Akash Pal decided to make a final call to Chitrakshi Sen to call off the wedding

Akash Pal wanted an escape.

For days, the silence had been eating away at him, carving hollow spaces inside his heart, leaving behind only questions—Why didn’t she call? Why didn’t she care? He didn’t have the answers, and the weight of not knowing was unbearable.

So, he decided to drown it out.

If his mind was a battlefield, he would flood it with distractions—good things, positive things. Anything but the thoughts that clawed at him.

He turned to movies, to web series, to old classics and new releases. He let himself get lost in fictional worlds, hoping they would pull him away from his own reality. And for a while, they did.

But every time the credits rolled, so did the truth.

The moment of happiness ended with every end of a movie.

And the silence always returned.

Akash knew—this wasn’t a solution. He could numb himself for hours, even days, but in the end, he would still be right where he started.

And so, with a deep breath, he did the one thing he had been avoiding.

He picked up his phone and called Chitrakshi Sen.

The line was busy.

He waited. Tried again. Still busy.

Minutes passed. Then hours. Then another attempt. Still busy.

But she never called him back.

Not once.

Akash clenched his jaw, staring at his phone as if willing it to ring, to light up with her name. He gave her time. Gave her the benefit of the doubt.

But the truth was as clear as the silence between them—she wasn’t going to call.

And suddenly, he knew.

This was the moment.

This was where it ended.

If she had picked up—if she had given him anything, even a feigned excuse—maybe he would have held on a little longer. But she hadn’t.

And now, he wouldn’t either.

His hands felt steady as he typed out the message.

“I am calling off the wedding because I can’t live or marry a woman whose heart is already married to someone else.”

He hesitated only for a second.

Then, he hit send.

And waited.

Watched.

Hoped—for something.

A call. A message. A reaction.

But there was nothing.

Chitrakshi Sen did not respond.

Not even to the end of their story.

The silence had become unbearable.

Chitrakshi Sen had ignored his calls. She had left his messages unanswered. Even when he had sent the final, decisive text calling off the wedding, she had given him nothing.

And that nothing was driving him insane.

Akash Pal needed answers. If she wouldn’t give them to him, he would find them himself.

So, one evening, without telling anyone, he borrowed a friend’s car—a dark-colored sedan that wouldn’t easily be recognized—and drove toward Chitrakshi Sen’s house. He parked a short distance away, close enough to watch unnoticed, yet far enough to remain undetected.

For the first time in his life, he found himself doing something he had never imagined—spying on the woman he was supposed to marry.

The plan was simple. Observe. See if she was home, if she was going out, if someone—perhaps Kiaan Roy—was coming in. He just needed proof, something to confirm what his gut had been screaming at him for weeks.

The first night, he waited. Hours passed. The house remained dark, lifeless.

The second night, the same.

By the third, an unsettling realization crept in—she wasn’t coming out. No one was going in.

For a full week, he repeated the same routine. He parked in different spots, adjusted his angles, tried to catch even the smallest movement. But the Sen residence remained eerily still.

Not once did he see Chitrakshi step outside. Not once did he catch a glimpse of her through the curtains. No visitors. No signs of life.

It was as if she had vanished.

A cold chill ran down his spine as he stared at the empty windows of her home.

Where was she?

And why did it feel like she had disappeared without a trace?

Akash Pal In Dark silence

As the days slipped by and the wedding drew closer, Akash Pal found himself drowning in an unsettling silence.

What was once a relationship filled with warmth, stolen glances, and effortless laughter now felt cold and distant. Chitrakshi Sen was right beside him, yet she felt miles away. The conversations they used to share—about everything and nothing at all—had dwindled into mere formalities. She no longer reached for his hand absentmindedly, no longer looked at him the way she once did.

And the worst part?

She didn’t even seem to notice.

Akash had spent sleepless nights trying to convince himself that he was overthinking, that perhaps it was just the usual stress that came with weddings, with families, with expectations. But deep down, he knew better. This was something else.

And every time his mind searched for the root of this shift, one name surfaced—Kiaan Roy.

The so-called best friend.

The man whispered about in speculation. The man she had hugged in front of him, right before all of this began.

Akash found himself tracing back to the moment everything changed. His mind played it over and over like a reel stuck on repeat. It wasn’t just one incident—it was a slow unraveling, one that he had been too blinded by love to see at first.

And then, like a key turning in a lock, it hit him.

The day Bipin Sen—Chitrakshi’s father—had come to his house with his family.

It was supposed to be a joyous occasion. Their families had spoken about the wedding, about the future that awaited them as husband and wife. The elders had exchanged smiles, discussing venues and traditions, blessings and preparations. But now, when Akash thought back to that evening, he saw it differently.

He remembered how Chitrakshi had sat there, quiet but composed, not displaying the usual excitement of a bride-to-be. She had smiled at all the right moments, spoken when spoken to, yet there was something in her eyes that unsettled him—something that he had ignored then, but which now stood out like a glaring truth.

She hadn’t looked happy.

Not the way a woman in love should.

And after that day, things had only gotten worse.

She had started pulling away.

Her responses became shorter, her laughter rarer. She was always occupied—if not with wedding plans, then with her phone. She had started making plans without him, started telling him where to be and when, rather than including him in decisions like she once did.

And then there was Kiaan Roy.

He was always there—always in the background, lingering in unspoken words, in unsent messages, in the flickers of her smile when she was lost in her phone.

Was he the reason for all of this?

Was he the shadow standing between them, the unspoken truth she refused to acknowledge?

Akash exhaled, pressing his fingers to his temple as he sat alone in his car outside his house.

For the first time since their relationship began, a terrifying thought crossed his mind.

Was this marriage a mistake?

And worse—

Was she already slipping away before it had even begun?

The burden of silence was too heavy to carry alone.

Akash Pal had spent days drowning in his own thoughts, the weight of his fiancée’s growing distance pressing down on him like an anchor tied to his heart. He needed to speak to someone, to hear voices that didn’t leave him with unanswered questions.

So, one evening, he found himself sitting with his closest friends in their usual spot—a quiet, dimly lit café that had witnessed their years of friendship, their victories, their heartbreaks.

He told them everything.

From the first spark of suspicion to the hollow emptiness that had replaced what he once thought was love. He spoke about Kiaan Roy, about the unsettling changes in Chitrakshi Sen, about how their wedding, once the happiest thought in his mind, now loomed over him like an impending storm.

One of his friends, leaning back in his chair with an easygoing smirk, offered an unexpected suggestion.

“Why don’t you write a book?” he said, swirling his coffee absentmindedly. “Put everything down—your love, your pain, your confusion. Write it all. And then gift it to her on your wedding day.”

The idea struck Akash like lightning.

A book.

A book dedicated to Chitrakshi Sen. A book where his feelings—unfiltered, raw, and honest—would be immortalized in ink.

For the first time in weeks, a new kind of fire ignited within him.

He cleared his schedule, pushing aside meetings, deadlines, and wedding discussions. For the next seven days, he disappeared into a world of words, pouring his emotions onto pages that would never judge him, never ignore him, never turn away.

He wrote about their love—the way it had begun, the moments that had made his heart race, the laughter that had once been theirs. But as he wrote, something inside him twisted painfully.

Because the woman he was writing about was no longer the woman he was marrying.

And as much as he wanted to ignore it, a brutal realization took hold of his heart—Chitrakshi Sen didn’t deserve this love.

Not this version of her.

Not the one who had grown distant, who had shut him out, who had left him to question his own worth.

By the end of the week, the book was finished.

Akash stared at the final page, his fingers lingering over the words he had just written. He had enjoyed writing it—more than he had expected. But the joy came with an aching bitterness, the knowledge that he had poured his soul into something for a woman who might not even care.

That evening, he met his friends again. When he told them the book was ready to be launched on his wedding day, they cheered, patting him on the back, calling him a true romantic.

Then one of them, grinning, nudged him playfully. “Well, you took a break, man. She must have missed you badly. I bet your phone ran out of battery with all her missed calls and messages, huh?”

For a moment, Akash froze.

His phone.

He hadn’t ignored her calls. He hadn’t replied to her messages.

Because there had been none.

Not a single missed call. Not a single text.

Chitrakshi Sen hadn’t reached out to him at all.

Something inside him cracked at that realization.

But he forced a smile, swallowing down the truth like a bitter pill.

“Yeah, dude,” he lied, his voice steady despite the weight in his chest. “She did. I didn’t pick up. Didn’t reply. And you know what? I actually enjoyed it.”

His friends laughed, nudging him as if he had just pulled off a playful revenge. But deep inside, Akash wasn’t laughing.

Because the truth was far more painful than the lie he had just told.

Chitrakshi Sen hadn’t even noticed he was gone.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

A week had passed.

Seven long days since Akash Pal had thrown himself into writing, since he had distanced himself from the noise of wedding preparations, since he had waited—perhaps foolishly—for Chitrakshi Sen to reach out to him.

She never did.

The morning sun streamed through the half-drawn curtains of his room, but Akash barely noticed. He sat on the edge of his bed, staring blankly at his phone. The silence from Chitrakshi had settled into something heavy, something suffocating. No missed calls. No unread messages.

Just an empty screen.

And then, it rang.

Not his phone—his father’s.

From the hallway, he could hear the deep, familiar voice of Ajay Prakash Pal answering the call. There was a shift in tone, a polite exchange of pleasantries, and then, the name that made Akash’s shoulders stiffen—Bipin Sen.

His future father-in-law had called.

Minutes later, Ajay Prakash Pal appeared at his door, his face carrying the weight of both news and expectation.

“Akash,” his father said, his voice calm, measured. “Bipin Sen called. They’ve confirmed the date and venue of the wedding.”

There was a pause. A moment of silence where, perhaps, his father had expected a smile, a spark of joy, a sign that this news meant something to him.

But Akash Pal remained still.

He nodded slowly, the motion mechanical, void of any real response.

And that was when his father noticed it—the absence of excitement in his son’s eyes. The way his shoulders, instead of straightening with happiness, seemed to sag under an unseen weight.

“Did you hear what I said?” Ajay Prakash Pal asked, studying him closely. “The date is set, Akash. Your wedding is happening.”

“I heard,” Akash murmured, his voice quieter than he had intended.

But he hadn’t been told.

The Sen family had called his father, spoken to his family, made decisions—but not once had Chitrakshi Sen picked up the phone to share the news with him herself.

The joy of the wedding—of what should have been the most beautiful moment of his life—was nowhere to be found.

Instead, an unbearable weight pressed down on his chest.

Because now, every time someone in his house spoke her name—Chitrakshi Sen—his heart clenched a little more. Instead of happiness, it brought only questions, doubts, and a loneliness he had never known before.

Days passed.

Akash Pal withdrew into himself. He stayed home, avoiding the outside world, refusing to pick up the phone to call anyone in the Sen family—including her.

Because a bitter truth had taken root in his heart.

If she had wanted to call, she would have.

And she hadn’t.

Facing the unexpected

Akash Pal stepped into the grand office of Sen Publishers, his mind heavy with unanswered questions. The soft murmur of discussions echoed through the polished corridors, the scent of fresh ink and old books lingering in the air. As he walked toward the meeting room, his eyes instinctively fell on the large glass wall that separated it from the rest of the office.

His steps slowed.

The room was filled—board members seated in their usual places, engaged in what appeared to be a lively discussion. But it wasn’t just the presence of the chamber members that made Akash pause. It was the figure occupying his seat.

A stranger.

Dressed in a well-tailored blazer, the young man sat with an air of quiet confidence. His hair was neatly groomed, slicked back with a touch of gel that gleamed under the soft office lighting. There was an ease to his posture, a natural charm that seemed to captivate the room.

Akash’s brows furrowed. That seat was his.

Not just any ordinary position—this was the membership Chitrakshi Sen had personally granted him as Managing Director of Sen Publishers, a recognition of his talent, his dedication, and his role in the company’s success. And now, in his absence, someone else had taken his place?

A flicker of unease stirred in his chest, but he pushed it aside and reached for the door handle. Without knocking, he stepped in.

The hum of voices quieted. Heads turned. But before Akash could speak, Bipin Sen, the patriarch of the family, raised a hand and said in a composed yet firm voice, “Please give us one minute, Akash.”

There was no room for argument in his tone.

Akash hesitated for a brief second before stepping back, allowing the door to close again. His fingers clenched into a fist at his side, his mind racing. Who was this man? And why was he—of all people—being given such importance?

From behind the transparent glass, Akash observed in silence.

The meeting continued. Laughter rippled through the room, subtle smiles exchanged between board members. There was an unmistakable enthusiasm in their expressions, a rare kind of energy he had never quite seen before in these usually somber gatherings. And at the heart of it all was the stranger.

Akash watched as the man stood to address the room. As he spoke, hands clapped, heads nodded in agreement, admiration clear in their eyes. It was as though he had effortlessly captured the attention—and perhaps even the approval—of the board.

The scene before Akash sent an unsettling feeling crawling down his spine.

Who was this man? Why was he here? And, more importantly—was he here to replace Akash?

A deep sense of insecurity settled in his chest, a whisper of something darker creeping into his thoughts. Chitrakshi had been distant. Avoiding him. And now, here was this stranger, taking the place that was once his, being welcomed into the fold as though he belonged.

Akash took a slow breath, forcing himself to stay calm.

But deep down, he knew—this was no coincidence.

Akash Pal stood outside the glass-walled chamber, his patience thinning with each passing second.

“One minute,” Bipin Sen had said. But the minute had stretched far beyond that, turning into an agonizing wait. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, watching the meeting unfold, the easy camaraderie between the members, the way their attention remained fixated on him—the stranger. The name was still unknown to Akash, but the presence of the man was beginning to carve an unsettling weight in his chest.

Finally, the door opened.

“Akash, please come in,” Bipin Sen called.

Summoning composure, Akash stepped inside. The room was alive with chatter, the air thick with an energy that was strangely foreign to him. As he walked in, he noticed something peculiar—several members were congratulating the young man, patting him on the back, their voices warm with approval.

“All the best, Kiaan Roy sir,” they said, one after another.

Akash’s gaze lingered on the man—the very same one who had taken his seat. Kiaan Roy. There was no mistaking the admiration in the eyes of those around him. He was young, effortlessly charismatic, and undeniably well-dressed. His presence radiated an easy charm, the kind that could win people over without even trying.

Bipin Sen cleared his throat, drawing Akash’s attention.

“Akash!” Bipin said with his usual authoritative calm. “Meet Mr. Kiaan Roy, my daughter Chitrakshi’s best friend and our new board member.”

Akash felt the words like a slow blow to his chest.

“Best friend?” The phrase echoed in his mind, but before he could process it, Bipin continued—his voice steady, yet carrying a finality that sent a chill through Akash’s spine.

“Kiaan is going to help Chitrakshi in your place.”

The world tilted slightly.

Akash barely heard the rest of the sentence. In that very moment, something else caught his attention—something whispered in hushed tones among the board members. It was subtle, meant to be unheard, yet it reached him like a sharp whisper against a silent night.

“Ex-boyfriend of Chitrakshi Sen.”

The words sent a cold shiver through his veins.

Akash’s breath hitched. His pulse quickened.

He shifted his gaze to Chitrakshi, who sat composed, her expression unreadable. She had not looked at him once since he had entered the room.

A thousand questions stormed his mind, but one rose above the rest.

Why had neither Chitrakshi nor Bipin informed him of this decision?

His role—his position—had been quietly handed over to this man, and he had been left in the dark.

A sense of betrayal, raw and unspoken, coiled in his chest.

Uninvited guest 

The air in the boardroom felt heavier than before, thick with something unspoken. Akash Pal stood there, his presence seemingly an afterthought in a room that once held a place for him. The laughter and camaraderie from moments ago had dulled, leaving only an uncomfortable silence that wrapped itself around him like an unwelcome shadow.

Chitrakshi Sen, seated gracefully across the long table, finally turned her gaze towards Kiaan Roy. There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, but she masked it quickly. Her voice, smooth yet distant, broke through the stillness.

“Roy, he is Mr. Akash Pal.”

That was all she said. No warmth. No familiarity. No acknowledgment of who he truly was in her life.

Akash’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. The omission was small, yet it landed like a quiet storm within him.

Before he could react, Bipin Sen’s voice rang out, cutting through the tension with a sharp precision.

“Chitrakshi Sen! You forgot to mention that Akash Pal is your fiancé—your would-be husband.”

The words felt deliberate, as though Bipin sensed the weight of what had been left unsaid and refused to let it slip unnoticed. His gaze rested on his daughter, expectant.

For a brief second, Chitrakshi’s composed expression faltered. But then, as if rehearsed, she let out a short, almost dismissive laugh and turned to Kiaan with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Dad, Roy knows everything.”

Her voice carried an edge of impatience, but it was the smile—the practiced, almost forced curve of her lips—that struck Akash the hardest. It was the kind of smile one gave to a guest who had overstayed their welcome, the kind that masked an unspoken truth.

For the first time, Akash Pal felt like a stranger in a place where he once belonged.

The moment stretched between them, charged with an unspoken tension that only Akash Pal seemed to feel. The board members had gone back to their usual discussions, but to him, the world had shrunk to just three people—Chitrakshi, Kiaan, and himself.

Then, Chitrakshi rose from her chair, smoothing the creases in her saree with effortless grace. She barely glanced at Akash before saying in a clipped tone, “Let’s go! We have a lot of things to do.”

There was no warmth in her voice, no hint of the affection he once thought belonged to him. She spoke to him as if he were a mere colleague, not the man whose name was being linked to hers for marriage.

But before walking away, she turned once more—this time to Kiaan Roy. Her lips curled into an easy smile, one that Akash hadn’t seen directed at him in what felt like ages.

“Once again, I congratulate you. All the best, Roy. I know you can do a better job than Akash.”

The words landed like a blade, precise and merciless.

A flicker of something unreadable passed through Kiaan Roy’s sharp eyes. He leaned back slightly, offering Chitrakshi a small, knowing smile before replying, “I will try, Chitra.”

That name.

“Chitra.”

It slipped from his lips with the ease of someone who had said it a thousand times before, someone who knew exactly how it would sound when spoken aloud. A name that belonged to their past, their history—something Akash was never a part of.

A dull ache settled in Akash’s chest. He was no fool.

This wasn’t just a friendly reunion.

Something deeper lay beneath the surface, something he had not been prepared for. And as he followed Chitrakshi out of the room, one thought burned in his mind—was he truly the man meant to stand by her side, or was he merely a placeholder for someone she had never truly let go of?

As Chitrakshi Sen and Akash Pal stepped out of the meeting room, the air between them carried an unspoken tension, the kind that lingered like an unfinished conversation. Just as they reached the corridor, Chitrakshi suddenly paused.

“One sec,” she murmured, her voice light yet decisive.

Before Akash could respond, she turned on her heel and walked back into the meeting room, leaving him standing there. Frowning slightly, he watched through the transparent glass wall as she approached Kiaan Roy. And then, to his utter astonishment, she wrapped her arms around him in a brief but unmistakably affectionate embrace.

Akash’s fingers tightened around the file he was holding. His heartbeat slowed, heavy and deliberate, as the words he had overheard earlier echoed in his mind. Chitra. Roy. Her ex-boyfriend.

By the time Chitrakshi returned and they both slipped into the car, the moment had already set deep within him like an unwanted seed. The car’s interior was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant murmur of the city beyond the windshield. Akash didn’t speak. He simply stared out of the window, his expression unreadable, his mind replaying the scene over and over.

Chitrakshi stole a glance at him as she steered the car through the streets. The silence stretched between them, growing thicker with every second. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she broke it.

“Akash?” Her voice was soft yet probing. “Are you okay?”

His lips parted, but for a moment, no words came. Then, with forced composure, he replied, “I’m all okay. What about you? Are you okay?”

A faint crease appeared on her brow as she turned to him briefly before refocusing on the road. “What happened to me? I’m fine. Why would you ask me that?” Her tone had an edge to it now, a subtle wariness.

Akash let out a slow breath, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee. “I was trying to reach you,” he said, his voice measured but laced with something unspoken. “You didn’t reply to my messages properly. I waited for your call, but you never called me back. And when I tried calling you, your phone was busy—multiple times.”

Chitrakshi remained silent, her gaze fixed ahead.

“If you were busy, all you had to do was text me and say, ‘Akash, I’m busy, I’ll call you later.’ That’s it. I would’ve understood. But you didn’t,” he continued, his voice now carrying the weight of disappointment. He turned to look at her, searching her face for something—anything—that could explain the distance he was beginning to feel.

A pause. Then, more quietly, he asked, “Am I boring to you, Chitrakshi? Or is there something else?”

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she picked up her phone, her fingers moving over the screen as if the conversation didn’t concern her. Her face remained impassive, her attention seemingly elsewhere.

Akash watched her, his chest tightening. She was shutting him out, and he could feel it. The silence between them was no longer just a pause—it was a wall.

And he had no idea how to break through it.

The drive to the shopping mall was quiet—too quiet. The only sounds were the rhythmic clicking of Chitrakshi Sen’s fingers against her phone screen and the occasional honk of traffic outside. Akash Pal sat beside her, his gaze flickering between her and the passing streets, his thoughts entangled in a web of doubt.

Something had changed. He could feel it.

Since the moment they left the meeting room, she had been distant—her attention drawn not to him, but to the glowing screen in her hands. She hadn’t once looked at him, not even when he tried to engage her in conversation. The silence between them wasn’t comfortable; it was heavy, thick with unspoken words.

When they reached the mall, Akash was the first to step out of the car and pulled open the door for Chitrakshi, the way he always did—a small act of chivalry he never failed to offer. But even then, she barely acknowledged him. She stepped out with her eyes still glued to her phone, fingers typing away, a faint smile curving her lips at whatever was on the screen.

Akash’s chest tightened.

He had been watching her, trying to find some trace of warmth in her eyes, some sign that everything was fine between them. But she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Not once.

As they walked into the mall, Akash’s mind swirled with restless thoughts. His footsteps felt heavier, his heart weighed down by an unease he couldn’t shake off.

Had he done something wrong?

Had his family?

He turned to her, his voice low but insistent. “Chitrakshi… did I do something wrong?”

She didn’t respond.

“Did my family say something to your father?” he tried again, his voice edged with worry.

Still, she gave him nothing.

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside. A soft chime rang as the doors closed, enclosing them in a small, mirrored space. Akash turned to her again, searching her face for answers.

“Chitrakshi—”

“Hush,” she cut him off, not even glancing up from her phone. “Be quiet. We’re in the elevator.”

Her voice was calm, dismissive. As if his concerns were trivial. As if they didn’t matter.

Akash swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He watched as she continued to type, a soft smile playing at the corners of her lips. The sight of that smile, meant for someone else, gnawed at him.

It wasn’t just her silence that disturbed him. It was the way she had changed.

Never before had she been this engrossed in her phone when they were together. Never before had she ignored his questions as if he were a stranger. Their relationship had blossomed from a deep friendship, built over months of conversations, laughter, and understanding. And yet, in a matter of hours, it felt like she had become someone he no longer recognized.

Akash’s thoughts spiraled, connecting the dots, searching for a reason behind her coldness.

Kiaan Roy.

The name burned in his mind like an ember refusing to fade. Could he be the reason for her strange behavior? The way she had embraced Kiaan back in the meeting room—so easily, so naturally—was now an image Akash couldn’t erase. Was she reminiscing about her past with him? Had he somehow found his way back into her heart?

A deep silence filled the elevator as it ascended, broken only by the soft chime of incoming messages on Chitrakshi’s phone.

And then, without warning, she lifted her head and stared at Akash.

Her gaze was piercing, unblinking.

There was no anger in her eyes, nor was there affection. Just an unreadable intensity, like she was searching for something within him that she wasn’t sure she would find.

Akash held her gaze, waiting—hoping—that she would finally speak.

But just as suddenly as she had turned to him, she looked away.

As if he didn’t exist.

As if they were nothing.

Akash felt a cold emptiness settle within him, a stark contrast to the warmth he had once known in her presence. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to remain silent. He had always believed that love was built on understanding, on trust. But now, standing beside her in that small elevator, he realized something unsettling.

Sometimes, the most painful distance wasn’t measured in miles.

It was measured in silence.

The shopping mall buzzed with life—couples strolling hand in hand, groups of friends laughing, children tugging at their parents’ hands in excitement. The air carried the faint scent of expensive perfume and freshly pressed fabrics. But for Akash Pal, none of it mattered.

What should have been an enjoyable outing felt more like an endurance test.

As they moved from one boutique to another, Akash watched as Chitrakshi Sen scanned the racks with practiced ease. She picked out dresses, skirts, accessories—one item after another. And each time, she turned to him, holding up a dress against her frame, tilting her head slightly with a casual, almost detached curiosity.

“How is it for me?” she would ask.

At first, Akash responded earnestly. He took his time, assessing the choices, picturing how each fabric would complement her. But every suggestion he made—every approval, every hesitation—was met with the same result.

She didn’t care.

If he liked a dress, she dismissed it with a simple “Hmm” before putting it back on the rack. If he didn’t like something, she smirked, shrugged, and took it straight to the cashier.

It was as if his opinion didn’t matter at all.

After the third or fourth time, Akash felt a tightness creep into his chest. His hands slipped into his pockets as he watched her move through the store, selecting pieces he had clearly shown disinterest in.

His presence here—was it even necessary?

He followed her, his expression unreadable, but inside, his thoughts twisted into knots. The ease with which she disregarded him gnawed at him, adding fuel to the frustration already simmering beneath the surface.

Hadn’t she once cared about his opinions? About what he thought?

It wasn’t about the clothes—it never was. It was about how effortlessly she seemed to erase his presence, how she was here with him, yet so far away.

When they reached the checkout counter, Chitrakshi handed over the pile of clothes she had chosen, barely sparing Akash a glance. He stood beside her in silence, his gaze drifting over the vibrant bags, the neatly folded purchases—each one a reminder of how little his voice had mattered today.

As the cashier handed her the bill, Chitrakshi glanced at her phone once again, typing something quickly before slipping it back into her purse.

Akash swallowed the lump in his throat.

Shopping had never been a big deal to him. But today, it felt like something more.

It felt like a metaphor for everything that was shifting between them—like he was being edged out of a space he once belonged in.

And the worst part?

She didn’t even notice.

The drive back to Chitrakshi’s home was as quiet as their shopping had been. The car moved smoothly through the dimly lit streets, the city lights flickering past the windshield like silent witnesses to the growing distance between them. Akash Pal kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed ahead, but his mind was anything but still.

Chitrakshi sat beside him, her attention once again drifting to her phone, her fingers typing away with effortless ease. Every now and then, she let out a soft chuckle at whatever conversation was unfolding on her screen.

Akash, on the other hand, could feel the weight of the evening pressing down on him. The unanswered questions. The cold dismissals. The way she had shut him out without a second thought.

When they finally pulled up in front of her house, Akash exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that had settled in his chest. He turned slightly, forcing a small smile. “Good night, Chitrakshi.”

She looked at him then, her expression unreadable. And for a brief moment, just as she was about to step out, she hesitated. Then, turning back to face him, she said, “Akash Pal, from tomorrow, you don’t have to come to the office.”

Akash blinked, taken aback. His lips parted as he instinctively began to ask, But why—

Before he could finish, she smoothly continued, closing the small pause between her words as if anticipating his question.

“Directly come and pick me up from home.”

Her tone was light, casual, as if she were merely adjusting a minor routine, but something about it felt… deliberate. As if she didn’t want to hear his questions, let alone answer them.

Akash’s brows furrowed slightly, but he nodded. “Alright,” he murmured, though his mind was far from settled.

Chitrakshi lingered for just a second longer, then turned without another word, walking up the steps to her house. Akash watched her disappear behind the grand doors, the soft glow of the porch light casting long shadows against the pavement.

A deep sigh escaped his lips.

Something was shifting between them.

And he wasn’t sure if he was ready for where it was leading.

The Meeting of Two Families

The journey to the Pal residence was a stark contrast to the grandeur of the Sen estate. Where the Sens lived in a sprawling mansion filled with books and history, the Pal household was a humble, cozy home, lined with shelves of old textbooks and the fragrance of incense lingering in the air.

Ajay Prakash Pal, a retired schoolteacher, sat on the modest sofa with his wife, Jayati Pal, a devoted homemaker. They were simple people, living a life of quiet dignity, unaware that fate had chosen their son to be part of a world so different from their own.

When Bipin Sen and his family arrived, dressed in elegant yet traditional attire, the Pals welcomed them with open arms, though a quiet nervousness lingered in the air. They had never expected a family of such stature to step into their home—not as publishers, not as elite figures of Kolkata, but as equals, as future in-laws.

After the initial pleasantries and cups of steaming tea, Bipin Sen spoke, his voice warm yet authoritative.

“We have come with a proposal,” he said, his eyes settling on Ajay Prakash Pal. “Chitrakshi and Akash have built something beautiful together. They understand each other, they respect each other. It is time to honor their bond with marriage.”

A silence settled over the room, but it was not one of hesitation. It was the silence of awe, of gratitude, of disbelief that such fortune had come upon the Pal family.

Jayati Pal, her hands folded in her lap, looked at her husband, then at her son. Akash sat quietly, his gaze lowered, but a soft smile playing at his lips. His parents knew their son. They knew the fire in his heart, the struggle he had faced to be accepted in the world of literature. And now, here sat one of the most powerful families in Kolkata, not as benefactors, not as gatekeepers of an elite world, but as people who saw Akash as worthy—not just as a writer, but as a man, as a son-in-law.

Ajay Prakash Pal cleared his throat, his voice slightly unsteady. “Mr. Sen,” he said humbly, “this is beyond anything we could have imagined. We are honored—truly honored.”

Bipin Sen smiled. “Then it is settled.”

The Wedding Date is Set

The conversation flowed easily after that, filled with laughter and shared dreams. Discussions of dates, venues, traditions, and ceremonies soon followed. The Sen family assured the Pals that their son would be honored and respected, just as per Indian tradition, where the groom’s family was to be given the utmost respect and reverence.

By the time the evening had deepened, and the final details had been agreed upon, the Sen family rose to take their leave.

Before stepping out, Bipin Sen turned to Ajay Prakash Pal and Jayati Pal, his hands pressed together in a namaste.

“With due respect and honor, we thank you for accepting our proposal,” he said. “From this day forth, we are not two families—we are one.”

As the Sen family departed, the Pal household remained bathed in the quiet glow of joy, of disbelief, of the surreal realization that their son—once an unknown writer fighting for recognition—was now to be wed into one of Kolkata’s most renowned families.

And as for Akash, he stood by the window, watching the Sens’ car disappear into the night, his heart thudding with an excitement he had never known before.

Chitrakshi Sen was to be his wife.

And their story—one that began with struggle and ink—was about to take its most beautiful turn yet.

The news had been conveyed to Chitrakshi Sen, but to the astonishment of her family, it did not bring the expected blush to her cheeks. No radiant smile, no sparkle of excitement in her eyes—only a distant look, a quiet tension that settled over her delicate features. Instead of the joy they had anticipated, an unusual unease seemed to grip her, as though the weight of the moment pressed down heavier than anyone had imagined.

Akash Pal, eager to feel the warmth of her happiness, reached for his phone and dialed her number. His heart raced slightly as he waited, imagining the delight in her voice, the shyness that would color her words. But the call barely connected before she picked up and curtly said, “I’m in a meeting. I’ll call you later.” The line went dead before he could respond.

The abruptness of her tone unsettled him. It was not the reaction he had expected. Had she been caught off guard? Was she simply busy? He convinced himself it was nothing, that she would call back soon.

But as the hours slipped by, there was no call.

Growing restless, Akash dialed her number again. This time, the line was busy. He frowned, staring at the screen. Perhaps it was a coincidence. He waited for a while and tried again, but once more, the same response—busy.

A strange uneasiness began to settle in his chest. He was not a man to push, nor one to demand explanations where none were owed. He respected her space. But as the evening turned to night, the silence stretched unbearably. Finally, unable to resist, he called her one last time.

Still busy.

His fingers curled around the phone, his mind a whirlwind of unanswered questions. Was she truly preoccupied, or was she avoiding him? The thought gnawed at him, unsettling the excitement he had felt only hours ago. The very idea of their wedding dates being fixed had once filled him with happiness, but now, a lingering doubt whispered at the edges of his thoughts.

Sleep eluded him that night. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more troubling than the last. What was Chitrakshi thinking? What was keeping her so distant? And most importantly—why did it feel as though something between them had shifted, just when everything was supposed to fall into place?

A Love Written in Ink

A Love Written in Ink

The world saw Chitrakshi Sen and Akash Pal as business partners, a powerful duo that had reshaped Kolkata’s literary landscape. But behind the closed doors of publishing meetings and book signings, something deeper had begun to bloom—something unspoken, yet undeniable.

At first, Chitrakshi convinced herself that what she felt for Akash was admiration. She had read every word he had ever written, memorized the way his sentences bled emotion onto the page. His stories weren’t just fiction; they were pieces of his soul laid bare for the world to see.

But somewhere along the way, admiration became longing.

Whenever he entered her office, she would find herself watching him a little too closely—the way his eyes darkened when he spoke of a story idea, the way his hands moved as if shaping invisible worlds. She would feel the absence of his presence when he wasn’t around, the silence stretching too long, too empty.

And then one evening, everything changed.

The Confession Under the Stars

It was after a long day at the Sen estate, where their families had gathered for dinner. Chitrakshi and Akash had stepped onto the terrace, the city stretching before them in a sea of golden lights.

“You know,” Akash said, leaning against the railing, “I used to hate this world.”

Chitrakshi turned to him. “Which world?”

“The world of publishers. The world you come from.” His lips curled slightly. “I thought it was all about power and privilege. I never imagined I would find someone like you in it.”

She smiled faintly. “And what kind of person am I?”

He looked at her then—really looked at her—and in that moment, she felt stripped bare, as if he could see every thought, every secret desire she had buried.

“The kind of person who changes everything,” he said softly.

The night air was cool, but Chitrakshi felt warmth spread through her.

“Akash…” She hesitated. The weight of her feelings pressed against her chest, demanding to be spoken. “I feel your words more than I have ever felt anyone else’s. When I read your stories, I see you. Not just as a writer, but as… as someone I—”

She stopped, afraid to say it.

But he already knew.

He reached for her hand, his fingers brushing against hers—hesitant at first, then firm.

“Say it,” he murmured.

Her heart pounded. She had spent her life being careful, controlled, measured. But this man—this beautiful, stubborn, brilliant man—made her want to let go.

“I love you,” she whispered.

A slow smile spread across Akash’s face, his dark eyes shining with something unreadable, yet intense. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her fingers.

“I love you too, Chitrakshi,” he said. “I think I always have.”

And in that moment, the city of Kolkata, with all its noise and chaos, disappeared—leaving only them, two souls woven together by words, by passion, by fate.

Love Between the Pages and the Distance

Beyond the world of publishing, beyond the towering bookshelves and the ink-stained contracts, Chitrakshi Sen and Akash Pal found a world of their own—a world that existed in stolen moments, endless conversations, and the quiet intimacy of words exchanged across distances.

They were two souls drawn together, not just by literature but by the simple, undeniable joy of each other’s presence.

When they were apart, distance never felt like separation.

Their voices bridged the miles between them, their laughter echoing through the static of late-night calls.

Conversations That Never Ended

“Did you eat?” Chitrakshi’s voice was soft over the phone one evening, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on her bedsheet as she lay beneath the warm glow of her bedside lamp.

Akash chuckled. “I was waiting for you to ask.”

She sighed. “You always forget.”

“No,” he said, stretching on his couch, his manuscript abandoned beside him. “I just like hearing you remind me.”

A pause. A soft smile played on Chitrakshi’s lips.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Fine. I do.”

Their conversations drifted from the ordinary to the profound. They spoke of dreams—the books Akash would write, the new ventures Chitrakshi wanted to launch. They shared stories from childhood, fragments of memories that painted pictures of their past.

They debated over literature, argued playfully about favorite authors.

“Tagore or Sarat Chandra?” Akash challenged one night.

“Tagore,” she answered immediately.

Akash groaned dramatically. “You’re so predictable, Ms. Sen.”

Chitrakshi smirked. “And yet, you adore me.”

“Unfortunately,” he teased, “I do.”

These conversations stretched into the early hours, until their voices grew drowsy, until Chitrakshi would murmur, “Stay on the line,” and Akash, with a lazy smile, would say, “Always.”

Hanging Around the City That Knew Their Love

When time allowed, they wandered through the streets of Kolkata, finding solace in the simplest of things.

They walked along the Hooghly River, watching the waters shimmer under the twilight sky. Akash would steal glances at her, the wind playing with her hair, the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

They sat at their favorite tea stall near College Street, sipping chai and watching students and writers weave through the city’s literary heart.

“Do you think anyone will talk about us like this one day?” Akash mused, watching a group of young aspiring poets discuss heatedly over a newly released book.

Chitrakshi smirked. “You mean, will we become legendary lovers? The writer and his publisher?”

“Why not?” Akash grinned. “People will say, ‘Once upon a time, in the heart of Kolkata, there was a man who wrote, and a woman who believed in his words more than he did himself.’”

She laughed. “A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Akash leaned in slightly, his voice softer now. “No. Just the truth.”

And in that moment, beneath the warm glow of streetlights, in the middle of a city that thrived on stories, they became one.

Not just as lovers, but as two people whose souls had found a home in each other—in words, in laughter, in quiet companionship that needed no explanation.

A Love Beyond Class and Status

Their relationship, once hidden in the folds of stolen glances and lingering touches, soon became a story everyone adored.

Their families, despite coming from different worlds, saw the undeniable bond between them. The Sen family—proud, elite, and deeply rooted in Kolkata’s literary legacy—welcomed Akash not just as a business partner, but as a son.

And the Pal family, who had once struggled to make ends meet, now saw their son not as a dreamer but as a man who had turned his dreams into reality. They saw the way Chitrakshi looked at him, with pride, with admiration, with a love that transcended wealth and name.

The elite of Kolkata, the publishing giants who once dismissed Akash as an outsider, now whispered his name with respect and reverence. He was no longer just an emerging writer—he was a literary sensation, a man who had defied the odds, standing tall beside the woman who had once been his greatest challenge.

They were inseparable—in love, in literature, in life.

They were one step away from marriage, and the city awaited the grand union of the writer and the publisher, the poet and his muse.

A Marriage Written in the Stars

Bipin Sen had always been a man of vision. He had built the Sen family’s publishing empire with his own hands, nurtured its legacy, and guided his daughter, Chitrakshi, to take the helm. But he was also a father—a father who had watched his daughter’s heart find a home in a man whose only wealth was his words.

And now, it was time.

One evening, as the golden sun dipped behind the old colonial buildings of Kolkata, casting a warm glow over the city, Bipin Sen gathered his family. Seated in their grand ancestral home, he spoke with the same authority that once commanded the greatest minds in publishing.

“They have spent enough time getting to know each other,” he said, his gaze steady. “Now it is time for them to build a family.”

Chitrakshi, seated beside her mother, felt her heart quicken. She glanced at her father, a mixture of nervousness and excitement settling in her chest. She had known this moment would come, but hearing it aloud made everything feel… real.

Her mother, Pratima Sen, smiled knowingly. “You’re right, babu. We should speak to Akash’s family and make this union official.”And so, the Sen family prepared to visit the Pal household.

Akash Pal has said “My Time Has Come”

The Kolkata Book Fair had opened its gates to the public, and like every year, the crowd had poured in, an endless wave of book lovers, scholars, aspiring writers, and curious souls searching for stories that spoke to them.

Under the golden winter sun, the Sen Publishing House’s pavilion stood in its usual grandeur, a literary temple where only the most prestigious works found a place. But this year, something was different.

Amidst the well-known titles, nestled between the books of acclaimed authors, a single, unassuming book stood on display—its cover simple, its name bold yet unfamiliar.

“My Time Has Come” by Akash Pal.

At first, no one noticed. It sat there quietly, waiting.

But then, the whispers began.

A Book No One Expected, A Story No One Saw Coming

A young college student browsing through the shelves picked it up, drawn by the title. He flipped through the pages, his curiosity deepening with every line he read. Intrigued, he carried it to the counter.

Then, a middle-aged woman looking for fresh voices in literature spotted it and bought a copy.

A group of aspiring writers, hungry for something real, passed it among themselves, their excitement growing.

By noon, word had spread.

Readers who had purchased it earlier in the day returned, their eyes shining with something rare—the thrill of discovery. They recommended it to strangers, spoke of it in hushed yet urgent tones. “You must read this.” The book had something—a rawness, a truth that resonated beyond polished words.

And then, it happened.

One order became ten. Ten became fifty. By the evening, the bookstall was overwhelmed with requests.

“Do you have more copies of ‘My Time Has Come’?” a woman asked breathlessly, clutching the last available copy.

The staff exchanged glances. They hadn’t anticipated this. No one had.

Except for one person.

The Call That Changed Everything

Far from the bustling fairgrounds, in a small rented apartment where the walls were lined with manuscripts that had never been published, Akash Pal sat alone, staring at his laptop screen, contemplating his next move in a world that had shut its doors on him.

Then, his phone rang.

The number was unfamiliar, the voice on the other end cool and composed.

“Mr. Pal, this is Chitrakshi Sen.”

Akash sat up, his grip tightening around the phone. “What?”

There was a slight pause before she continued. “I assume you have heard?”

“Heard what?” Akash frowned, his mind racing.

There was a soft sigh, as if she had expected him to be clueless. “Your book. ‘My Time Has Come.’ It’s selling faster than any of us predicted.”

Akash’s breath caught. “What?” he repeated, but this time, his voice was softer, unsure.

“We have received more orders than other books we had displayed in the book fair.” Her voice was unwavering, professional, but there was something beneath it—something resolute. “I wanted you to know.”

For a moment, Akash couldn’t speak.

He had spent years trying, failing, convincing himself that perhaps his words would never mean anything to anyone. And yet, here he was, receiving a phone call from the woman who belonged to the literary empire he had just accused of shutting people like him out.

“This… this doesn’t make sense,” he muttered, shaking his head. “No one even knew my book existed.”

“Until I made them see it,” Chitrakshi replied, a hint of challenge in her tone. “I believed in your work before you did, Mr. Pal.”

Akash pressed his fingers against his temple. This had to be a dream.

“What do you want from me?” he asked finally.

Chitrakshi’s voice was calm, yet firm. “I want you to meet me.”

“Why?”

“So we can talk about your upcoming writings.”

Akash exhaled, his mind still struggling to process the whirlwind of events.

Then, after a long pause, he murmured, “Where and when?”

A slight smile played on Chitrakshi’s lips as she leaned back in her chair.

“Tomorrow. My office. 10 a.m. sharp.”

And just like that, Akash Pal’s life was no longer his own. It had begun.

The Rise of Akash Pal

The next morning, Akash Pal walked into the grand office of Chitrakshi Sen, unsure of what awaited him. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, the scent of old paper and fresh ink filling the air. This was the heart of the Sen Publishing Empire, where only the finest literary works had ever found a home.

And now, somehow, his book was part of it.

Across the polished wooden desk, Chitrakshi Sen sat with her usual composed elegance. Dressed in a deep blue saree, she looked every bit the woman who had been born into literary royalty. But her eyes—sharp, intelligent, and unreadable—rested on Akash with an intensity that unsettled him.

She slid a document across the desk.

“Read it,” she said.

Akash picked up the pages, his eyes scanning the words. It was an agreement—one unlike any he had seen before.

“Wait…” he frowned. “This says you’ll publish my books… for free?”

Chitrakshi nodded. “Yes.”

He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” she said simply. “I believe in your work, Mr. Pal. And I know what it feels like to have talent that no one sees.”

Akash narrowed his eyes. “You? The great Chitrakshi Sen? You don’t know struggle.”

A flicker of something crossed her face, but it was gone before he could catch it.

“I know what it means to be trapped in expectations,” she said. “To be told who you should be, instead of who you could be.”

For the first time, Akash saw something beyond the polished heiress. Something real.

“And you think I could be…?”

She leaned forward slightly. “A writer who shakes the foundations of the literary world.”

Akash swallowed. He had fought for so long, struggled against rejection, convinced himself that he was alone. But here was this woman—this powerful woman—who saw something in him he wasn’t sure he saw in himself.

He exhaled. “What’s in it for you?”

Chitrakshi smiled, just a little. “Sen Publishing will take only a minimal profit share. The rest is yours.”

His heart pounded. This was real. His dream—one he had almost given up on—was unfolding before him.

He extended his hand.

“You have a deal, Ms. Sen.”

A Star Is Born

Under Chitrakshi Sen’s guidance, the books of Akash Pal began to flood the market.

“My Time Has Come” was just the beginning. One by one, his unpublished works saw the light of day, and Chitrakshi ensured that each book received the attention it deserved.

She put the best marketing minds on his work. She held exclusive readings and invited the most influential critics. She used the power of the Sen name to push his books into every bookstore, every literary discussion.

And the world responded.

Within months, Akash Pal became a name that readers whispered with excitement. His books, raw and deeply personal, spoke to a generation that had long been unheard.

Sales skyrocketed. Reviews poured in. Literary circles, once closed to him, began to open their doors.

And then, something unexpected happened.

The Call from Kozhikode

One evening, Akash’s phone rang. The number was unfamiliar, but something told him to pick up.

“Mr. Pal?” a deep voice said on the other end. “This is Arvind Menon from Malabar Publishing House, Kozhikode.”

Akash sat up. He knew that name. Malabar Publishing was one of the most prestigious literary houses in South India—a giant in the City of Literature.

“We have been following your work,” Menon continued. “Your books are making waves, even beyond Bengal.”

Akash felt his throat go dry.

“We want to offer you a deal,” Menon said. “A very good profit-sharing arrangement. We want to publish your old books, your new books—everything.”

Akash barely breathed.

For years, he had begged for someone to take a chance on him. And now, one of the biggest publishers in the country was offering him a golden opportunity.

“You would have complete creative control,” Menon added. “And full marketing support. We believe you’re going to change Indian literature.”

Akash ran a hand through his hair.

He had fought for this. He had bled for this.

But none of it would have been possible without one person.

Chitrakshi Sen.

He had accused her of being just another privileged elite. But she had done what no one else had.

She had believed in him before he believed in himself.

A New Chapter

Akash Pal closed his eyes for a moment.

His time had come.

But now, he had a choice to make.

Would he leave behind the woman who made it possible?Or was this only the beginning of something even greater—together?. Akash Pal chose to allow his books to be published and sold through Malabar Publishing also, nevertheless this decision does not impact the partnership with Chitrakshi Sen.