"Why did you call me?" Aditya asked nonchalantly, his gaze fixed on his grandfather.
"Why? Can't I miss my grandson without a reason?" Harivansh replied, a playful smile tugging at his lips.
I won't ask
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Dear Diary... I dreamt of Him. Again... It's been three years since he left this city and moved somewhere. I don't even know where he is. I don't know how he is doing, whether he has been married, or where he is. All I know is How he used to smile, How he used to laugh, How he used to look at me. But I don't know if he still loves Meethi Jalebi and Pheeki Chai, if he still loves children, if he still loves the smell of books, or if he still loves music. I met him in college, He taught me what a crush means and then what a Love looks like. He was the type of man whom any woman could love. Ankhein bhale hi kaali thi uski, Par kuch andhere sa nahi tha. (Even though his eyes were black, there was nothing dark about them.) Guitars ka bohot shauk chadha tha university k ladko ko us samay, Par Vo pagal to Sitar pe hi ataka tha. (At that time, the university boys were very fond of guitars, but this idiot was stuck on the sitar) His voice was so melodious as if he was the personal singer of God. I still remember how I met him 6 years ago, and then those 3 years became everything for me. I still remember the day, when I used to bunk classes just for his glimpse. He was one of the most famous guys in the college, and I used to hate drawing or giving unnecessary attention. But I wanted him to notice me. Kya kya nahi kiya uske liye... sajna sawarna, taking part in extracurricular activities. I was the shyest girl and his attention made me do everything that I hated. (What didn't I do for him...all dolled up) Isi Chakkar me voh toh kuch ban gaye aur hum unpe kitaabein hi likhte reh gaye. (In this process, he became successful and I kept writing books that were only about him) Vo Banaras ki Holi aur Ayodhya ki Diwali sa tha... Kabhi pheeka hi nahi padta tha. (He was like the Holi of Banaras and Diwali of Ayodhya... Never Paled) Aur main Barsaat k us mausam si jo Boondon se dhal jaati aur suraj ki ek kiran se nikhar. (And I was like the rainy season which faded away with drops and brightened with a ray of sun.) Agar ishq ka koi insaani chehara hota.. Toh usi ki tarh hota. (If Love had a face... then It would have been exactly Like Him) You must be curious, Right? Who is this Guy? Who am I? What happened between us? Were we a couple? Happy ending or Sad ending? Then let's read my diary together... where I have mentioned... Only Him. This is not "My Dear Diary" This is "Dear Him" This is "The Story of 1970s" When I saw Him for the first time. . . . (Ps- Only the Prologue is written in Hindi+English, Other than the Prologue, The complete book will be written in English.)
"What’s your name?” He asked her in a straight cold tone. Akshita and all the employees stared at him as if he was a GHOST, but he kept looking at her with an emotionless face. “Ask her for her name”, he ordered the girl, his voice indicating danger. “Wh…What is…is your name Miss?” the girl asked Akshita, stuttering out of fear. “Ak...Akshita” she replied, looking anywhere but at him, blinking her eyes to stop her tears. Fortunately, she was successful. What kind of woman would like it when her husband asks for her name, 4 months after their marriage! That too in front of all those people who know about their relationship? “Full Name” He commands. “Akshita Raghuvanshi”, she replies again. The girl’s eyes widened in realization. “I said FULL. NAME.” He ordered furiously, stressing on the last two words. “Akshita Ekansh Raghuvanshi” she replied again, this time looking down. The name itself gives shivers. “Mrs. Akshita Ekansh Raghuvanshi” He states every word clearly, looking at Akshita. She snaps her head towards him in an instant, shock and confusion evident in her expressions. Her full name, from his mouth, created a domination aura around the place. It gave her butterflies, his name with hers, as one.
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