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Category: The Time Keeper’s Poem

  • 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.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM- Chapter Nineteen- An Unfamiliar Feeling

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM- Chapter Nineteen- An Unfamiliar Feeling

    The next morning, Arin woke up with an odd sense of contentment. It was a sensation he wasn’t accustomed to—something light, something warm. He had spent years training himself to be emotionally detached, to observe rather than participate. And yet, after last night, he felt different.

    He had laughed. He had felt like he belonged.

    And it had nothing to do with his mission.

    As he stepped out onto his balcony, he caught sight of Astha doing the same. She was sipping her coffee, glasses slightly askew, her hair still a bit messy from sleep. She didn’t notice him at first—she was staring at the sky, lost in thought.

    “You’re up early,” Arin commented.

    Astha glanced at him, unimpressed. “You say that like it’s a choice. I have a job, a teenager, and a coffee addiction that demands sacrifice.”

    Arin smiled. “A noble cause.”

    She took another sip before looking at him properly. “So, how does it feel to be a survivor of our legendary movie roast night?”

    “I think I need time to process it,” he admitted. “There was… a lot of unexpected emotional trauma.”

    Astha’s lips quirked into a smile. “Good. You’re learning.”

    Before Arin could respond, Shanaya’s voice echoed from inside. “Mom! Where’s my history book? And also, why does the cat look like he’s planning something?”

    Astha sighed, rubbing her temple. “The book is where you last threw it, and the cat has always been plotting your downfall. This is not new information.”

    Shanaya appeared in the doorway, looking at Arin with interest. “Oh hey, he’s still here.”

    “I live here,” Arin pointed out.

    Shanaya shrugged. “That remains to be seen. The real test of your endurance is surviving a week of us.”

    Astha nodded sagely. “She’s not wrong.”

    Arin leaned against the railing, studying them both. “And what happens if I pass this test?”

    Astha took another sip of tea, her voice utterly serious. “Then, congratulations. You get to carry grocery bags indefinitely.”

    Arin chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

    As the morning sun bathed the balcony in golden light, Arin felt something strange settle in his chest. Something that had nothing to do with time or duty.

    Something that felt a lot like home.

  • 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.