Shailaza's Blog

Author: Shailaza Singh

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Seven: The Party And The Bet

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Seven: The Party And The Bet

    The yearly office party was one of those events where people let their guards down, traded in their usual professional facades for a night of laughter, networking, and a little too much alcohol. Invitations had already gone out, and as expected, Arin received his. He wasn’t particularly interested in parties, but he knew it was an important occasion for the team.

    Before leaving for the night, he made one last attempt to convince Astha.

    “You should come to the party,” Arin said, leaning against her desk as she shut down her computer.

    Astha didn’t even look up. “No.”

    Arin smiled. “That was fast.”

    “I don’t like parties,” she stated simply, gathering her things. “Loud music, forced socializing, and a bunch of drunk people making fools of themselves? Not my scene.”

    Arin chuckled. “You make it sound so tragic. It’s just a party, Mehra. It won’t kill you to have a little fun.”

    “I am having fun.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and gave him a pointed look. “At home. With a book. And silence.”

    Arin sighed dramatically. “So that’s it? No convincing you?”

    Astha gave him a flat look. “Don’t ask me again.”

    Arin raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. Enjoy your thrilling evening of solitude.”

    With that, she walked off, leaving him shaking his head.

    At the party, the energy was high. The office had gone all out—decorations, catering, music, and an open bar. People were laughing, clinking glasses, and letting loose. A couple of women approached Arin, trying to strike up a flirtatious conversation, but he politely deflected. His mind was elsewhere.

    He was sipping his drink, scanning the room absently, when he caught an overheard conversation that made him pause.

    Anil, one of the sales guys, was speaking in a hushed tone to his colleague Nikhil, both of them leaning near the bar.

    “Astha Mehra  looks good, no doubt,” Anil said with a smirk. “But she’s a total cougar ice queen.”

    Nikhil laughed. “Yeah, man. No one’s cracked her yet. That’s why we started a bet.”

    Arin’s grip tightened on his glass.

    Anil smiled. “Ten thousand bucks to whoever thaws the ice queen first. Shubham even offered her some money, but she refused.”

    Nikhil let out a low whistle. “Damn. She’s a tough nut to crack.”

    Arin had heard enough.

    He turned toward them, his usual calm replaced by a simmering coldness. “You two must really enjoy degrading women in your free time.”

    Anil and Nikhil stiffened at the unexpected confrontation. “Relax, Verma,” Anil said with an awkward chuckle. “It’s just a harmless bet.”

    “Harmless?” Arin’s voice was low, controlled, but laced with steel. “You’re putting a price on a woman’s dignity and calling it harmless?”

    Nikhil scoffed. “You don’t have to be so serious about it. It’s just a game.”

    Arin’s expression darkened. “A game where you treat a colleague like a conquest? A bet where a woman’s self-respect is just a joke to you?” He stepped closer, his tone like quiet thunder. “You think a woman rejecting you makes her an ice queen? Or does it just bruise your ego?”

    Neither man had an answer.

    “I suggest you rethink the way you speak about people—especially about women who have done nothing to deserve this kind of nonsense.” Arin’s voice was deadly calm, but his eyes held a quiet warning. “And if I hear either of you discussing anything like this again, I’ll make sure HR knows exactly what kind of ‘harmless fun’ you’ve been up to.”

    The men exchanged nervous glances before mumbling something and walking away, their bravado deflated.

    Arin exhaled slowly, shaking his head. He had come here out of obligation, but now he understood why Astha never attended these events.

    This wasn’t her world.

    And as he thought about her sitting peacefully on her balcony, lost in her own world of books and silence, something shifted inside him. He felt protective of her, in a way he hadn’t expected.

    Setting his drink down, Arin left the room without a word. He had better places to be.

    When Arin returned home, he stepped out onto his balcony, hoping the cool air would clear his thoughts. Across from him, Astha and Shanaya were gathered around a small barbecue, the warm glow flickering between them as they laughed.

    They spotted him, and Shanaya waved excitedly. “Arin! Come try our amazing barbecue.”

    He hesitated before walking over. Astha handed him a paneer skewer. “Veg barbecue,” she declared proudly.

    Arin took a bite, nodding. “It’s good.”

    Astha smiled, turning to Shanaya. “See? People like my veg barbecue.”

    Shanaya rolled her eyes. “There is no such thing as a veg barbecue, Mom.”

    Astha placed her hands on her hips. “I won’t allow non-veg in my house.”

    Shanaya sighed dramatically, turning to Arin. “Can you believe this? She’s the only vegetarian in the house, yet she makes all the rules.”

    Astha crossed her arms. “My house, my rules.”

    Shanaya grinned. “Wait till Grandpa comes over. He and I are going to have a real barbecue right here.”

    They kept bantering, throwing playful jabs at each other, and Arin found himself chuckling. The warmth, the teasing, the sheer comfort of the moment—it was a stark contrast to the forced pleasantries of the party.

    He realized, right then, that he enjoyed this much more than any loud, crowded gathering. Watching Astha and Shanaya laugh, feeling the easy camaraderie, he understood something important.

    This was the world he wanted to be a part of.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Six: Game On

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Six: Game On

    The following morning, Arin arrived at the office to find Astha already at her desk, her fingers flying over the keyboard. She looked calm, composed—but Arin wasn’t fooled. He knew she was plotting.

    She had to be.

    The sewing kit had been too clever, too pointed. He was certain it had come from her, and he wasn’t about to let that go unnoticed.

    With a smirk, he strolled past her desk and leaned in just enough for her to hear. “I have to say, Mehra… thoughtful gift.”

    Astha didn’t look up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Verma.”

    Arin folded his arms. “Really? No idea at all?”

    She finally glanced at him over the rim of her glasses. “If you’re referring to your Secret Santa gift, I hear HR is keeping track of them. Maybe you should check with them.”

    Arin chuckled. “Oh, I don’t need HR. I think I already know who sent it.”

    Astha turned back to her screen, feigning indifference. “Then why are you still talking to me about it?”

    “Because,” Arin said, lowering his voice slightly, “it’s fun watching you pretend.”

    She let out an exaggerated sigh and shook her head. “You are exhausting.”

    “And yet, you keep playing along,” he pointed out smoothly.

    Astha didn’t reply, but Arin caught the tiniest twitch of a smile before she returned to her work.

    By lunchtime, Arin had decided that if Astha was going to challenge him, he’d return the favor.

    While the office was busy, he slipped a small envelope onto her desk. It was sealed with no name, just a single phrase written in neat handwriting:

    For someone who edits the world but never lets it edit her.

    Astha frowned as she picked it up, eyeing it warily before opening it. Inside was a tiny, beautifully crafted eraser in the shape of a quill.

    She stared at it for a long moment, reading and re-reading the note. Then, with the slightest shake of her head, she let out a soft laugh.

    So, that’s how he wanted to play.

    Fine.

    Game on.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Five: Unravelling the Mystery

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Five: Unravelling the Mystery

    Astha tapped her fingers on the table, staring at the lunch pack as if it might reveal its sender if she glared at it hard enough. She knew most of the office had been excited about the Secret Santa game, but this was different. This wasn’t a random coffee mug or a novelty keychain.

    This was thoughtful. And that made her uneasy.

    She glanced around the office, scanning faces, trying to catch anyone watching her. But everyone seemed preoccupied with their work. No one looked guilty. No one even seemed remotely interested

    in the fact that she had just received an anonymous meal tailored to her exact taste.

    “Okay, Secret Santa,” she muttered under her breath. “Game on.”

    Later that afternoon, she walked into Arin’s office and dropped her article onto his desk.

    “Here,” she said, arms crossed. “Raw. Unfiltered. No holding back.”

    Arin raised an eyebrow as he picked up the pages. “That was fast.”

    “You said no filters, so I didn’t waste time second-guessing myself,” she replied, then leaned against the doorframe. “Now, let’s see if I pass your impossible standards, Verma.”

    Arin smiled. “Let’s find out.”

    He started reading, his usual smug confidence shifting into something quieter. His eyes moved across the pages, his expression unreadable. Astha watched him closely, searching for any sign of reaction, but his face was frustratingly neutral.

    The silence stretched.

    Finally, Arin set the pages down. He steepled his fingers, watching her.

    “This is—”

    Astha tensed, waiting for him to say something cutting, to pick it apart.

    “—brilliant.”

    She blinked. “What?”

    Arin leaned forward, his voice softer but firm. “This is the best thing you’ve written since I got here. It’s raw, powerful, and it actually feels like you.”

    Astha wasn’t sure how to respond to that. A part of her was relieved, even pleased, but another part of her hated that he had been right.

    “I take it that means you’ll stop editing my work now?” she asked, masking her unease with dry sarcasm.

    Arin chuckled. “No. But I might just let you win a few arguments.”

    Astha rolled her eyes, turning to leave. “Unbelievable.”

    “Astha,” Arin called out just before she reached the door.

    She turned slightly.

    “Keep writing like this,” he said. “The world needs more of it.”

    She didn’t reply, but something about the way he said it stuck with her.

    That evening, as she packed up to leave, she found another small note on her desk.

    “Keep going. Your words are magic.”

    No gift this time. Just the note.

    Astha clenched her jaw.

    Secret Santa or not, she would find out who was behind this.

    And something told her she might not be ready for the answer.

    That same afternoon, as Arin returned to his office, he found a small package on his desk. Curiously, he unwrapped it and found a complete sewing kit, complete with scissors, neatly packed in a tin case. A note sat atop it:

    Cut and sew at the right places, please, Mr. Editor!

    Arin let out a rare laugh, shaking his head as he examined the tiny spools of thread, needles, and neatly polished scissors. Someone was clearly having fun with this game.

    He leaned back in his chair, tapping the note against his palm, before glancing toward Astha’s desk in the distance.

    This Secret Santa game was proving to be more interesting than he had expected.

    And he had a strong suspicion about who was behind his gift.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Four: A Challenge of Will

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Four: A Challenge of Will

    The atmosphere in the office was lighter than usual after Mahesh Singh’s birthday celebration. Employees still talked about how much he had cried, how much joy had radiated from his face, and how a simple tradition had left such an impact. Even Astha, despite her continued skepticism, couldn’t ignore the warmth the initiative had brought to the workplace.

    But she wasn’t going to admit that to Arin.

    Later that afternoon, as she reviewed her latest article, she spotted yet another revision from him that she didn’t agree with. Huffing in frustration, she grabbed the papers and stormed into his office.

    “You’ve changed my intro again,” she announced, holding the pages up.

    Arin looked up from his computer, completely unfazed. “Because your intro was passive. This version is more direct.”

    Astha narrowed her eyes. “You are obsessed with making everything sound dramatic.”

    “I prefer the word ‘engaging,’” he corrected, leaning back in his chair. “Your writing is strong, Astha, but you play it safe. I know you have more fire in you. Why do you keep holding back?”

    Astha crossed her arms, lips pressed into a firm line. “I don’t hold back. I just don’t feel the need to be overly dramatic about everything.”

    Arin studied her for a long moment before he smiled, as if he had figured something out. “Fine. Let’s test something, then.”

    She frowned. “Test what?”

    Arin sat forward. “Write me something—not as a journalist, but as a writer. No filters, no holding back. Write about anything. But make me feel it.”

    Astha scoffed. “I don’t have time for pointless exercises.”

    “Then I suppose I’ll just keep rewriting your work until you prove me wrong,” Arin replied smoothly.

    Her jaw clenched. “That’s manipulation.”

    “That’s motivation.”

    She exhaled sharply, knowing he wouldn’t let this go. “Fine. One piece. And if I do this, you leave my writing alone?”

    Arin grinned. “Deal.”

    Astha snatched her papers back and stormed out of his office, muttering something about “insufferable editors” under her breath.

    This time, she was determined to prove Arin wrong. She spent her entire lunch break writing—pouring her thoughts onto the page with an intensity she hadn’t tapped into in a long time. She crafted each sentence carefully, ensuring that her words weren’t just structured well, but carried weight, emotion, impact.

    Just as she was finishing the final paragraph, a peon walked by and placed a lunch pack on her desk. Astha looked up, frowning. “Who sent this?”

    The peon shrugged. “No idea, ma’am. Someone just asked me to leave it here.”

    She hesitated before opening the pack. Inside were all her favorite items—things she often ordered from the cafeteria but hadn’t had time to get today. A small note was tucked inside.

    Food gives you energy! Eat!

    Astha stared at the note, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Her heart thudded slightly, though she wasn’t sure why.

    Her secret Santa had just made things personal.

    She was more determined than ever to find out who it was.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Three- A New Office Tradition

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Three- A New Office Tradition

    The next morning, Arin called for a staff meeting in the conference room. The employees shuffled in, curious about yet another of their new editor’s initiatives. Astha, arms crossed, leaned against the doorframe, already suspicious.

    Arin cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping over the room before he spoke. “I believe that workplaces should be more than just a collection of desks and deadlines. People should feel valued. So, starting today, we are introducing a new tradition.”

    Murmurs filled the room as he continued. “From now on, whenever someone has a birthday, instead of just cake and gifts, we will also take a moment to acknowledge them. On their special day, people will thank the birthday person for whatever they’ve done for them—big or small. And for every ‘thank you,’ they will receive a rose.”

    The room erupted in cheers, with several employees exchanging excited glances.

    Astha sighed under her breath, “Here we go again.”

    Arin’s lips twitched in amusement as he caught her reaction. “I see that some of you are skeptical,” he said, looking directly at Astha, “but trust me, a little gratitude goes a long way.”

    A few days later, it was office peon Mahesh Singh’s birthday. The entire office assembled for the cake cutting. Afterward, one by one, people came forward to personally thank him for the small favors he had done for them—helping carry files, fixing the coffee machine, running errands with a smile. For each heartfelt thank-you, he received a rose.

    Soon, Mahesh stood there with a bouquet of roses in his hands, his eyes welling up with happy tears. “I will never think of resigning from here,” he said emotionally. “This office is my family.”

    Arin glanced at Astha and smiled. “See? This is what happens when you’re grateful.”

    Astha rolled her eyes. “I get it, Verma. You win this round.”

    But even as she walked away, Arin noticed the small, reluctant smile playing at her lips.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Two: The Next Surprise

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Two: The Next Surprise

    The following morning, Astha entered the office, her mind still circling the conversation she had with Arin the night before. She had dismissed it as nothing more than his usual philosophical musings, but something about his words stuck with her.

    As she placed her bag on her desk, her eyes immediately fell on something new.

    A small velvet pouch sat atop her workspace. She frowned, hesitating for a moment before picking it up. Inside, she found a delicate silver bookmark shaped like a quill, its intricate design shimmering under the office lights. Attached to it was a folded note.

    “Words should never be caged. Let them fly free.”

    Astha stared at the message, her fingers tracing the delicate metal of the bookmark. It was thoughtful—too thoughtful. This wasn’t just some random office gift. Whoever her Secret Santa was, they were paying attention.

    Her curiosity sharpened.

    On the other side of the office, Arin was at his desk, typing away when Priya from HR passed by, stopping just long enough to glance at him with an amused expression.

    “Seems like Secret Santa is working overtime,” she teased.

    Arin raised an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

    Priya shrugged. “Oh, I just noticed Astha looking very intrigued by her latest gift.”

    Arin merely smiled and said nothing.

    By lunchtime, Astha was still distracted. As she absentmindedly stirred sugar into her coffee, Priya sat down across from her, grinning.

    “So… have you figured out who your Secret Santa is yet?” Priya asked.

    Astha shook her head. “Not yet. But it’s definitely someone observant.”

    Priya smiled. “If I had to guess, I’d say someone in the editorial team. Maybe someone who works closely with you…”

    Astha narrowed her eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

    Priya laughed. “Oh, absolutely. It’s fun watching you try to pretend you don’t care.”

    Astha sighed. “It’s not that I don’t care. It’s just… personal gifts at work feel unnecessary.”

    Priya leaned in. “Or maybe you just don’t know how to accept something meant just for you.”

    Astha scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

    But as she returned to her desk, staring at the elegant bookmark, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Priya wasn’t entirely wrong.

    Later that afternoon, Arin was reviewing articles when he noticed Astha lingering at his office door.

    “Need something, Mehra?” he asked without looking up.

    She hesitated before stepping inside, closing the door behind her. “I don’t agree with some of your edits.”

    He smiled. “Of course you don’t.”

    Astha crossed her arms. “You changed the structure of my article—again.”

    Arin leaned back, watching her. “Because I know you can write with more force. More passion. You hold back.”

    “I do not hold back,” she countered, stepping forward.

    Arin tilted his head. “Then why does your article feel careful instead of powerful?”

    Astha opened her mouth to respond, then closed it.

    “You know I’m right,” Arin said, his voice softer now.

    Astha exhaled, shaking her head. “I write as I see fit.”

    “And I think you see a lot more than you allow yourself to say,” Arin countered, his tone laced with quiet confidence.

    She studied him for a long moment before shaking her head, exasperated. “You’re impossible.”

    Arin simply smiled. “And you’re predictable.”

    Astha rolled her eyes but took the article back with her. As she walked away, Arin leaned back in his chair, watching her go.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty One: A Question of Boundaries

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty One: A Question of Boundaries

    The evening air was crisp as Astha drove through the dimly lit streets, her fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. Arin sat beside her, his gaze drifting toward the city skyline, illuminated against the darkening sky.

    A comfortable silence stretched between them until Astha finally sighed. “Don’t you think this Secret Santa game is becoming a little too personal?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the road. “We come to the office to work, not to play these games.”

    Arin turned to her, his expression unreadable. “And yet, aren’t the best workplaces the ones where people feel seen? Where they feel like more than just their deadlines?”

    Astha let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “That sounds like something you’d say in an office speech. But reality is different. Work is work.”

    “Is that really what you believe?” Arin asked, his voice quieter now. “Because from what I’ve observed, you care deeply about the people around you. You make sure your team is comfortable, you check in on Priya when she’s stressed, and you make sure Vinod doesn’t skip lunch when he’s drowning in numbers.”

    Astha frowned. “That’s different. That’s… just basic human decency.”

    Arin tilted his head slightly. “Exactly. Maybe this game isn’t about playing. Maybe it’s about reminding people that kindness doesn’t have to come with a reason.”

    She exhaled, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “Maybe. But there’s a line, Arin. There’s a difference between professional courtesy and—whatever this is.”

    He studied her for a moment, then asked, “And what do you think this is?”

    She glanced at him briefly before turning back to the road. “I don’t know yet.”

    Arin smiled, but he didn’t push further. “Then maybe that’s the real problem, isn’t it?”

    Astha opened her mouth to respond, then thought better of it. Instead, she sighed again, rolling her shoulders as if trying to shake off the conversation. “Fine. But if my Secret Santa leaves anything more personal than a coffee mug, I’m out.”

    Arin chuckled. “Duly noted.”

    As they pulled into the parking lot of their apartment complex, Astha parked and shut off the engine. “See you tomorrow, Verma.”

    He smiled. “Looking forward to it, Mehra.”

    She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide her smile as she stepped out of the car and headed inside.

    Arin remained in his seat for a moment, watching her go. “Yes,” he thought. “This game was getting very, very interesting.”

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty: The Spark of Curiosity

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty: The Spark of Curiosity

    As the day progressed, Astha found herself unable to stop glancing at the golden pen. She twirled it between her fingers absentmindedly during meetings, traced the engraving on the side during quiet moments, and kept returning to the note that had come with it.

    Golden words should be written in gold.

    It wasn’t just a gift. It was a statement. A reminder. A belief in something she had long since stopped believing in—her own words.

    Meanwhile, Arin was experiencing his own distractions. The touch lamp on his desk glowed softly whenever he tapped it, casting a warm light over his papers. He was used to working under sterile, clinical lights, but this? This was different. This was comfort. A small, thoughtful gesture that felt strangely intimate.

    Later that day, as Astha was settling at her desk, Priya from the HR department stopped by, peeking at the golden pen and the diary Astha had received earlier. “That’s a beautiful set,” Priya noted, leaning against the desk. “Someone must really admire your work.”

    Astha smiled faintly. “It’s thoughtful, isn’t it? Do you think it’s someone from editorial? Or maybe Vinod from accounts?”

    Priya smiled. “Could be. Or it could be someone else entirely. Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

    Astha tapped the pen thoughtfully against her desk. “I will.”

    Arin, passing by at that moment, overheard the conversation. He hid his smile as he walked past, amused by her growing curiosity.

    Later that afternoon, Astha received her edited article back from Arin. As she skimmed through the revisions, a crease formed between her brows. Some of the corrections made sense, but others? Others she didn’t agree with at all.

    Picking up the article, she strode into his office. “I don’t agree with this change,” she said, pointing at one section. “This paragraph was already strong.”

    Arin leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against his desk. “It’s strong, but it could be more powerful. I know you can write with passion, with force, but you hold back. Why?”

    Astha blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t hold back.”

    Arin tilted his head. “You do. I’ve read your articles, Astha. They’re excellent, but I can tell when someone is writing cautiously—afraid to go too deep. You don’t need to.”

    She frowned, gripping the paper a little tighter. “I write as I see fit.”

    “And I think you see a lot more than you allow yourself to say,” Arin countered, his voice quiet but firm.

    Astha stared at him for a long moment before shaking her head. “You assume too much.”

    Arin simply smiled. “And you deflect too much.”

    She sighed, exasperated, but took the article back with her, unable to shake the feeling that he wasn’t entirely wrong.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Nine: A Mystery Unfolds

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Nine: A Mystery Unfolds

    The next morning, Arin walked into his office, only to find a small touch lamp sitting on his desk. He frowned in curiosity as he picked it up, noticing a neatly folded note attached to its base.

    You light up lives.

    Arin turned the note over, but there was no signature. A slow smile crept across his lips. The game of Secret Santa had just gotten more interesting.

    Across the office, Astha arrived at her desk and immediately noticed something unusual. A sleek, golden pen rested neatly on top of her notepad. She picked it up, examining its weight and craftsmanship. Attached to it was a small card with an elegantly written message:

    Golden words should be written in gold.

    Astha’s brows furrowed slightly. She had been indifferent to the whole Secret Santa idea, assuming it would be nothing more than a round of predictable gifts and forgettable notes. But this? This was thoughtful. Personal.

    Her fingers ran over the golden surface of the pen, and for the first time, she felt a genuine curiosity spark within her. Who was behind this?

    She glanced around the office, subtly observing her colleagues, trying to pick up any clues. Who had chosen such a perfect gift?

    For the first time, the idea of Secret Santa didn’t seem so ridiculous after all.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Eight: A Morning of Laughter

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Eight: A Morning of Laughter

    Astha was busy preparing the Sunday brunch when Shanaya casually mentioned, “By the way, Arin’s coming too.”

    Astha sighed, stirring the sambhar. “Why do you keep troubling him by inviting him here?”

    Shanaya grinned. “He lives all alone. He has a right to great food too.”

    Astha rolled her eyes but said nothing, knowing there was no arguing with her daughter when she set her mind to something.

    Her parents arrived soon, bringing their usual warmth and humor into the home. When Arin entered, he was greeted with friendly smiles from Astha’s father and mother, both of whom exuded a natural ease that made him feel instantly welcome.

    Astha’s father, a man with a dry wit and a keen eye, asked him about his work and life. Arin told him his parents had passed long ago, and Astha’s mother gave him a sympathetic look, patting his arm gently. “That must have been hard, beta. Are you married?”

    Arin shook his head, and before he could respond, Astha interjected. “Mom, stop troubling him.”

    “I’m just asking,” her mother said innocently, then turned back to Arin. “You know, my daughter is single too. Very single.”

    “Oh god, here we go,” Astha muttered, rubbing her forehead.

    Shanaya, ever the instigator, grinned at her grandfather. “Arin’s great at Scrabble!”

    Her grandfather chuckled. “Is he now? But can he play carrom?”

    Arin smiled. “I love carrom.”

    “Ah, finally! Someone to challenge me. Astha and Shanaya are all talk,” her father declared, earning protests from both.

    As brunch was served—steaming idlis, crispy dosas, and fragrant sambhar—Arin had his first taste of what family meals truly meant.

    “Eat more, beta,” Astha’s mother insisted, adding another dosa to his plate.

    “I’m already full,” Arin admitted.

    “Nonsense. Good food must be eaten with enthusiasm,” she said, waving off his protests. “See Astha, this is why I need a son-in-law. Someone who listens to me.”

    Astha nearly choked on her sambhar. “Mom!”

    Shanaya burst out laughing. “You walked right into that, Mom.”

    The laughter carried over to the living room, where the carrom board was set up. Teams were quickly formed—Shanaya and her grandfather versus Arin and Astha, with Shanaya’s grandmother acting as the enthusiastic umpire.

    “No favoritism, alright?” Astha warned her mother.

    “Of course not,” her mother replied, too innocently.

    The game began with friendly competitiveness, but soon devolved into blatant cheating from Shanaya and her grandfather, who played with the coordination of seasoned tricksters.

    “That was a foul!” Astha protested as her father flicked the striker in an obviously questionable move.

    “What foul? It’s called experience,” he replied innocently, grinning as he pocketed another coin.

    “Experience in cheating!” Arin added, laughing as Shanaya high-fived her grandfather.

    Shanaya smiled. “We believe in bending the rules for a greater cause.”

    “And what cause is that?” Arin asked.

    “Winning, of course,” she said matter-of-factly.

    Astha narrowed her eyes. “I see we have raised a monster.”

    “You’re just jealous because we’re winning,” Shanaya shot back.

    “Winning through sheer dishonesty!” Astha countered.

    “It’s called creative problem-solving, Mom.”

    The banter continued, accusations of cheating flying back and forth, alliances shifting, and playful bickering keeping everyone entertained.

    By the time the game ended (with questionable results in favor of Shanaya’s team), Arin leaned back, watching them interact. He had never had a morning like this before—filled with warmth, laughter, and the simple joy of human connection.

    He thought about his own world, where emotions were considered unnecessary distractions, and for the first time, he truly questioned it.

    If emotions were so unimportant, why did this feel so real? So… right?

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Seven: A Conversation

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Seven: A Conversation

    Arin sat beside Shanaya as she spread out her books, flipping to the page that contained her essay topic. “Okay, so what’s the problem?” he asked, scanning the prompt.

    Shanaya groaned. “The problem is, my mom wants me to struggle and cry over this. But I’m not an English person—I’m an artist! I paint emotions, I don’t describe them in long-winded essays.”

    Arin chuckled. “Well, let’s make it simple. Think of it like painting, but with words.”

    She squinted at him. “That sounds suspiciously like something my mom would say. Are you secretly on her side?”

    He smiled. “I’m neutral. Consider me an undercover ally.”

    As they worked through the essay, Shanaya slowly began to enjoy the process, surprising herself with how naturally her thoughts flowed when guided the right way. Between discussions on metaphors and structure, the conversation took an unexpected turn.

    “I never knew my dad,” she said suddenly, tapping her pen against her notebook. “He died when I was a baby.”

    Arin looked at her, sensing the shift in tone. “That must’ve been hard.”

    She shrugged. “Not really. I mean, you can’t miss what you never had, right? But I know what he did to my mom. He was an alcoholic. He beat her, harassed her for dowry. She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know. That’s why she doesn’t believe in love.”

    Arin listened silently, letting her continue.

    Shanaya sighed, twirling her pen. “I’ve told her so many times to find a boyfriend or something, but she just laughs it off. She calls herself a B.I.T.C.H—Babe in Total Control of Herself—but I know… sometimes she cries alone.”

    Arin’s chest tightened. “You see more than she thinks you do.”

    She nodded. “Yeah. We used to fight a lot when I was 14. I’d get so mad at her. But one night, I saw her crying alone. And I realized… she’s really lonely. Since then, I just wanted to be there for her.”

    Arin smiled, ruffling her hair. “You’re a good kid, Shanaya.”

    She wrinkled her nose, swatting his hand away. “Don’t get all mushy on me, Verma. Just help me finish this essay before my mom finds out I had assistance.”

    Arin chuckled, shaking his head as he guided her through the next paragraph. But his thoughts lingered on what she had said.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Six: A Secret Plea

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Six: A Secret Plea

    Later that evening, just as Arin was settling in, he heard a soft knock on his door. Opening it, he found Shanaya standing there, clutching a notebook against her chest with the look of someone about to commit a crime.

    “I need your help,” she whispered conspiratorially.

    Arin raised an eyebrow. “With what exactly?”

    She sighed dramatically. “An English essay. Mom wants me to suffer and cry, but I’m not an English person—I’m an artist, okay? So, you need to help me. And Mom can never know.”

    Arin smiled, crossing his arms. “You want me to be your secret academic accomplice?”

    “Yes!” she hissed. “I’ll owe you one. Just… don’t make it too obvious, or she’ll know.”

    Arin chuckled, stepping aside and gesturing for her to enter. “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with.”

    As Shanaya slipped inside, grinning, Arin wondered just how deep he was getting entangled in this family’s world.

    And why he didn’t mind at all.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Five: The Ride Home

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Five: The Ride Home

    As the day wound to an end, Arin found himself seated in Astha’s car once again. The usual hum of the engine filled the silence between them as she maneuvered through the city streets with practiced ease. He glanced at her, wondering how she had felt about the Secret Santa idea, but she looked as composed as ever, her focus on the road.

    Deciding to break the silence, he asked, “So, do you like the Secret Santa idea?”

    Astha sighed, a small smirk playing on her lips. “It’s… amusing. Watching grown adults skulk around leaving anonymous notes and tiny surprises is strangely entertaining.”

    Arin chuckled. “So you don’t completely disapprove?”

    “It’s harmless enough,” she admitted, her tone lighter than usual. “And I suppose it’s nice seeing everyone so enthusiastic about it. Office camaraderie and all that.”

    He nodded, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “And you? Do you enjoy it?”

    She tilted her head, considering. “I guess I do… but I’ve never been one for surprises. They tend to come with expectations, and expectations lead to disappointment.”

    Arin found himself studying her profile, the way the dim evening lights flickered over her face. “Not all surprises are bad, Astha. Some are just… meant to make life a little brighter.”

    She glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze to the road. “Maybe. But let’s see if this one lasts or if it fizzles out like most office traditions.”

    Arin smiled to himself. “We’ll see.” As the car pulled into their apartment complex

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Four: A Message in Gold

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Four: A Message in Gold

    The next morning, as Arin stepped into his office, his eyes immediately caught sight of something unusual. Sitting on his desk was a small golden scroll, neatly rolled and tied with a delicate ribbon.

    Frowning in curiosity, he picked it up and unrolled it. His gaze softened as he read the words written inside:

    The wind is changing direction,
    Lot of new action,
    I wonder what you are doing,
    Is something brewing?

    A slow smile played on his lips. Someone had sent him this, and he had a strong suspicion about who it might be. Was this Astha’s way of engaging with the game, despite her initial reluctance? Or was it simply a coincidence?

    Meanwhile, at her desk, Astha found an unfamiliar object placed carefully beside her keyboard. A beautiful golden diary, its cover shimmering under the soft office lights. Brows furrowing, she picked it up and turned it over in her hands before opening it.

    On the very first page, there was a note, written in elegant handwriting:

    Let your poems shine. The world needs them.

    Astha inhaled sharply. For a moment, she simply stared at the words, her fingers running over the ink as if trying to absorb their meaning. Who had left this for her? And more importantly… why did it make her feel so seen?

    Across the office, Arin glanced up, watching as Astha’s expression shifted from curiosity to something softer. He looked away before she could notice.

    This was only the beginning.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Three: A Gift for Everyone

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Three: A Gift for Everyone

    That afternoon, Arin sat at his desk, deep in thought. If he wanted things to change for Astha, he couldn’t make it obvious. She would never accept anything just for herself. But if it was something that involved everyone…

    An idea formed.

    Calling a meeting with the entire staff, Arin stood before them and smiled. “Though Christmas is months away, I’ve decided to start a new tradition—Secret Santa. Starting this week, everyone will pick a name from the basket and become that person’s Secret Santa.”

    There were murmurs of excitement in the room.

    “The rule is simple—don’t reveal yourself, but make your person’s time in the office a little brighter. You can do it with small notes, gifts, or anything that brings a smile to their face. After a month, we’ll all reveal our Secret Santas.”

    Laughter and chatter filled the air as people eagerly picked names. Arin quietly looked at Astha. She was smiling, but in that resigned way—shaking her head as if indulging in something she found ridiculous yet endearing.

    When the basket arrived at his desk, Arin reached inside and pulled out a folded chit. He opened it, and his gaze lingered on the name written there: Astha Mehra.

    He stared at it for a moment, something stirring in his chest. Out of all the people in this office, I got her name? What were the odds? What was at play here? Destiny?

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Two: The Drive to Work

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty Two: The Drive to Work

    The next morning, Astha pulled her car keys from her bag as she and Arin walked to the parking lot. She was back to her usual composed self—reserved, distant, her face revealing nothing of the emotions she had bared to the stars the night before. It was as if that vulnerability had been carefully locked away, sealed behind her pragmatic exterior.

    Arin stole a glance at her as they slid into the car. He had seen her break, had heard the whispered confessions of her loneliness, but today, she was impenetrable again, her walls firmly in place. He wondered how long she had perfected this act of strength—how many nights had she stood beneath the sky, asking for nothing, expecting even less.

    She started the car, and as the engine purred to life, the radio crackled. A familiar song drifted through the speakers—Celine Dion’s I’m Alive.

    A small smile tugged at Astha’s lips as she turned the volume up. “This is one of my favorites,” she admitted, her voice lighter than he had heard in a while. “It just… makes sense.”

    Arin watched as she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel in rhythm, humming the melody before softly singing along. Her voice, unguarded in that moment, was clear and sincere, as though for once, she allowed herself to exist beyond the weight of her responsibilities.

    He didn’t speak. He simply listened, memorizing this new version of her—the one who sang along to songs, the one who allowed herself these rare, fleeting moments of ease.

    By the time they reached the office, the song was still playing in the background as she pulled into the parking space. She turned to him briefly, her mask slipping back into place. “See you inside.”

    And just like that, she was gone, walking towards the office entrance with her usual purposeful stride, as if the morning had never happened.

    Arin remained seated for a moment, watching her go.

    She was a mystery. And no matter how much he observed, he wasn’t sure he would ever fully understand her.

    But he wanted to try.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty One: The Whispered Truth

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty One: The Whispered Truth

    That night, Arin was preparing to sleep when a soft sound caught his attention. Faint at first, but unmistakable—someone was crying.

    Frowning, he moved toward his balcony, his senses alert. The sound was coming from the adjacent balcony. Astha.

    She stood there, illuminated by the dim glow of the streetlights, her arms wrapped around herself as she gazed up at the stars. He hesitated, staying in the shadows, unsure if he should make his presence known.

    Then, in a whisper, she spoke.

    “I’ve always adjusted my life according to what you gave me,” she murmured, her voice laced with quiet frustration. “I never asked for more. I never asked for someone to take care of me. I never asked to be held or loved. All I wanted was for my daughter and my parents to be happy and healthy. Isn’t that enough?”

    She let out a shuddering breath, her fingers tightening around her arms. “I have no one else. And I don’t need anyone else. As long as they’re safe, as long as they’re with me, I’ll be fine.”

    Then, almost imperceptibly, her voice broke. “But… can’t I even get a hug? Just one?”

    Arin felt something inside him twist at the raw vulnerability in her voice. She was strong, fierce, independent—yet, in this quiet moment, she was simply human. Simply longing.

    A few seconds passed before she sniffled and let out a small, bitter chuckle. “I know why you never gave me anyone. Because it would just complicate my life, right? Because men are demanding, chauvinistic, exhausting. It’s better this way, isn’t it? I understand.”

    She sighed, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “But whatever you have given me, please… keep it safe.”

    With that, she turned and quietly went back inside, shutting the door behind her.

    Arin remained rooted in place, his heart hammering in his chest. She hadn’t seen him. Hadn’t known he was listening.

    But he had.

    And now, he couldn’t unhear what she had whispered to the stars.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty: A Question Of Purpose

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Twenty: A Question Of Purpose

    Later that evening, Arin sat alone in his apartment, the usual quiet pressing in around him. For the first time since he had arrived, he didn’t feel the stillness as comforting. It felt… hollow.

    He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, his mind swirling with questions he had never allowed himself to ask before.

    What am I really here for?

    It had started as a mission. A curiosity. He had wanted to understand the mind behind the poem, to find the source of the words that had touched something in him. But now, he wasn’t sure.

    Astha and Shanaya had their world, their routines, their laughter. They were happy. Complete. He was an outsider who had forced his way in, a man from another time meddling in lives that didn’t need him.

    Where do I fit in?

    He had never cared about belonging before. He had never needed to. But now, watching Astha and Shanaya, watching the way they moved through life with such ease, such warmth… he felt like he was standing outside something he didn’t quite understand.

    And the strangest part was, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay an observer anymore.