बड़ी देर तक नज़रें ठहरी रहीं,
सफेद शर्ट और नीली जीन्स में उस पर।
कौन कहता है लड़के तारीफ़ के क़ाबिल नहीं होते,
सादगी में भी वो किसी से कम नज़र न आया।

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यदि कोई शंका हो,
तो दोहरा देना अपना सवाल फिर से।
सच कहूँ तो,
इस बार मैं सच ही बोलूँगी।"

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The silence that followed her final words wasn’t accidental. It was the sound of someone who had waited too long, someone whose heart had run out of hope and patience.

Elen never returned to the palace. Because those who are always busy never hear the whispers of the quiet, never feel the weight of the unspoken. "They are too consumed by tasks to hear the things that truly matter."

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His response to Elen's poem's were not because he truly wanted to connect or cares deeply, but simply because he feels he should — like it's just another task on his long to-do list. He never asked how she felt or what inspired her. He never commented on the colors she used or the poems she wrote for him. She learned his preferences but he never asked what she liked. 

It was always her waiting, her hoping, while he remained a distant star — brilliant, untouchable, and indifferent to the quiet longing she carried for a word that mattered."

One day, Elen stopped writing. Not out of spite, but out of necessity — for her own peace. She found solace in the company of those who truly understood her, whose hearts were in tune with the depth of her words.

And King Alaric? Perhaps he finally noticed the silence, though he could not tell if it was too late. He remembered her — a woman with ideas, with a softness he couldn’t quite understand. She had been a fleeting presence in his life, and now, that presence was gone. Was it his fault? He couldn’t say.

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Once upon a time, there was a king named Alaric who ruled over a prosperous kingdom. From the moment the sun rose until the stars blinked alive in the sky, he was buried in scrolls, trading emails, and endless reports. He measured time not in days, but in tasks completed. He responded to messages only when they aligned with his calendar — and only if the topic was urgent, strategic, or work-saving.

In this kingdom lived a humble woman named Elen, whose heart beat differently from the King’s. She loved the rhythm of rivers, wrote poems scented with pressed flowers, and sent them out hoping the king would notice her warmth beneath the ink.

At first, he did. He responded — briefly — a few days later, thanking her for the gesture. Encouraged, she sent more. But the gaps in his replies widened. First a day. Then a week. Then a month. Each silence was heavier than the last, and her heart began to feel the weight of it.

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It's easy to fall in love when hearts begin to rhyme,
Two souls find their rhythm, lost outside of time.

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It's easy to fall in love when your voice becomes a song,
A gentle echo in my heart where you’ve lived all along.

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Someone who goes without talking to you for 24hrs straight. 

Someone who is a workaholic and attends to you only when he is free. 

Someone who doesn't pay attention to your likes and dislikes. 

Someone who doesn't respond to your messages as eager as you are to answer. 

And much more... 

What are you supposed to do?

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आपको समझाने की सारी हदें पार हो गयी हैं,
अब क्या ही बचा है, सिवाय सज़ा काटने के!

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वो "अहम" भी है मेरा
और
मेरे लिए "अहम" भी।

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