Abhishek Rana

At twenty-seven, Abhishek Rana is the kind of man people notice without knowing why. He doesn’t speak much, doesn’t smile often, and never explains himself — but his presence speaks louder than most voices ever could. Tall and broad-shouldered, he moves with quiet authority, like someone used to being obeyed without question. His sharp jawline, intense dark eyes, and neatly tousled black hair give him the kind of face that lingers in memory, but it’s the way he holds himself — still, composed, and deeply unreadable — that sets him apart. There’s something dangerous in his silence, something magnetic in the way he watches everything and reveals nothing. He dresses with effortless precision — clean-cut suits, dark shirts, rolled-up sleeves, and a watch always hugging his wrist like it belongs there. His aura is cold, intimidating even, but not cruel. He is a storm with its rage buried deep, a man made of edges — powerful, beautiful, and broken in ways no one dares to ask about.

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Naina Singh

Naina is nineteen, but there's a softness to her that makes her seem younger — not in mind, but in spirit. With her porcelain skin and naturally flushed cheeks, she looks like a painting touched by winter sunlight. Her lips are naturally pink, often tucked into silence, and her lashes are long enough to cast shadows on her face when she lowers her gaze — which she often does. There’s a quiet charm in the way she moves, almost like she’s trying not to take up space. Her voice is sweet, low, and rarely heard, but when she speaks, there’s a gentleness in it that disarms even the harshest silences. Her long, dark hair falls freely down her back, sometimes braided, mostly unstyled, and her wardrobe is filled with soft fabrics and pastel tones — oversized sweaters, cotton kurtis, and casual pajama pants for her online college classes. Slim and petite, she carries herself with a kind of hesitant grace — a girl still adjusting to grief, still holding onto pieces of childhood, and yet trying to grow into a world that feels far too big without anyone beside her.

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It wasn’t meant to be a love story.

Not for him. Not for her.

He had built a life on silence — measured, controlled, untouched by warmth.

Promises were easier than emotions. Distance safer than desire.

And when the time came, he chose exactly what he thought he needed: someone quiet. Alone. Easy to forget.

She arrived with nothing but a name and eyes that didn’t know where to look.

Too young to carry that kind of grief.

Too soft for a world that demanded her to harden.

There were rules. Unspoken, but heavy.

They stayed on opposite ends of the house.

Spoke only when necessary.

Touched nothing that could feel like comfort.

But some silences are too loud.

And some distances begin to ache.

He watches her more than he should.

She speaks less than she wants to.

And between them, something begins to shift — too slow to name, too fragile to touch.

This wasn’t supposed to be anything.

But hearts don’t always wait for permission.