Nandini Verma was 18 when she penned her first story, a tale of passion, betrayal, and revenge. It was a masterpiece, poised for publication. But on the night she was to share her brilliance with the world, tragedy struck. Her abusive father, a figu...
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The day of Luna's fan meet event had finally arrived. Rakshit was deeply engrossed in finalizing the details of my author . His relentless pursuit had brought us to this moment, and he was determined to put an end to the search once and for all.
As for me, the anticipation was palpable. It was evening, and I found myself meticulously preparing for the event. I wouldn't admit it aloud, but I was taking extra time today with my appearance. The usual crisp suit and tie were set aside in favor of a more striking ensemble-a dark, tailored blazer that accentuated my commanding presence and a white shirt that contrasted sharply with my greyish hair and red eyes. Every detail mattered.
I glanced at the mirror, adjusting my cufflinks and straightening my collar. My reflection showed a man who was both powerful and poised, a fitting match for the significance of the evening. The excitement was almost tangible, a mix of curiosity and anticipation. Tonight, I would finally come face-to-face with the enigmatic author , My Luna who had fascinated me for so long.
Rakshit's voice drifted in from the call , discussing last-minute details with his team. I smirked, feeling a thrill of excitement. The time to meet Luna was drawing near, and with it, the opportunity to confront the creator of my story too .
With one final glance at my reflection, I nodded to myself. Tonight was not just another event; it was a pivotal moment, and I intended to make it unforgettable.
Traffic was a nightmare, and I was already running late. Rakshit already left me numerous messages like the fan meet was going to end soon and all. Rain had begun to fall, adding to the chaos. Despite the inconvenience, I found a certain allure in the rain, a bittersweet nostalgia for the night I first emerged into this world.
As I sat in the back of my luxurious car, watching the raindrops streak down the windshield, I noticed someone standing outside.and My breath caught in my throat . She was mesmerizing-her beauty was ethereal, with eyes that spoke of innocence and a depth of emotion. She stood under the rain, a picture of melancholy, her gaze lost in the downpour. It was clear she was deeply affected by the rain, though I couldn't fathom why.
Rakshit's call interrupted my reverie. He was already waiting for me at the venue. I answered on the speakerphone, keeping my eyes fixed on the enchanting figure before me. Rakshit's voice crackled through, carrying unexpected news. He informed me that he had found the author, Nandini Verma, and sent some pictures of Luna and Nandini verma . My curiosity piqued, I shifted my focus to the images he sent.
As the pictures of the fan meet loaded, my breath caught in my throat. The woman I had been watching was unmistakably Luna. The shock hit me like a jolt. I immediately called Rakshit back, demanding to know where the pictures of Nandini Verma were. What he said next stopped time.
"Your Luna and Nandini Verma are the same person," Rakshit's voice was steady but laden with disbelief. He explained that he had used advanced AI technology to generate her present look images from her childhood photos in these years and it got exactly matched with the present-day Luna. He, too, was astonished when he saw her at the fan meet while watching her photo on the photo as the result -exactly the same person standing before him .
The realization struck hard. The woman I had been observing with such fascination was indeed the elusive Luna. And she was the creator of him too whom he was searching like crazy these years -- Nandini verma.
Anger and confusion swirled within me, and I struggled to reconcile the image of her with my intentions. I glanced back at her through the rain-speckled glass. She was still there, now standing against a closed shop, her eyes filled with a blend of fear and sadness as she watched the storm.
Seeing her like this stirred something deep inside me. I had always harbored a desire to eliminate Nandini verma , but seeing her vulnerability shifted my perspective. The very thought of harming her now seemed to ignite a different kind of rage-a fury I couldn't quite understand.
My mind raced, torn between the reality of the woman before me and the anger I had felt towards her real identity . The decision that lay ahead suddenly felt more complex, as if the rain itself had brought not just memories, but new, unexpected emotions.
