THE ECHO OF UNFINISHED DREAM!!💫

Hyderabad, a city that never stood still, was home to dreamers. Among them were Suhani and Rohan—two people bound by ambition, each chasing something bigger than themselves.

Suhani was a journalist, always running from one deadline to another, weaving stories that made people think, question, and sometimes, feel. She thrived on the pulse of the city, the chaos of the streets, the endless hum of conversations in chai stalls. Every morning, she woke up with a purpose—to find the next big story, to give voice to something unseen.

Rohan, on the other hand, was an entrepreneur in the making. He had no patience for routine, no desire to be stuck in the predictability of a paycheck. He was building something—something that didn’t exist yet, but lived in his mind like a half-formed song. While others found comfort in stability, he found it in the uncertainty of what could be.

They met on an unusually quiet evening at a bookstore in Jubilee Hills. Suhani was flipping through a book on world politics; Rohan was scanning the business section. It was one of those accidental meetings that didn’t change lives but left an imprint.

Rohan first noticed her . She stood near a book shelf , wearing a navy blue chikankari kurti, her silver jhumkas swaying gently as she turned her head. A few glass bangles clinked softly on her wrist as she absentmindedly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. But it was her eyes that held him for a moment—deep, thoughtful, carrying a quiet kind of intensity, as if she was lost in a world of her own.

When Suhani’s gaze lifted, she saw a man standing near a book shelf, dressed in a simple black cotton shirt with sleeves rolled up just enough to look effortless. He wasn’t someone who stood out in a crowd, yet there was something about him—a quiet presence, a kind face. His eyes were steady, observant but not intimidating, as if he was always thinking about something just beyond the conversation. His slightly ruffled hair and the way he stood, hands in pockets, made him seem both ordinary and yet… different.

For a brief second, their eyes met. And though neither of them smiled or spoke, something lingered in the air—unspoken, undefined, yet undeniably present.

“You think books can teach you how to build a business?” Suhani had teased, glancing at the title in his hand.

Rohan smirked. “You think words can change the world?”

That was how it began—not as friends, not as lovers, but as two people who understood what it meant to be restless, to want more, to live in constant pursuit of something just out of reach.

Over time, they became familiar with each other’s routines. Sometimes, they’d meet at a roadside stall, exchanging thoughts between sips of chai. Other times, it was a late-night walk along Tank Bund, talking about ideas that kept them awake at night.

But the thing about ambition is that it rarely waits. Suhani got a chance to work on an international project, one that required her to travel. Rohan’s startup finally found investors, pulling him deeper into a world where time wasn’t his own.

There was no dramatic goodbye, no promises made. Just an understanding—that dreams had a way of pulling people in different directions.

One evening, months later, Suhani sat in a café in a different city, scrolling through her emails. A news article popped up on her screen—an interview with Rohan, speaking about his company’s success. She smiled, not out of nostalgia, but out of something deeper—recognition.

Somewhere, in another part of the world, Rohan was probably reading one of her articles, nodding to himself, knowing she had reached where she was meant to be.

Months turned into years, and Hyderabad continued to breathe, to change, to remain. The city had always been a witness—to ambitions, to arrivals and departures, to stories that never really found an ending.

Suhani’s career had taken her across continents. She had seen the world through different lenses, reported from war zones, written stories that made headlines. But no matter where she went, Hyderabad was a constant hum in the background of her mind—the scent of monsoon rain on warm pavement, the laughter in Irani cafés, the long drives past the city lights that once felt like they belonged only to her.

Rohan’s journey had been different, but just as relentless. His startup had grown beyond what he imagined, stretching across cities, earning recognition, demanding all of him. Success had a strange way of feeling both fulfilling and empty. Some nights, even in rooms full of people, he felt the weight of something missing—not a person, not a moment, but perhaps a version of himself that had existed before everything had begun.

One evening, years later, Suhani found herself back in Hyderabad for a short assignment. It was unplanned, like most of the things that mattered in life. As she walked through the familiar lanes of the old city, she felt time blur—memories surfacing, conversations echoing in the streets she once knew so well.

At a quiet café tucked away in Banjara Hills, she ordered her usual—cutting chai and Osmania biscuits. The place had changed a little, but the feeling remained.

And then, a voice. Familiar, yet different.

“You still believe words can change the world?”

She looked up.

Rohan stood there, a little older, a little more worn by time, but still carrying the same fire in his eyes.

A small smile played on her lips. “You still think books can teach you how to build a business?”

He laughed, shaking his head as he pulled out a chair. There was no surprise in their meeting, no dramatics. Just an understanding that some people, some stories, never truly leave—no matter how far they go.

They talked, as if time hadn’t stretched between them. Not about the past, not about regrets, but about the present—about ideas, about what still kept them awake at night, about what came next.

And just like that, the moment passed. There were no promises, no need for them. Their paths might cross again, or maybe they wouldn’t.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, like an old melody neither had forgotten. Hours passed, and neither of them noticed. The city outside moved on—traffic weaved through the streets, tea vendors shouted orders, and the evening air carried the scent of rain.

Suhani leaned back in her chair, stirring the last of her chai. "Do you ever feel like, no matter how far we go, we always circle back here?"

Rohan smirked, tapping his fingers on the table like a musician lost in thought. "Maybe Hyderabad isn't just a city for us. Maybe it's an unfinished chapter we keep revisiting."

She considered that for a moment. "And what happens when we finally finish it?"

He shrugged. "Who says we have to?"

There was something comforting about that answer. Life had taught them both that not everything needed resolution. Some things—some people, some dreams—were meant to exist in fragments, in moments stretched across time.

As the café began to empty, Suhani checked her phone. Her flight was in a few hours. The assignment that had brought her back to Hyderabad was over, and just like always, it was time to leave.

Rohan caught the glance and smiled knowingly. "Leaving already?"

She nodded. "Duty calls."

He didn’t ask when she’d be back. She didn’t ask if he’d still be here. Those questions didn’t matter anymore.

Instead, as they stepped out of the café, they walked in silence for a while. The streets, alive with neon lights and honking rickshaws, felt familiar yet distant, like a place they belonged to but no longer needed to claim.

At the crossroads, where their paths would inevitably split once again, Suhani turned to him. "You know, if this were a story, people would want a proper ending."

Rohan chuckled. "Good thing we never cared about that."

She laughed, shaking her head, and then, without any goodbyes, she hailed an auto and disappeared into the city.

Rohan stood there for a moment before slipping his hands into his pockets and walking in the opposite direction.

The city didn’t stop for them. The stories around them continued. And somewhere, beneath the glow of the streetlights, their unfinished tale remained—woven into the rhythm of Hyderabad, existing in conversations yet to happen, in dreams yet to be chased.

No ending, No finality.Just a story that would always be waiting to be picked up again!!