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Category: science fiction

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Forty Eight: Unravelling The Mystery

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Forty Eight: Unravelling The Mystery

    The next morning, Astha arrived at the office determined to ignore the lingering heat in her cheeks from last night’s conversation with Arin. Their drive to the office was filled with silence and Astha preferred that. She wasn’t a schoolgirl blushing over some harmless teasing. She was a grown woman with a career and responsibilities.

    Yet, the memory of his smirk, the way he had studied her reaction with quiet amusement, played on repeat in her mind.

    She shook her head and focused on her work.

    As she settled into her seat, another small package sat neatly on her desk.

    Her breath hitched for a fraction of a second before she regained her composure.

    She unwrapped it carefully, revealing a small, elegant bookmark—gold with intricate engravings of stars, mirroring the earrings she had received earlier. Attached to it was a note:

    For the woman who writes stories but doesn’t realize she is one herself.

    Astha exhaled, staring at the words longer than she should have.

    This was getting ridiculous.

    Her secret Santa clearly knew her well, too well.

    She glanced around the office, but no one was paying her any particular attention. Arin was in his cabin, deep in work. Priya was laughing at something on her phone. The rest of the office was going about their day as usual.

    She tapped the note against her desk, lost in thought.

    Meanwhile, across the room, Arin found another package on his desk.

    He raised an eyebrow. This game wasn’t over yet.

    Inside was a pair of sleek black sunglasses with a note tucked beneath them:

    You should wear these, Mr. Editor. You’ll look cooler when you’re not intimidating people with your intense stare.

    Arin let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.

    He slid the glasses on and leaned back in his chair, amused by the reflection of himself in his laptop screen.

    A moment later, his phone buzzed.

    A message from Astha.

    Astha: Whoever my secret Santa is, they need to stop being poetic. It’s getting out of hand.

    Arin smiled and typed back.

    Arin: Why? Not a fan of being appreciated?

    A pause. Then another message popped up.

    Astha: I’m not a fan of mysteries I can’t solve.

    Arin exhaled, glancing at the note that had come with his gift.

    So, she wanted to solve the mystery?

    Maybe he would make that a little harder for her.

    That evening, as they drove home, the air between them was lighter than usual.

    Astha was still contemplating her secret Santa dilemma when Arin, still wearing the sunglasses, turned to her with an exaggerated smirk. “So, what do you think?”

    Astha rolled her eyes. “You look ridiculous.”

    He chuckled. “Not what my secret Santa thinks.”

    Astha shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re enjoying this so much.”

    “Oh, I am,” he admitted. “And you? Have you figured yours out yet?”

    Astha exhaled. “No. And at this point, I don’t think I care anymore.”

    Arin glanced at her, amused. “Really?”

    “Yes,” she muttered. “It’s just some office game. Whoever it is, they’ll reveal themselves in two days anyway.”

    “Hmm,” Arin mused. “So you’re just going to wait?”

    “Yes,” she said firmly.

    But as she said it, Arin could see the slight crease in her brow—the tiniest sign of intrigue.

    She was more curious than she let on.

    And for the first time in his existence, Arin found himself looking forward to a moment in time that hadn’t happened yet.

    Because when she finally learned the truth, he wanted to be there to see it.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Forty Three: The Dragon and Her Hoard

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Forty Three: The Dragon and Her Hoard

    The place smelled like parchment and ink, old spines and fresh stories. The scent of a thousand lives bound in paper. 

    Arin stepped inside, his gaze scanning the aisles. The bookstore was not small, yet somehow, he found her instantly. 

    She was sitting on the floor between shelves, a tower of books stacked beside her, another open in her hands. 

    Her glasses had slid to the edge of her nose. Her hair was loosely tied back, strands falling over her face. She didn’t bother pushing them away as she flipped a page, completely absorbed. 

    There was something so unfiltered, so unguarded about her like this. 

    For a woman who kept her walls high, this was a rare moment of vulnerability. Not the dramatic kind. But the simple kind—the kind that showed what she truly loved, what made her heart feel at home.

    He hadn’t meant to say anything. But the words slipped out before he could stop them. 

    “How many are you taking home?”

    Astha blinked, looking up, startled. For a moment, she simply stared, as if trying to process the fact that he was here, standing in her sacred space. 

    Then her eyes narrowed. 

    “What are you doing here?” 

    “I was in the neighborhood.”The lie came effortlessly. 

    She arched an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You just happened to wander into a bookstore?”

    Arin shrugged, his gaze shifting to the pile beside her. “You just happened to buy half the store?”

    Astha huffed. “It’s not half. It’s—” She paused, counting. Then sighed. “Fine. It’s a problem.”

    Shanaya, who had just returned from another aisle, grinned like she had won a bet. 

    “Told you, boss man. She’s a book dragon.”

    Arin smirked. “I see that.”

    Astha ignored both of them and turned back to her books. “Mock all you want, but these are coming home with me.”

    Arin crouched beside her, picking up one of the books from the pile. “History of Lost Cities?”

    “Sounds interesting, doesn’t it?”

    “A bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

    Astha glanced at him, her lips twitching. “I do tend to be drawn to things that disappear.”

    There was a weight in those words. Something unsaid. Something felt.

    For a moment, Arin just looked at her. At the way she cradled books like something precious. At the way her fingers brushed over pages like she was memorizing them. 

    He realized, with quiet certainty, that she was exactly the kind of person who would fall in love with words before people.

    And suddenly, he didn’t mind that at all. 

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Nine: An Unfamiliar Anger

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirty Nine: An Unfamiliar Anger

    The next morning, Astha walked into the office to find Priya waiting for her near the coffee machine, her arms crossed, an amused expression on her face.

    “So,” Priya said, sipping her coffee, “I take it you already know what happened at the party?”

    Astha frowned. “What do you mean?”

    Priya smiled. “Oh. So you don’t know.”

    Astha sighed. “Just tell me, Priya.”

    Priya leaned in slightly. “A couple of idiots thought it would be fun to start a bet on ‘who could thaw the ice queen.’ Some of them even tried their luck already.”

    Astha’s expression didn’t change. She simply exhaled, taking a slow sip of her tea. “That’s nothing new,” she said calmly. “Men love betting on things they can’t have.”

    Priya gave her a look. “You’re really not even a little bit mad?”

    Astha shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

    Priya shook her head. “Well, Verma wasn’t. He overheard it and absolutely destroyed those guys. I don’t think they’ll ever look you in the eye again.”

    Astha raised an eyebrow. “Arin?”

    Priya nodded. “Yup. He went full-on furious. I’ve never seen him like that before.”

    Astha sighed, shaking her head as she grabbed her files. “He shouldn’t have wasted his energy. It doesn’t bother me.”

    Later that day, as they drove home, she glanced at Arin. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

    Arin, who had been staring out of the window, turned to look at her. “What?”

    “What happened at the party.” Astha kept her voice casual. “Priya told me.”

    Arin’s jaw clenched slightly. “And?”

    Astha sighed. “And I don’t care. It happens all the time. People will always talk. Let them.”

    Arin didn’t reply immediately. He exhaled, then shook his head. “You should care, Astha.”

    She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

    “Because they don’t get to talk about you like that.” His voice was quiet but laced with something she couldn’t quite place—anger, protectiveness, something else entirely. “They don’t get to reduce you to a joke.”

    Astha studied him, surprised by his intensity. “I don’t need defending, Arin. I handle things my own way.”

    “I know you do,” he said, his gaze still dark. “But that doesn’t mean I have to stand by and let them do it.”

    She wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

    After a pause, she smiled slightly. “I didn’t take you for the angry young man type, Verma.”

    Arin let out a humorless chuckle. “Neither did I.”

    For the first time, Arin felt something completely unfamiliar to him—anger that wasn’t about himself, but about someone else. He had never experienced this kind of protective fury before, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

    But one thing was certain.

    He wasn’t going to let it go.

  • 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 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 Eighteen: Some Unlikely Traditions

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Eighteen: Some Unlikely Traditions

    The night had long since stretched into one of effortless laughter, sarcastic critiques, and moments where Arin found himself genuinely surprised by how much he was enjoying this ridiculous, chaotic tradition.

    The movie was now deep into its climax—a scene so absurdly over-the-top that even the most forgiving audience would struggle to take it seriously. The hero, drenched in rain, looked up at the sky in anguish as the heroine ran toward him in slow motion, her hair miraculously staying perfect despite the storm.

    Shanaya threw up her hands. “Why are they running toward each other like that? She’s five feet away! Just walk like a normal person!”

    Astha sighed, shaking her head. “Because drama, dear child. If they had normal conversations and walked at a normal speed, we wouldn’t have this cinematic masterpiece.”

    Arin, watching the exaggerated wailing on-screen, smiled. “Masterpiece? That’s generous.”

    Astha gave him a solemn nod. “We’re in the presence of greatness. Look at this man’s pain. He’s been in love for exactly three business days, and now the world is ending because of it.”

    Shanaya mimicked the actor’s dramatic pose, pressing a hand to her chest. “Ah yes, the greatest tragedy known to mankind—falling in love with someone you just met and immediately losing them. Shakespeare could never.”

    “Truly a loss for literature,” Astha added. “Imagine if we all functioned like movie characters. ‘Oh no, I made eye contact with the barista for two seconds longer than usual. Guess I have to quit my job, move cities, and stare at the ocean while pondering my entire existence.’”

    Arin let out a genuine laugh, shaking his head. “This is ridiculous.”

    “Welcome to our world, Arin,” Shanaya said, patting his shoulder. “We take our terrible movies very seriously.”

    “Clearly.”

    As the credits finally rolled, they all sat back, the room now filled with a comfortable kind of silence. Shanaya stretched and yawned dramatically. “That was exhausting. I feel like I lost brain cells.”

    “You had some to begin with?” Astha teased.

    “Wow, the betrayal.” Shanaya gasped. “Arin, did you hear that? My own mother. Just throwing me under the bus.”

    Arin, still smiling, glanced at Astha. “I’m starting to think there’s no one she doesn’t throw under the bus.”

    Astha smiled. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You survived your first roast night, didn’t you? That’s an achievement.”

    Arin exhaled, shaking his head in amusement. “I suppose it is.”

    Astha stood, stretching. “Alright, children, time for bed. Some of us have jobs in the morning.”

    “You say that like I don’t also have to wake up early,” Shanaya grumbled.

    “I do say it like that, because you’ll be in bed hitting snooze while I contemplate throwing your alarm clock out the window,” Astha replied.

    Arin, who had been a quiet observer in many parts of life, realized that he wasn’t just observing anymore. He was part of something here, part of an easy familiarity he hadn’t even realized he craved.

    He looked at Astha, who was gathering the empty popcorn bowls, and at Shanaya, who was pretending to be mortally wounded by her mother’s words.

    Somewhere between sarcastic critiques and overcooked pasta, he had been welcomed into their world.

    And for the first time, he wasn’t just a visitor in someone else’s story.

    He was becoming part of it.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM- Chapter Seventeen- Settling Into Chaos

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM- Chapter Seventeen- Settling Into Chaos

    Dinner was surprisingly successful—meaning nothing was burnt beyond recognition, and the fire alarm remained mercifully silent. Arin had barely finished his plate when Shanaya leaned forward, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

    “Okay, so now that you’ve survived my cooking, you’re officially family,” she declared.

    Astha snorted. “That’s a very low bar.”

    “You say that like I haven’t raised that bar significantly,” Shanaya shot back. “Besides, Arin passed the real test—he ate everything without hesitation. That makes him either incredibly brave or slightly unhinged.”

    Arin smiled, placing his fork down. “Or maybe I just enjoyed the meal.”

    Astha raised an eyebrow. “See, that’s how you know he’s being polite. We don’t do polite here, Arin. We believe in brutal honesty.”

    “Oh? And what would brutal honesty sound like in this case?” he asked, leaning back, genuinely entertained.

    Astha took a sip of her tea and deadpanned, “That was an edible tragedy.”

    Shanaya gasped dramatically. “How dare you insult my masterpiece?”

    “Sweetheart, it tasted like you had a very close call with disaster, and somehow, miraculously, disaster backed off at the last minute,” Astha said, her face perfectly straight.

    Arin chuckled, shaking his head. He had never met anyone quite like her. Astha had this rare ability to make her words cut and amuse at the same time, her humor sharp but never unkind. It fascinated him.

    “So, what’s next on this family bonding night?” he asked, looking between the two.

    Shanaya grinned. “Movie roast night! We pick a terrible movie and mercilessly tear it apart. Mom is undefeated.”

    “She’s undefeated in a lot of things, it seems,” Arin mused.

    Astha shrugged. “What can I say? Excellence is a burden.”

    “Oh, please,” Shanaya rolled her eyes, pulling up a list of absurdly bad movies. “Alright, what’s your tolerance level for second-hand embarrassment? Because I have a selection that will make you question human intelligence.”

    Arin considered this for a moment. “I suppose I’m about to find out.”

    And just like that, Arin found himself seated on the couch, sandwiched between two women who had perfected the art of sarcastic commentary. The movie began, some over-the-top melodramatic dialogue filling the room, and before he knew it, Astha had fired off her first critique.

    “If stupidity were an Olympic sport, this character would take home gold.”

    Shanaya pointed at the screen. “And look! The hero has a tragic backstory that makes absolutely no sense. He fell down the stairs as a child, and now he’s a brooding billionaire.”

    Arin smiled, shaking his head. “That’s a very specific cause-and-effect.”

    “It’s all about trauma,” Astha said sagely. “Apparently, if you suffer even minor inconvenience in these movies, you either become a playboy CEO or a vengeful assassin. There is no in-between.”

    A particularly dramatic scene played out, with the heroine running in slow motion through the rain. Shanaya clutched her chest. “Oh no, she’s crying! And in movie logic, that means she’s suddenly in love.”

    Astha shook her head. “This woman just met him three days ago. I’ve had deeper emotional connections with my coffee.”

    Arin chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m impressed. You two could be professional critics.”

    “We have a dream,” Shanaya said dramatically. “To save humanity from terrible cinema.”

    Astha sighed wistfully. “But humanity keeps failing us.”

    As the movie rolled on, he wasn’t thinking about the past or the future.

    He was simply there.

    With them.

    And for the first time in his existence, he wasn’t just observing life.

    He was living it.

  • THE TIME TRAVELER’S POEM: Chapter Nine: Unexpected Exchange

    THE TIME TRAVELER’S POEM: Chapter Nine: Unexpected Exchange

    A few days had passed since Arin had spent time in Astha’s apartment waiting for the locksmith. Their interactions remained brief—polite nods in the hallway, an occasional good morning exchanged as they left for work. Yet, something about their dynamic had shifted.

    One evening, Arin stood at his balcony, leaning against the railing. His gaze drifted to the adjoining space, where Astha sat curled up on a swing, a cup of tea resting in her hands, the soft hum of an old radio playing in the background. The gentle strains of a familiar melody carried through the air, blending with the evening breeze.

    She seemed at ease, lost in thought, her fingers curled around the ceramic of her mug. Arin watched as she closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the music, before taking another sip of tea.

    Sensing his gaze, she turned her head slightly and caught him watching. “Are you always this quiet, Mr. Verma? Or is that your way of observing the world?”

    Arin didn’t flinch at being caught. Instead, he offered a small, knowing smile. “Perhaps a bit of both.”

    Astha set her tea down, crossing her arms. “How was your day?”

    The question surprised him. He hadn’t expected her to initiate conversation, yet here she was, casually asking as though they had been doing this for years.

    “Uneventful,” he admitted. “And yours?”

    “Busy, as usual.” She shrugged. “But this moment—tea, music, the evening breeze—makes up for it.”

    Arin nodded, observing the way she seemed to melt into the moment. There was something peaceful about her, something that made him question the efficiency-driven world he had left behind.

    For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t thinking about time.

    He was simply existing in it.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Eight: Encounters

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Eight: Encounters

    A few days had passed since Arin moved into the apartment next to Astha’s. Despite their close proximity, their interactions had been minimal—cordial nods in the hallway, brief exchanges in the elevator. Astha was polite but distant, just as she was at work.

    One evening, as Astha returned home with a bag of groceries, she found Arin standing by his door, his sleeves rolled up, a small toolbox on the ground beside him.

    “Problem?” she asked, glancing at the door.

    “Locked myself out,” he admitted, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Apparently, technology fails even the best of us.”

    She smiled, unlocking her own door. “Welcome to the joys of being human.”

    “I suppose I should embrace the experience fully,” he said, watching as she pushed her door open.

    Astha hesitated for a moment before sighing. “Want to wait inside until the locksmith comes?”

    Arin raised a brow, surprised by the offer. “That would be appreciated.”

    She led him inside, setting her groceries down on the counter. The space was warm, lived-in—books stacked on tables, framed photos on the shelves. It was nothing like the orderly, minimalist world he had come from.

    She disappeared into the kitchen, emerging with two cups of tea. “Here,” she said, handing him one. “You look like a coffee guy, but tea is what I’ve got.”

    Arin accepted it, studying her. She wasn’t one for small talk, but she had her own way of being hospitable.

    “Thank you,” he said, taking a sip.

    For the first time since he arrived, he wasn’t just observing her from a distance.

    He was stepping into her world.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Seven: The Neighbour

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Seven: The Neighbour

    That evening, as Astha unlocked her door after a long day at work, she noticed movement in the flat next to hers. The once-empty space had a new tenant.

    She paused at her doorstep, frowning slightly as she watched the man carrying a box into the apartment. There was something oddly familiar about his posture, the way he moved.

    Then he turned, and her suspicion was confirmed.

    Arin Verma.

    Her new editor. And now, her new neighbor.

    Astha stared at him for a beat longer than necessary. He met her gaze, his expression unreadable, before offering a polite nod. “Ms. Mehra.”

    She inhaled, forcing a neutral expression. “Mr. Verma. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

    “Likewise,” he said smoothly. “Though it appears we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

    Astha wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or an inconvenience. But she had no energy for small talk. “Welcome to the building,” she said, turning toward her door. “Hope you like it here.”

    Arin watched her as she disappeared inside. He had known she lived here, of course. It was part of his careful planning. But now, seeing her in this unguarded moment, he realized something.

    The more he observed her, the more he wanted to understand her.

    And for a man who had spent his life outside the grasp of emotions, that realization was unsettling.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM

    A New Online Novel by Shailaza Singh

    PROLOGUE

    The world Arin Verma came from had long abandoned the chaos of human emotions. Efficiency, logic, and precision ruled, governed by the Time Keepers—an elite order that monitored and adjusted the flow of time across civilizations. They were the silent architects of history, ensuring that the past remained undisturbed, the future untainted. In their world, there was no space for love, passion, or art—these things were seen as relics of a primitive age, distractions that clouded judgment and disrupted progress.

    Arin had always been the perfect Time Keeper. He had trained since childhood, mastering the delicate balance of time manipulation, able to navigate its endless currents with precision. His duty was to archive and preserve significant moments of history, ensuring that time remained untouched by interference. Yet, despite his success, a quiet hollowness had always lingered within him, a sensation he was never able to name.

    Then he found the poem.

    It had been buried deep within the archives of a dying Earth civilization, an unremarkable entry amid countless historical texts. He should have overlooked it, dismissed it as another meaningless fragment from a world that had long since faded. But something made him pause.

    The words were simple, yet they struck him like a wave crashing against stone:

    What we yearn to find, does it yearn for us?
    What we dream of, does it dream of us?
    What I seek, is it my seeker too?
    If that is true, will I ever meet you?

    The moment he read it, something inside him cracked open. The words pulled at something deep within, something long buried by the rules of his world. It was as though the poet had reached across time itself and touched the very core of his being. For the first time in his existence, Arin felt moved—a sensation foreign to him, yet impossible to ignore.

    Who had written these words? Did they understand the ache that now burned within him? He had to know. A search through the archives led him to a name: Astha Mehra. A writer from Jaipur. A poet. A woman from Earth’s past, from an era long before his own. She had lived, breathed, and written those words, never knowing they would find their way to him. The realization struck him like lightning—he had spent his existence preserving the past, but never had he stepped into it for personal reasons.

    Until now.

    His hands hovered over the time coordinates. The elders would never approve of such a mission, but they had no reason to suspect him. He was one of their best.

    For the first time, Arin Verma was about to break the very rules he had sworn to uphold.

    And he had no idea what awaited him on the other side.

    …To be continued in the next post

    This online novel with all its chapters is an original copyrighted work of the author Shailaza Singh. All rights reserved.