[Sequel of Warm Love, hence can't be read as a standalone.]
In the first phase, Reyansh concealed a web of mysteries, but as they stand face to face once more, it's Kiraz who holds the tantalizing secrets waiting to be unveiled. These hidden truths...
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Fire is not a play, it a script.
|A U T H O R|
Have you ever thought about how souls are created?
Or have you ever believed that particular intense quote, which out of nowhere has always managed to pop before your eyes. Which you can't ignore, and you strangely find yourself reading it. The quote says that,
Every soul is made in pairs.
Do you believe it? The sentence has no logical reason, just some words coming together and playing with your belief. You got no reason to believe it, but you do so. Like the blooming of flower, the sentence blooms up in you, and you just can't help but keep pondering over it.
Kiraz also believe it. And so does Reyansh, but the reason for him to put his faith in that sentence was Kiraz.
But now what? They stood separated; both of their love developed into something for which they can't even find a name. Both are reminded of the ruins of their relationship, lingering in their minds, in the silhouette of nightmares. It is getting interesting, as they don't have to sleep to let those nightmares haunt them. One glimpse facing themselves in the mirror as they stand alone, and pathetically, everything collapses.
If Kiraz is Reyansh and Reyansh is Kiraz, then why they stood against each other separated. If he was her part and she his. How come their love failed and their fate became cruel.
Maybe they are not made for each other, and they are not the souls made in pairs.
But again, one couldn't ignore the words of hopeless romantics, the woven tales of true love. True love must be the term given to those souls who are separated from each other because their souls refuse to accept the cruel fate, and they rise to rebel.
Who will win? The cruel fate or the rebellious souls? For sure, Reyansh and Kiraz were a mismatched puzzled, will they curve themselves to fit each other, since their souls are fierce for each other.
"Veer, don't put so much sauce," Kiraz snapped her attention towards her four-year-old son, who was determined to make the fried fish piece swim in the red sauce.
"Mumma, I can do it." His small fingers wrapped themselves around the glass jar of red sauce, tilting it down. The bottle was heavy, and his little fingers couldn't manage it. Before he could stop, the piece of fried fish was already wrapped in the redness.
"Veer," Kiraz called out, holding the bottle before it flooded the dining table with sauce. She screwed the cap back on, keeping it out of Veer's reach, separating the fish from the sauce and placing it aside on a clean plate.
"Look, you just wasted it," she chided, trying to remove as much sauce from the fish. She took a bite, immediately grimacing at the salty, spicy taste. Chewing with a heavy heart, as the fish cost too much to waste, she swallowed it down her food pipe.
