Shailaza's Blog

Tag: romance

  • THE GHOST WRITER AND THE SUPER STAR

    📖 The Ghostwriter and the Superstar – Now Available!

    Some stories are meant to be told. Some… are meant to be lived. ✨

    She was supposed to write his autobiography
    She never expected to become part of his story.

    🔥 Aarav Khan – Bollywood’s biggest superstar, always in control of his image.
    ✍️ Komal Singh – The ghostwriter who saw beyond the fame and uncovered the man beneath the stardom.

    When fame and love collide, can two people from different worlds rewrite their own story?

    💫 A story of love, longing, and the price of truth.
    💫 A journey where words connect but reality tests them.
    💫 A love that refused to hide, even when the world was watching.

    But here’s the thing—this story began long before I wrote it.
    As a child, I was obsessed with Bollywood’s biggest superstar—Salman Khan.
    I collected his movie cassettes, replayed his songs, imagined him singing those very lyrics for me. He was the ultimate unattainable dream, the love story that never left my heart.
    Perhaps that’s why this book feels so personal. Because in some ways, it’s the story I had dreamed of writing since childhood.

    📖 NOW AVAILABLE on Kindle!https://www.amazon.in/dp/B0DXDC3WDN
    💬 Love. Scandal. Secrets. Would you risk everything for love in the public eye?

    Drop a comment below or DM me—Let’s talk about the stories that stay with us forever. 💙✨

    NewRelease #TheGhostwriterAndTheSuperstar #RomanceReads #BollywoodFiction #CelebrityLoveStory #KindleUnlimited #MustRead

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Sixty Nine : Scrabble Again

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Sixty Nine : Scrabble Again

    The next evening, Arin arrived at Astha’s place for dinner, greeted by Shanaya’s mischievous grin.

    “You’re just in time,” Shanaya announced, arms crossed. “I challenge you to a rematch.”

    Arin smiled. “Scrabble?”

    “Scrabble,” Shanaya confirmed. “Last time, you got lucky.”

    Astha shook her head as she set the table. “He never wins, Shanaya. You just let him think he does.”

    Shanaya feigned offense. “Excuse me? I play fair.”

    Arin chuckled, rolling up his sleeves. “Alright, let’s settle this once and for all.”

    They set up the Scrabble board in the living room, and soon, the game was in full swing. Arin played with exaggerated confidence, throwing in words that made Shanaya groan.

    “That’s not even a word!” Shanaya protested, pointing at his latest attempt.

    Arin leaned back, feigning hurt. “It is. ‘Zenzic.’ Look it up.”

    Shanaya grabbed her phone. “If this is fake, I’m taking ten points off.”

    Astha, watching from the kitchen, chuckled. “He makes up half his words, you know.”

    Shanaya shook her head. “I’m onto you, Verma. You think you can charm your way into a win?”

    Arin grinned. “Is it working?”

    “No.”

    He sighed dramatically. “Then I guess I’ll just have to try harder.”

    As the game went on, Arin played fairly but still found ways to tease Shanaya, making sure she stayed on her toes. He let her win some rounds, just enough to keep things competitive, but his real focus was elsewhere—on Astha.

    Every time she passed by, he brushed his fingers against hers, a fleeting touch that sent shivers down her spine. When she refilled his glass, his hand lingered over hers for just a second too long. And when she bent down to grab something from the table, his gaze followed her in a way that would have made her blush if Shanaya hadn’t been sitting right there.

    Shanaya, oblivious to their secret, narrowed her eyes at them once in a while but said nothing.

    “You two are weird,” she finally muttered.

    Astha froze. “What?”

    Shanaya shrugged. “I don’t know. You just seem… different.”

    Arin smiled. “That’s because I’m losing. It’s messing with my mind.”

    Shanaya rolled her eyes. “That must be it.”

    Cooking Together

    After Scrabble, they headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Shanaya, conveniently, had a video call with her friend and excused herself, leaving Astha and Arin alone.

    The moment the door closed behind Shanaya, Arin moved closer. “Finally.”

    Astha gave him a warning glance. “Behave.”

    He grinned, sliding an arm around her waist as she reached for the ingredients. “I was behaving. You’re the one distracting me.”

    She huffed, stirring the sauce while trying to ignore the warmth of his hands on her hips. “You’re impossible.”

    “And yet, here I am.”

    She tried to focus, but he wasn’t making it easy. Every time she moved, he was there—his fingers grazing the small of her back, his lips brushing against her temple when she reached for the spices. When she turned to scold him, he caught her wrist and pulled her closer. “Arin,” she warned, but her voice lacked conviction.

    He leaned in, his lips barely an inch from hers. “Yes, wife?”

    She narrowed her eyes. “Shanaya could walk in any second.”

    He sighed dramatically, loosening his grip but not stepping away. “You’re no fun.”

    She smiled, tapping his chest with a wooden spoon. “And you’re too obvious.”

    He grinned, watching her with that familiar look that made her heart race. “You love it.”

    She sighed, turning back to the stove. “Unfortunately.”

    Arin chuckled, content for now. But he knew the night was far from over.

    Dinner and Suspicion

    When Shanaya returned, they were sitting at the table as if nothing had happened. But she wasn’t entirely convinced.

    As they ate, she observed them closely, her gaze flickering between them.

    “You two are definitely acting weird,” she said suddenly.

    Astha choked on her drink. “What?”

    Shanaya squinted at them. “I don’t know… something’s up.”

    Arin raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe you’re just paranoid.”

    Shanaya shrugged. “Maybe.”

    But Astha could see it—the suspicion in Shanaya’s eyes. And she knew it was only a matter of time before her daughter put the pieces together.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Fifty Nine: Something Real

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Fifty Nine: Something Real

    Morning light streamed through the hospital’s tinted windows, casting a soft glow over the waiting area. Astha stirred, shifting slightly before her eyes fluttered open. A familiar warmth rested over her shoulders. She blinked, looking down to find a blanket draped around her.

    Arin’s doing.

    She turned her head and found him sitting beside her, his eyes closed, his posture relaxed but alert even in rest. He had stayed.

    Astha swallowed, something tugging at her chest, but she quickly shook it off. Carefully, she adjusted the blanket and sat up, stretching. The quiet hum of hospital activity around her signaled the start of a new day.

    Moments later, a nurse approached. “Mrs. Mehra is being discharged. The doctor has cleared her to go home.”

    Relief flooded Astha, and she nodded. “Thank you.”

    She turned to Arin, who was now watching her, fully awake. “She’s being discharged,” she said softly.

    Arin nodded. “I’ll get the car.”

    Astha opened her mouth to protest, but the look in his eyes told her it was pointless. He wasn’t going to leave her alone.

    The Drive Home

    The car ride was quiet, with only the soft hum of the engine filling the space between them. Astha sat in the back with her mother, keeping a hand on hers, while Arin focused on the road.

    Every few minutes, his gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, checking on them. He didn’t say much, but Astha didn’t need him to. His presence was enough.

    When they reached home, Astha’s father and Shanaya were already waiting at the doorstep. The moment the car stopped, Shanaya ran forward, her eyes shining with relief as she hugged her grandmother.

    Astha’s father embraced his wife gently, murmuring reassurances, before turning to Arin. Without hesitation, he pulled him into a warm hug.

    “Thank you, beta,” her father said, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

    Arin, momentarily taken aback, patted his back. “It’s nothing, Uncle.”

    Astha stood beside them, watching the exchange with a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite name. Her father had always been reserved with strangers, but with Arin, it was as if he had known him for years.

    Her mother was settled into bed with Shanaya fussing over her, making sure she was comfortable. Astha’s father lingered in the room for a while, before finally nodding in satisfaction and stepping out.

    Astha turned to Arin, hands on her hips. “You should go home and rest. You’ve done enough.”

    Arin raised an eyebrow. “You’re kicking me out now?”

    “Yes,” she said firmly. “You have work, and so do I.”

    He studied her for a moment before smirking. “Alright, Mehra. But if you need anything, call me.”

    “I won’t.”

    “You will.”

    She rolled her eyes, but the warmth in her chest refused to fade as she watched him leave.

    Once the door shut behind him, Astha exhaled and ran a hand through her hair. She walked into the kitchen, pouring herself a glass of water, but her mind wasn’t on the task. Instead, her thoughts wandered back to Arin.

    The way he had stayed. The way he had silently comforted her when she cried. The way he had made her smile despite the exhaustion weighing her down.

    She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

    Then, shaking her head, she muttered to herself, “Keep personal and professional separate, Astha.”

    Her heart, however, wasn’t so sure.

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

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Fifteen: The Ride Home

    The next evening, as they wrapped up work, Astha turned to Arin just as they stepped out of the office.

    “I have some errands to run for my family. You don’t have to wait. I’ll take an auto home,” she said matter-of-factly, already fishing her phone out of her bag to book a ride.

    Arin, who had been walking beside her, stopped. “I don’t mind waiting.”

    Astha paused and gave him a flat look. “You realize that could take hours? I have to go to the pharmacy, the grocery store, and pick up something for Shanaya. I won’t be quick.”

    “It’s fine,” Arin said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’ll wait.”

    Astha narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you one of those people who thinks chivalry means making life inconvenient for yourself? Because, just so you know, I am perfectly capable of—”

    “It’s not chivalry,” Arin interrupted smoothly. “It’s efficiency. You’ll already be exhausted after running around. It makes sense for me to drive you home rather than have you wait for an auto.”

    Astha sighed and shook her head. “You know, for someone who claims to be efficient, you really like making things more complicated than they need to be.”

    Arin smiled. “I could say the same about you.”

    Astha exhaled in mild exasperation but didn’t argue further. “Fine. But don’t complain when I make you carry grocery bags.”

    “Duly noted,” Arin replied, his expression unreadable, but his eyes glinting with amusement.

    And so, for the first time, Arin found himself tagging along with Astha, watching her navigate the small, everyday routines of her life—things that were unremarkable to her but utterly fascinating to him.

    As they went from one shop to another, Arin observed something unexpected. Astha had a way with people, a quiet charisma that wasn’t forced but felt entirely natural. At the pharmacy, the staff greeted her with familiarity, and within moments, she had the usually gruff pharmacist chuckling at one of her wry remarks.

    At the grocery store, she bantered with the vendor, making light-hearted complaints about the price of vegetables while deftly convincing him to give her the freshest produce at a discount. “Come on, Bhaiya, I practically keep your shop running. The least you can do is not charge me extra for looking like I have expensive taste.”

    The man laughed, shaking his head. “Aap toh humesha jeet jaati hain, Astha Madam. (You always win, Astha Madam.)”

    “Well, someone has to,” she said with a dramatic sigh, making the vendor chuckle even more.

    Arin watched, marveling at this side of her. He had always known her as sharp, reserved, sometimes distant. But here, surrounded by familiar faces, she was warm, kind, and—dare he say it—charming. She made people laugh, not in an over-the-top way, but with quiet, clever humor that seemed to disarm even the most reluctant of souls.

    By the time they reached the final stop, Arin found himself carrying half her bags, despite his earlier amusement at her threat. “This was planned from the start, wasn’t it?” he asked dryly.

    Astha smiled. “I make people do my bidding by being nice to them. Works every time.”

    Arin shook his head, amused. “Noted. I’ll have to be more cautious next time.”

    She tilted her head. “Or you could just accept that you’re doomed like everyone else who knows me.”

    For the first time in a long time, Arin didn’t mind the idea of being ‘doomed.’

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirteen: A New Ally

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Thirteen: A New Ally

    Shanaya Mehra was a whirlwind of energy, laughter, and quick-witted remarks—traits that often exasperated her mother and endeared her to others. At seventeen, she had inherited Astha’s sharp mind and love for words, but where her mother was reserved, Shanaya was unfiltered, never hesitating to speak her mind.

    It was on one such afternoon that she ran into Arin Verma for the first time. She had just returned from a study session with her friends, her backpack slung over one shoulder, when she spotted the new neighbor locking up his apartment.

    She tilted her head, studying him with open curiosity. “You’re the new guy, right? The editor?”

    Arin turned, momentarily surprised by her directness. “That’s right. And you must be Shanaya.”

    Her eyes lit up. “Ah, so Mom told you about me. Don’t believe everything she says—I’m far more brilliant and much less of a troublemaker than she claims.”

    Arin smiled. “Duly noted.”

    Shanaya fell into step beside him as they walked toward the elevator. “So, since you’re an editor, that means you’re good with words, right?”

    “I suppose you could say that.”

    “Great,” she said, grinning mischievously. “I need a teammate.”

    Arin raised an eyebrow. “A teammate?”

    “Scrabble. Mom beats me every single time. It’s infuriating. I need someone who can match her brain and give me a fighting chance. And since you literally work with words for a living, I’d say you qualify.”

    Arin considered this. He had never played Scrabble before, but he understood the mechanics of language better than most. More than that, he found himself intrigued by Shanaya’s vibrant enthusiasm.

    “Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll be your teammate.”

    Shanaya pumped a fist in the air. “Yes! Finally, I have a chance at victory. This is going to be legendary.”

    As they stepped into the elevator, Arin glanced at her, a quiet curiosity growing within him. He had spent all his time trying to understand Astha, but perhaps the best way to do so was through the people she loved.

    And Shanaya, with her infectious energy and unfiltered thoughts, might just be the key.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Eleven: The First Ride

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Eleven: The First Ride

    The next morning, Astha walked out of her apartment, adjusting the strap of her bag as she made her way to the parking lot. She wasn’t particularly excited about the carpool arrangement, but she had agreed to it without much thought. These initiatives never lasted anyway.

    As she neared the car, she found Arin already waiting, leaning against the driver’s side with his usual composed expression. He gave her a polite nod before opening the door. “Morning. Ready to go?”

    She slid into the passenger seat, buckling up as she adjusted her glasses. “Sure. Let’s get this over with.”

    Arin started the car, the engine humming softly as they pulled out of the parking lot. The silence between them was not awkward, but rather filled with an unspoken understanding—neither was particularly interested in forced small talk.

    Astha glanced out of the window, watching the city wake up. “So, what’s the plan? You drive this week, I drive next?”

    Arin nodded. “That’s what we agreed upon. Unless you’d prefer a different arrangement.”

    “No, this works,” she said with a shrug. “Just don’t expect me to be chatty in the mornings.”

    Arin’s lips twitched in what might have been amusement. “Noted.”

    They continued the drive in comfortable silence, the only sound coming from the faint hum of the radio. Astha appreciated that Arin didn’t feel the need to fill the space with unnecessary conversation. He drove smoothly, his focus unwavering, as if even this simple task was part of a greater purpose.

    Astha found herself sneaking a glance at him. There was something about the way he carried himself—calm, unshaken, yet strangely observant. It was as if he was always paying attention, always trying to piece together the world around him.

    As they approached the office, Arin finally spoke. “Would you like me to pick you up in the evening as well, or would you prefer to manage your way back separately?”

    Astha considered for a moment before responding. “Might as well keep it simple. Pick me up when you leave.”

    Arin nodded, as if he had expected her response. “Alright.”

    The moment the car came to a stop in the office parking lot, Astha was already unbuckling her seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride. See you later.”

    Before he could respond, she was out the door, making her way inside without a second glance.

    Arin watched her go, a faint trace of curiosity flickering in his expression. She was different from anyone he had met before—unmoved by his presence, indifferent to the little changes he was introducing into her life.

    And that only made him want to understand her more.

  • 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 Five: First Impressions

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Five: First Impressions

    Arin called Astha into his office that afternoon. She walked in, glancing briefly at the papers on his desk, then at the printed version of her article in his hand.

    “You could tighten the conclusion,” he said, sliding it toward her. “It’s strong, but there’s room for refinement.”

    Astha barely looked at him. She picked up the document, scanned his suggested revisions, and nodded absentmindedly. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll work on it.”

    Arin studied her, noticing how detached she seemed. There was no curiosity, no engagement, just a willingness to get the task done.

    A few hours later, he called her back, pointing to another section of the same article. “This could use a more compelling transition,” he noted.

    This time, she looked up, frowning slightly. “Didn’t we already go over this?” she asked, her tone controlled but edged with irritation. Still, she did not meet his gaze for more than a second.

    “Yes, but on second read, I believe this would make it even sharper.” He leaned back, watching her reaction.

    Astha inhaled, reining in whatever annoyance she felt, and nodded curtly. “Fine. I’ll adjust it.”

    As she turned to leave, Arin observed her closely. Unlike most employees, she didn’t linger for small talk, didn’t show even a trace of nervousness around him. More importantly, he realized that apart from a handful of people in the office, she barely socialized. She worked efficiently, spoke only when necessary, and retreated into her own world the moment her tasks were complete.

    It intrigued him.

    Because in a world full of people, Astha Mehra walked alone.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Three: A New Beginning

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Three: A New Beginning

    Arin knew he couldn’t just appear in Astha’s life as a stranger. He needed a role, a position of influence that would allow him to observe her closely, to understand the mind behind the words that had shaken him so deeply.

    With a calculated shift in the temporal fabric, he altered events subtly—small nudges here, minor delays there—until history aligned in his favor. When the English Daily found itself in need of a new resident editor, the name Arin Verma appeared at just the right time, with credentials carefully forged by weaving into the past unnoticed.

    By the time he stepped into the newsroom, no one questioned his presence. He was their new editor, the authoritative yet enigmatic figure who now held influence over Astha’s work.

    Astha walked into the newsroom that morning, coffee in hand, her mind already occupied with her latest article. She barely noticed the whispers among her colleagues until she saw them gathered around a desk, stealing glances toward the editor’s office.

    “Who is he?” she overheard someone say.

    “Arin Verma,” another replied. “Apparently, he’s our new resident editor.”

    She had expected someone different—perhaps another seasoned journalist with years of experience. But as she stepped closer, her gaze landed on the man behind the glass walls of the office. Arin Verma.

    There was something about him—an air of quiet authority, an energy that seemed both unfamiliar and unsettlingly intense. He caught her looking and, for a brief moment, their eyes met. A small, knowing smile touched his lips.

    Astha turned away quickly, irritation prickling at her. Something about him felt… off. But she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

    Arin, however, felt something entirely different—anticipation.

    The game had begun.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter One: The Woman in the Library

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter One: The Woman in the Library

    The air inside the small library carried the scent of old paper and quiet contemplation. A stark contrast to the controlled, sterile environment Arin had always known. He moved between the shelves unseen, observing the woman who sat by the window, her fingers dancing over the pages of a notebook. Strands of her dark hair slipped from her bun, framing a face absorbed in thought.

    Astha Mehra. The woman behind the poem.

    She was 46 years old, with an air of quiet determination about her. She wore jeans and a well-fitted t-shirt, the kind of outfit she was most comfortable in. Formal occasions sometimes forced her into a dress, and she knew she looked decent in them, but sarees were not her style. A pair of spectacles rested on her nose, occasionally slipping as she pushed them back absentmindedly. She considered herself average—perhaps even overweight—but there was something effortless about the way she moved, as if her body was simply a vessel for her mind, always lost in thought.

    Her pen scratched across the notebook in quick, sharp strokes, pausing every so often as she bit her lip in concentration. Her brows knit together when she struggled with a word, and then she would scribble something out, exhaling in frustration. She muttered under her breath, sometimes shaking her head at herself before continuing.

    Arin watched, fascinated. He wanted to understand what had driven her to write those words. Was it longing? Was it loss? Did she even know what she had captured in that poem—something so powerful that it had reached through time and found him?

    She sighed, stretching her fingers before flipping back a few pages in her notebook. Her lips moved silently as she read over something she had written earlier. Then, a small, satisfied smile flickered across her face, and she tapped her pen against the paper before adding a new line.

    That smile stirred something in him.

    He took in every detail of her—the way she pushed her glasses up, the way her lips moved as she read, the quiet sighs that punctuated her thoughts. She was a woman accustomed to solitude, to having thoughts that belonged only to herself. She was not trying to impress anyone. And perhaps that was what made her so compelling.

    She suddenly looked up, her gaze shifting toward the ceiling, as if she was about to speak to someone unseen. Instead, she pressed her lips together and shook her head, returning to her work.

    She had no idea he was here.

    For now.

    …To be continued in the next post

  • Dreaming of someone who is long gone

    Last night, I dreamt of my late husband. Its almost been a decade since he died. To tell you the truth, we never had a very lovey-dovey relationship too. Infact, most of my married life was spent in trying to understand what was wrong in me because my husband and his family always found something wrong in me.

    But, the dream I had last night was very different. I dreamt that he had come back and he had become a very loving husband. He was the most loving father. He was so responsive and attentive to all that I said or did. Some people say dreams express our most unconscious desires. There are some who believe that the souls of those who are gone, reach out to us through these dreams. Yes, I do watch all those romantic dramas and read books where women are loved and respected by men. So, perhaps, my mind made my wish come true in the only way it could- through a dream.

  • The Myth of Romantic Love

    The Myth of Romantic Love

    People often ask me why have I not married even after a decade of my husband’s passing. I tell them that I value my freedom more than anything else in the world. However, that is just the partial truth.

    The truth is that today romantic relationships have become a pain. If you are some one who is relatively self reliant, there is no reason why you should waste your time in getting into a relationship. Not only boys but the girls have also become equally demanding. Abuse is rampant on both ends. They don’t want partners, they want robots who will comply to their every demand and do as they are told. Each one wants a partner who can be switched off and on at will. We have stopped considering the other person as a human being. We only are bothered about ourselves.

    One of my best friends is in a relationship and it saddens me to see how both of them keep fighting all the time. Both of them keep blaming each other and find reasons to fight. No one is ready to give in. No one is ready to keep quiet. When I visited them, all I wanted to do was to get away from all the fight and negativity. Their expectations are so high that perhaps God alone can only fulfil them.

    Fortunate are those who can find a romantic partner who can live peacefully with them. However, there are not very many examples of harmonious relationships in today’s times.

    Why should I then in such a scenario even think about getting into any kind of relationship? Why should I then think of risking my sanity for a momentary emotion? Don’t you think I am better off dreaming of someone nice rather than get someone nasty and make my life miserable all over again?

    What do you think?