Hello, there!

And so the night hums like an old song, the kind that plays softly in the background of a memory you’re not sure is yours. A story waiting to be told, or maybe just a moment waiting to pass. Either way, the night will keep moving.  Well, force of habit. Kabhi khabar poochi,  toh kabhi poochi khair, Seher pe shuru hue tere naam pe— bilkul fikr bagair. Kabhi dekha nahi jise,  kabhi jisse nahi hui mulaqaat; Wajood nahi jiska zehan mein,  uski phir bhi sunaayi deti hai har ek baat. Shikayat karta hai vo mujhse— Dhoonda nahi use shayad poore dil se. Chahe pukara ho use jaan nisaar, Magar jatate kis haq se? Bayaan karne ki koshish ki ahista, Par bayhiss hi bol paaye. Guftagu ke zariye ibaadat humne ki, Lekin kaafir hum kehlaaye. Maanga roz tujhe usse, Jaise koi ho dastoor. Woh ho gaya thoda naraaz, Par isme mera kya kasoor? Kuch waqt sa guzar gaya, Ek arsa jaise dheeme dheeme jiya. Mazaak mein pareshaan tu kar baitha, Aur aashiq hume keh diya. Shayad kabhi tujh tak ye...

There are two kinds of people in the world: the ones you meet, exchange pleasantries with, and promptly forget the moment they leave the room—and then there are the ones who, for no logical reason at all, get stuck in your head like a poorly-written pop song . The kind that shouldn’t linger but does, that worms its way into your subconscious, popping up at odd moments—when you’re tying your shoelaces, when you’re waiting for the kettle to boil, when you’re halfway through a meeting pretending to care about synergy but are actually wondering what someone drinks on a Saturday night. People never really choose which category someone falls into, and if Miles had been given the choice, he probably would’ve filed Her under forgettable and called it a day. Except he wasn’t given the choice. It wasn’t love at first sight, (blows raspberries) or even admiration. Nothing theatrical, no fireworks, no grand epiphany. Just five seconds. A glance across a jazz bar, a half-empty drink, a laugh h...

If you asked Miles about that morning—months later, years later, in some dimly lit bar when his guard was down—he wouldn’t be able to tell you why it mattered. Not at first. He’d frown, tilt his head like he was trying to shake loose the answer, and maybe laugh it off, saying something dismissive like, “It was just a weird moment. Nothing, really.” But that would be a lie. Because the truth is, the world is full of people you meet and forget, faces that blur into a background you never bother to sharpen. And then, there are the ones who—without meaning to, without even trying—get stuck . Not because they want to be, but because, for one reason or another, your mind refuses to let them go. And that’s exactly how this started. Not with some grand revelation. Not with sparks flying or a moment that changed everything. Just four seconds. A flicker of something real in a woman who wasn’t supposed to be real to him. A moment so small it should have disappeared into the mess of his day, but ...