college. Preparations were underway for the gallery, where students of Archaeology, Art, and Design had jointly organized an interactive exhibition.
Aisha was simply dressed in a deep forest-green kurta and white palazzo. Her walk was slow, yet confident. Her hair was half-open, half-tied with a rubber band—as if she wanted the wind to playfully tousle it, but not completely tangle it.
She reached her project's spot. Her theme was:
"Voices of Ancient Cities – When Earth Speaks."
Small stone-clay models, some broken pottery shards, and research tags attached to them—the entire section was minimalist, yet possessed a subtle charm. It was as if the viewer would naturally bend down to read, searching for something within the lines of the clay.
Then, a voice from behind called out—
"Your creations are like you—they speak little but convey much."
Aisha smiled. Without turning, she replied,
"And why do you always appear so suddenly?"
Professor Arjun, in a blue chust shirt and khaki pants, looked different today—carefree, yet alive.
"Because I've never liked what's predetermined," he answered.
Professor Arjun picked up an old stone tablet placed in front of him.
"What is this?"
"It's the drainage pattern of the Harappan civilization... but it wasn't just for drainage; it was a mirror to their thinking."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning, they respected everything that 'passed through'—be it water, air... or a relationship."
Professor Arjun looked at her. "Do you think the same way?"
"Yes," she said softly. "I like people who let go... and those who stay without saying anything."
The gallery was now getting more crowded.
Students were complimenting each other's projects, professors were taking pictures. But Professor Arjun and Aisha's world was still moving a little slower—at a different pace.
"Come, I'll show you my spot," Professor Arjun said.
"You've also put up something?"
"Yes... I didn't bring those sketches. It's something new."
Professor Arjun led her to a corner of the gallery. There, on a large wall, were some strange lines—drawn with chalk, somewhat incomplete, some starting from the ground and going upwards.
"What is this?" Aisha asked.
"This is a path... that goes up, but leads nowhere."
"Then why did you make it?"
"So that whoever sees it, asks questions—and then delves within themselves."
Aisha smiled faintly. Her fingers paused on the part of the wall where the lines were weakest.
"This is where I pause... where things are incomplete."
"And I begin from there..." Professor Arjun said.
For a few seconds, the distance between them was only as much as a breath. The surrounding sounds seemed to muffle, laughter's echo softened... and there was only silence.
"Have you eaten anything today?" Professor Arjun asked suddenly.
"No."
"Then come, let's eat something."
"From here?"
"No, from that old stall behind the campus."
Evening had begun to soften.
The small food stall behind the campus offered only a few classic items—butter pav, Maggi, and malai chai (creamy tea).
"Two malai chai and butter pav!" Professor Arjun ordered.
Aisha sat on a nearby bench. A slight weariness was on her face, but her eyes held peace.
"You know?" Professor Arjun said. "I like your face the most when you're not thinking about anything. Just being."
"And when do you like it?" Aisha looked at him.
"When you look at me—and I forget what to say."
The malai chai arrived.
Aisha held the cup, brought it to her lips, and asked, "Why do you become so personal sometimes?"
"Because I don't know how to use a filter."
"And I don't know how to take it off."
Both of them laughed.
But the pause within their laughter was saying everything—without words.
The night air had grown a little cooler.
Aisha stood up, her fingers tracing the edge of the table, and said, "Shall we go?"
Professor Arjun said, "You go ahead... I want to sit here for a while."
"Why?"
"Because of the emptiness that remains after you leave... I want to feel it for a while."
Aisha didn't say anything. She just smiled.
Then, without turning back, she walked ahead at a slow pace.
And Professor Arjun?
He remained seated there, with an unfinished sip of tea.
And slowly took out his diary.
He wrote:
"She left.
But she remained everywhere.
As if her touch lingered in the air.
As if her silence taught me to speak."
The college walls were bathed in the soft yellow sunlight, casting shadows. Some corners looked weary, while others seemed ready for a new celebration. A single thought echoed throughout the campus – "It's field trip day!"
Aisha, dressed in a blue full-sleeved cotton shirt and black track pants, headed towards the bus stop, tightening the straps of her bag over both shoulders. Her gait was simple – natural, yet firm. In her hand, she held an old diary, filled with rough notes and route sketches. It wasn't just a diary; it was like a key to ancient secrets.
"Why do you still have to write everything by hand?"
The voice from behind slowed her down. Professor Arjun, in a grey shirt and pants, held a camera in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. His hair was dishevelled, but his eyes were clear – and they held that same quality that made Aisha both uncomfortable and, somehow, attracted.
"Because what you feel cannot be typed," Aisha replied.
"And what you see doesn't always fit into the camera frame either," Professor Arjun said with a smile.
The bus engine rumbled, and all the students rushed to grab their seats. Groups formed – some laughing, some making videos, and some… quiet even to themselves. Aisha sat by the window, watching the leaves blur past.
"Is anyone sitting next to you?"
"If there were, I wouldn't be answering," Aisha replied with a slight smile.
Professor Arjun sat down. The bus picked up speed.
The first stop was "Dholavigarh," an ancient sea fort spread along Maharashtra's western coast. Its walls were centuries old, washed by salty winds and burdened with history. The weather had turned slightly cooler on the way. There was some moisture in the air – perhaps a sign of impending rain.
"Do you know anything about this fort?" Professor Arjun asked.
"Yes," Aisha opened her diary. "This fort was known for maritime trade. But there was also an undocumented library here, which housed palm-leaf manuscripts on constellations and time."
"And what do you think, will we be able to see something special there?"
"Perhaps not," Aisha said, "but we will definitely be able to feel it."
The bus stopped. The steps of Dholavigarh were visible from a distance – tall, moss-covered, and gleaming in the sun. It was as if every stone held a hundred stories within it.
"Students! Stay in groups, follow the guide!" Professor Ritika's voice rang out.
But Professor Arjun and Aisha had already moved ahead, walking slowly. Their companionship was decided without a word. There was something in the wind that swept across the fort's walls. A song… that was once written, then erased. Aisha slowly ran her hand along the wall. Professor Arjun took pictures – but in every frame, his gaze shifted from the camera towards Aisha.
"These walls are worn out…" Professor Arjun said.
"But the memories are still fresh," Aisha replied softly.
They stopped at a turn.
"We can sit here for a while," Aisha said.
They both sat on an old stone, which might have once been a seat. Aisha took off her bag and took out water.
"You even share water silently…" Professor Arjun remarked.
"And why do you feel the need to say everything?" she asked with a smile.
For a moment, their eyes met. No words, no intentions – just silence. The voices of their companions drifted up from below, but at this height… everything was peaceful. There was a chill in the air, and Professor Arjun extended the corner of his jacket towards Aisha.
"Are you feeling cold?"
"A little," she admitted.
Professor Arjun said, "Here, take the jacket."
"I don't need it."
"Take it, this isn't an offer – it's my habit."
Aisha put on the jacket. She couldn't tell what was warmer – the warmth of the jacket, or Professor Arjun's quiet presence. The sun was beginning to set. Shadows were lengthening.
"Shall we go down?" Professor Arjun asked.
"Let's go…" but Aisha's voice was soft. As if she didn't want to leave anything behind – and couldn't understand what this feeling awakening within her, this gentle stirring, actually was.
As they descended, Aisha looked back once. The height of the fort, the silence of the walls, and Professor Arjun's company… everything was like the last lines of an old poem.
The morning sky was covered with light clouds. The sun was trying to come out, but it could only peek from behind the clouds. There was a coolness in the air, but it was strangely comforting.
Aisha was sitting by the window. Spread before her was a small hill station-like area, with shops made of old bricks, small mountains that looked like peacock feathers, and a lake in the center – ‘Neelkund’.
The guesthouse room was simple – wooden walls, the slow hum of an old fan on the ceiling, and a single window that connected her to the outside world. She hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror yet.
Her sleep-dazed eyes were still searching for something – or perhaps still lost in a scene she had witnessed with Professor Arjun while sitting on that stone in Dholavigadh.
Activity had already begun outside the room. Some students were standing on the balcony, some were clicking photos. One corner was completely occupied by Professor Arjun – camera fixed on a tripod, and a notebook in hand.
“Want some coffee?” Professor Arjun’s voice from behind still had the same gentleness.
Aisha smiled.
“If you’re making it yourself, then absolutely.”
“So you only appreciate the camera, not my talent,” Professor Arjun said, making a slightly sulky face.
“I appreciate talent that is permanent,” Aisha replied and walked towards the guesthouse cafe.
The cafe’s decor was old but interesting. Walls with earthen lamps, wooden chairs, and old radios in the corners playing soft classical tunes.
Sitting with two cups of filter coffee, they both seemed to drift away.
“Have you ever thought what would have happened if we both were working on the same project?” Professor Arjun suddenly asked.
“Hmm… perhaps there would be more arguments than conversations,” Aisha said.
“Or perhaps everything would be in silence,” Professor Arjun said, looking into her eyes.
There was no conversation for a few seconds. Only the steam from the coffee and the unspoken dialogue between two pairs of eyes.
Breakfast was light. Poori sabzi, upma, and coconut chutney. The other students were lost in their laughter and jokes, but Aisha and Professor Arjun, while part of the crowd, seemed to be on a different level – unspoken, but together.
“Where are we going today?” someone asked.
Professor Ritika replied, “There is an old temple by the Neelkund lake – ‘Keshavraj’. We are going there. We need to study the flora around it, and some historical documents are available in the library there.”
“Library!” Aisha’s eyes lit up.
“Lake!” Professor Arjun’s eyes turned to the camera.
The path wasn't long – about a 3-kilometer trek. All along the way, bamboo trees, wild bougainvillea creepers, and local children grazing goats in places.
Aisha picked up a yellow bougainvillea and placed it in her diary.
“Why do you preserve everything?” Professor Arjun asked.
“Because I don’t know how to lose,” Aisha replied softly.
Neelkund lake was in front. Not blue, but calm. The edges were covered with moss, and in the middle of the lake lay a small boat, now just a showpiece.
Beside the lake was an old temple – made of white stone, filled with the lines of time. The temple courtyard was entirely in the shade of trees. Some students were busy taking photos, some were sketching. And some… were finding themselves.
Aisha and Professor Arjun sat down at one side.
“You know,” Aisha said, “the priests here say that sitting by a bell in this temple makes the soul lighten its burdens.”
“Do you sit?” Professor Arjun asked.
“I… listen. To myself, to my surroundings… and to that thing that often doesn’t speak to us, but is within us.”
“And I… listen to you,” Professor Arjun said softly.
That moment… it was as if it stopped. The rustling of the wind, the faint echo of the temple bells, and somewhere far away, someone was playing a flute, perhaps. There was no touch between them, no declaration – but what was there, was beyond the definition of any moment.
Aisha closed her eyes. Professor Arjun just watched. He watched not with his camera, but with the memory of an old life – where relationships take shape without words.
Evening was setting in. The students were called back. Aisha and Professor Arjun also got up.
“Are you doing anything special tomorrow?” Professor Arjun asked as they walked.
“Perhaps I’ll go to the cave behind the temple, where there are old inscriptions.”
“And what if I come along?”
“If you can remain silent, then surely.”
Professor Arjun smiled.
“Silence has become my new subject, and you my first book.”
On the way back to the guesthouse, a light rain began. There were no umbrellas, just some trees and fast-moving winds. Aisha and Professor Arjun ran towards the same verandah.
Aisha’s wet hair stuck to her face. Without asking, Professor Arjun gently moved the hair away – not with intention – just as if making way for a clear sky after the rain.
That moment echoed with the sound of the cold wind and two heartbeats.
Memories of Sand – When a Touch Said a Lot
After a day of travel, the sun began to slowly disappear in the sky. Students, having wandered here and there, were returning to the guesthouse; some laughing, some chatting. But Ayesha and Professor Arjun’s path was a bit different. Their focus was on the cave, where ancient inscriptions were hidden – a place where time had no hold, and history was revealing its secrets.
As they left the guesthouse, both Ayesha and Professor Arjun were quite quiet. There was something unsaid between them, something they both felt but hadn’t put into words. Professor Arjun’s face held the usual freshness, but today there was something more in his eyes – a gentle curiosity, moving towards Ayesha. Ayesha walked as if ignoring herself, but there was a stirring within her. She was trying to understand if this was just a slight feeling of friendship, or something more.
The path to the cave was dense and dark. When they reached the inside of the cave, its walls were straight and silent. With every step, the cave’s cool air touched their bodies, as if preserving an ancient secret. As soon as they stepped inside, they saw that ancient inscriptions adorned the walls, telling stories of days when this region was part of a powerful kingdom.
"Seeing all this, I sometimes feel how lost we are these days," Professor Arjun said, his voice carrying a sense of wistfulness.
"Lost in what way?" Ayesha asked, adjusting the bag slung over her shoulder, "Aren't we still searching for the things we’ve lost?"
"But shouldn't we have had the chance to understand the process of that loss?" Professor Arjun took a deep breath, as if lost in another world.
Ayesha looked at him for a moment, then quickly averted her gaze. This was the moment when there were no words between them, but both were aware of each other. Professor Arjun took pictures of the inscriptions with his camera, and Ayesha watched those images intently. Her eyes were searching for something in those inscriptions, as if trying to understand a deeper place.
After some time, there was silence inside the cave. Both were lost in their own thoughts, but there was something within that compelled them to remain silent. Suddenly, Professor Arjun noticed that Ayesha’s attention was on a particular inscription, which had some peculiar lines.
"Did you see this?" Professor Arjun asked with curiosity.
Ayesha nodded, "Yes, it’s like a sign of a deep mystery."
Professor Arjun watched her for a while, then slowly came closer to Ayesha and said, "You think very deeply, Ayesha. There’s a different kind of glow in your eyes."
Ayesha suddenly felt she had felt Professor Arjun's words, but she couldn't fully translate them into speech. "You too," she said with a slight smile.
In the silence of that moment, a new connection was forming between them, one that transcended words – a deep understanding, a feeling. It was a relationship, but perhaps one that even they themselves didn’t fully comprehend.
As they emerged from the cave, both saw that the sky had deepened a little more. Cool winds were blowing, and the lake water gleamed like silver. They began to walk slowly along the lake shore. Professor Arjun took a few more pictures with his camera, while Ayesha took out her diary and began to write something. She was trying to put down on paper the thoughts that were in her heart without any words.
"Do you ever think our lives will become such a story?" Professor Arjun asked, his voice carrying a hint of philosophy. "Will we also be remembered someday, just as we are looking at these ancient inscriptions?"
Ayesha looked at him, then took a deep breath, "Time will tell. Perhaps we will get lost in things we never knew."
Professor Arjun’s gaze was fixed on her, and Ayesha felt there was a question in his eyes that even he couldn’t understand. Still, he gestured towards the lake, "Perhaps this lake is the answer to all the questions we are trying to find."
Professor Arjun remained silent, but there was something unspoken in his eyes that went deeper than any words. He looked at Ayesha without speaking, as if understanding that some things are beyond words. And then he said softly, "Come, let's go back."
As they walked back towards the guesthouse, there was a slight distance between them, like an unspoken tension. But there were no words, only an unspoken understanding that had spread between them. Ayesha and Professor Arjun were both lost in their own thoughts, but the feeling of being near each other was just as strong.
Professor Arjun spoke first, "Shall we go to the cave again tomorrow?"
Ayesha shook her head negatively, "Not tomorrow. Let me feel today's experience."
"You always say a lot by staying silent," Professor Arjun said, smiling.
Ayesha looked at him and smiled faintly, "Sometimes, saying a lot without speaking is more impactful."
Upon reaching the guesthouse, Professor Arjun and Ayesha bid each other farewell without a single word. The same unresolved question was in both their eyes. Their relationship was unstated, but a deep emotion was creating ripples between them. And these ripples were slowly connecting their hearts, a non-verbal connection, far more profound than words.
Upon returning to the guesthouse, the atmosphere between Aisha and Professor Arjun was somewhat different. Both retreated to their respective rooms, but their hearts were stirred. Whenever the two were together, something happened that transcended words. Both were aware of this, but neither Professor Arjun nor Aisha acknowledged it. Both still felt this relationship as a connection, slowly materializing, but without words.
The sun had set, and there was dim light in the guesthouse room. Aisha opened her book but couldn't focus. Only one thing was before her eyes – Professor Arjun. She was feeling his words, his eyes, and his laughter. Sometimes, she wondered if all this was just part of a small friendship, or something more, dissolving unspoken between their hearts.
Professor Arjun sat in his room and opened his laptop. But his eyes weren't on books and slides, but thinking about Aisha. He couldn't understand why his heart beat faster every time Aisha was near. Was he just feeling a friendship? Or was there some other feeling that had settled in his heart? He got lost in his thoughts and then quietly started gathering the scattered papers and notes in the room.
The next morning, there was a light mist at the guesthouse. Both Aisha and Professor Arjun had woken up early, and today was special. They were about to head towards an old temple situated on the peak of the mountain. Professor Arjun put a water bottle and some essentials in his bag and, going to Aisha, said, "Are you ready?"
Aisha nodded and, putting down her teacup, said, "Don't I look more ready than you?"
Professor Arjun smiled and then said, "You are always ready."
Aisha gave a slight smile, but there was something else in her eyes. There was a confusion in her thoughts. Both silently started on their way, and neither shared their feelings in words.
On the way, the distance between them was gradually decreasing. Aisha and Professor Arjun's footsteps were synchronized, as if both were bound by an unspoken thread as they walked together. The path was a bit difficult, as climbing the mountain presented some challenges, but both were engaged in supporting each other. Professor Arjun would sometimes come near Aisha and help her, and Aisha would thank him every time.
"If you walk with me, I won't fall," Aisha said laughingly, as if trying to lighten the mood with a gentle joke.
Professor Arjun looked at her and said, "You might fall, but you always pick yourself up again."
His words touched Aisha's heart. She looked at Professor Arjun for a moment and then bent down. There was a feeling in her eyes that she couldn't express in words. She was feeling it, but perhaps she hadn't yet understood what this feeling was.
After completing the climb, both stood in front of the temple. This temple was very old, and the carvings on its walls had lost their color over time. Aisha gently touched a carving and said, "This carving tells us a lot about our history, but it has faded with time."
Professor Arjun looked at her and then said, "Nothing remains constant, Aisha. The things around us keep changing."
Aisha couldn't pay attention to his words. There was a deep silence in her eyes, and she moved forward to enter the temple. Professor Arjun watched her walk, and he realized that there was something in this silence that he couldn't fully comprehend.
Inside the temple, both offered prayers and then came outside to sit on the temple roof. From there, the entire city was visible, and the hazy clouds were slowly spreading across the sky. Professor Arjun and Aisha looked at each other silently. There was an opportunity to feel something between them, but they didn't want to bring any words out. It was a relationship that was neither clear nor understandable, yet both knew it was something special.
"Do you think we will always remain silent like this?" Professor Arjun asked softly, a slight tremor in his voice.
Aisha looked at him and then said without any words, "Perhaps we will never understand what is between us, but this is a relationship."
Professor Arjun saw a faint smile on her face, and then he said, "Our silence always says something."
Returning from the temple, the distance between Aisha and Professor Arjun had reduced even further. There was something in both their hearts that couldn't be expressed in words. Every step, every moment, every little thing brought them closer to each other. It was a relationship, yet unsaid, beyond understanding, yet it spoke volumes.
