In a time when radios played Lata's songs and letters carried feelings deeper than words ever could, she met him— on the first day of college, that was twenty years after India got independence. He wasn’t a freedom fighter, but he freed something in her. A smile. A feeling. A love she never dared to name. He loved sitars when the world had moved to guitars. He loved books, children, music... and she? She loved him. Quietly. Completely. From behind the veil of silence every sanskaari girl was taught to wear at that time. He was the boy every girl admired. She was the girl that quite girl who changed herself, bit by bit, just to be noticed. While he chased dreams and disappeared into the world, she stayed behind— with ink-stained fingers and a heart that beat only for him. She doesn't know where he is now. But she remembers the way he looked at her once, like she mattered. And now, decades later, all she has are her memories… and a diary that was never about her. It was always about Him.