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"Shehar-e-Kalam mein Ishq"-A story dipped in snowfall,silences and shared poetry!!💙❤️

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Shimla, where silence rhymes with snow… Winter wasn’t new to Shimla, but that particular season felt different — like every pine tree held a verse, every snowflake whispered a secret, and every streetlamp dreamed of two strangers destined to meet. In the heart of that city, inside a vintage radio station with creaking wooden floors and old vinyls lining the walls, was RJ Noor — the velvet voice of the hills. He wasn’t your everyday radio jockey. No filmy masala. No loud jingles. He whispered like midnight lullabies. He spoke like your inner thoughts. And when he recited poetry, it felt like the moon had a voice. “तन्हाई जब भी हद से बढ़ती है, मैं तुम्हें पढ़ लेता हूँ, जैसे कोई दुआ सिरहाने रख दी हो बेसब्री में।” — Noor Noor hosted a late-night radio show called “Sheher-e-Kalam” — a sanctuary of poems, heartbreaks, and unspoken letters. His voice came alive post 12 a.m., when the world quieted down enough to hear their own heartbeats. But there was one listener who never misse...
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Strings Of Rain & Heartbeats!!🌧♥️💞

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Bangalore, 10:28 PM The city was wrapping itself in a soft hush. A light drizzle blurred streetlights into amber halos. Metro shutters were down, puddles rippled at every turn, and the distant hum of traffic felt like a memory. Somewhere in Koramangala, behind blue grills and thin curtains, life was unwinding. Her World Ira, 25, Software Developer at a mid-sized firm. Introvert by nature, gentle by default. Her world was books with yellowing pages, indie playlists no one else had heard of, and a drawer filled with chai packets she never shared. She lived on the second floor of a shared flat — Flat 204 — with two girls louder than her playlists. They laughed about HR policies, swapped sheet masks, and tried to get Ira to say more than five words at dinner. She never minded the noise. She simply existed between it — like silence in a well-written line. That day, work had dragged longer than usual. Deadlines, Jira tickets, and one broken build later, she stepped out into the s...
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"In the Rain, We Met Again" It was a quiet August afternoon in Ahmedabad, the kind that softly whispers romance through the rustling trees. The skies were dressed in greys, and the wind flirted with the scent of coming rain. Inside her room, Dhruva lay curled on her beige couch, half-lost in a romantic movie playing on the television. Her long open hair fell over her shoulder, and her fingers absentmindedly played with the ends as her eyes sparkled at the love story unfolding on screen. She had always been like this—romantic, dreamy, full of longing... but never fallen for anyone. Not really. Except for one. Anurag. Her school crush. The quiet boy with messy hair, black specs, and the most sincere eyes. He never knew. She never told. Time did what it always does—moved on. Life happened. College came, friends changed, but some feelings... just stayed. Unspoken. Untouched. Her thoughts were broken when her father called out, “Dhruva, zara sabzi le aana beta. Bhoolna mat. Bhaji ...
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VELVET & GLORY:THE TALE OF ROSE & SUN

It was the first day of spring when the gardener planted the Rose and the Sunflower side by side for the very first time. The Rose was already half in bloom—her velvet petals unfolding in deep crimson layers, glistening with morning dew. She was proud, refined, and carried herself with a quiet grace. The Sunflower, by contrast, was still young, stretching tall and awkward with wide golden petals and an ever-curious face that followed the sun across the sky. For a while, they said nothing to each other. Rose liked the quiet. Sunflower liked the sun. But the garden had a way of making even the shyest blooms speak. One lazy afternoon, as the sun cast golden shadows and bees buzzed in lullaby tones, the Sunflower leaned slightly toward the Rose. Sunflower (cheerfully): "You're quieter than the breeze, Rose. Don’t you ever want to talk?" Rose (calmly): "I speak only when words bloom with meaning, Sunflower. Not everything needs to be said aloud." Sunflower (smiling):...
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Whispers of Windberry Garden:A tale of an unseen friendship and quiet connection!!💫

There was a place in the old town called Windberry Garden. It wasn’t on any map. No signs pointed toward it. People said the garden appeared only to those who needed it, and only when the wind was just right. Vani, a curious girl with a sketchbook always tucked under her arm, found the garden on an early spring morning. She had no intention of finding anything at all—she was only chasing a paper kite that had escaped her balcony. It led her past the old bakery, beyond the forgotten post office, and through a thicket of golden grass. There, nestled between tall hedges and silence, was a wrought-iron gate creaking open to a world of flowers, trees, and stillness. She stepped in. She was not alone—but she didn’t know it yet. Aryan, a quiet boy who loved to read by himself, had stumbled into Windberry Garden the week before. He’d found it while following the soft music of a wind chime. He came to write in his green leather-bound journal, always sitting under the same tree. He never told an...
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