Ravi's finger hovered over the screen for a long time. He couldn't stop staring at the sketch. The man on the hillside was him, and yet, wasn't. The details were too perfect—too specific—to be a coincidence.
He blinked hard and leaned in, as if the distance between them could be shortened by sheer will.
His heart still thudded in his chest, echoing with something unfamiliar, something that felt like an answer waiting at the tip of his tongue. He had felt this pull before, but never like this. Never with such certainty.
He had to know.
He didn't know why. He didn't know how. But he sent a message—something simple, something raw.
"Where did you find this photo?"
He sat back, the weight of his own words sinking in. Was it too strange? Too forward? Would she even respond? He had no idea. But the question—like a seed buried deep in his mind—had to be asked.
Meanwhile, Aira sat at her desk, drifting in a sea of thoughts. She'd posted the sketch hours ago, then fallen asleep with the soft hum of the city outside. But when she woke, she noticed a notification—an unfamiliar name, with a message.
Her fingers hovered over the phone. She couldn't help the small flutter of curiosity that opened her chest.
It was from him. The man who wasn't a stranger but didn't exist in her life—Ravi.
"Where did you find this photo?"
She blinked at the words. It was like hearing her thoughts, like he had stepped into the dream she had been carrying.
She opened her reply, typing slowly.
"I didn't find it. I drew it."
The response felt like a fragile truth, but somehow, it was the only one that made sense.
She sent it.