☆Clash of Souls: Reunited Book one of Twisted Souls series ☆( part-1)
This book is divided into two parts
And this one is part -1
𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈 𝐁𝐇𝐀𝐓 × 𝐕𝐘𝐀𝐀𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐇𝐑𝐀
What if childhood friends, now bitter rivals, are forced into an arranged...
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Driti;
I reached for my sketchpad, feeling a sense of relief and familiarity. The soft texture of the paper and the feel of the pencil in my hand brought a comforting sense of normalcy. I began to sketch, letting my thoughts flow onto the page.
The quiet of the room allowed me to lose myself in the act of drawing. As the pencil glided across the paper, I found solace in the simplicity of the process. The sketches gradually took shape, becoming a reflection of my feelings and the day's events.
Sketching was always my way of processing emotions and finding clarity. Tonight, it was my escape, a way to ground myself amidst the whirlwind of change.
As the clock neared 1 AM, I realized how deeply I had immersed myself in sketching. The room was still and silent, the only sound the soft scratch of my pencil on paper. I had lost track of time, caught up in the flow of creativity and reflection.
With a final, satisfied stroke, I put down my pencil and looked at the page. The sketches, though simple, had become a form of therapy. They captured the essence of my thoughts and emotions, offering a sense of calm amidst the chaos.
The sound of the door creaking open pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced over to see who it might be. The dim light from the hallway illuminated the figure standing at the doorway.
It was Vyaan. His presence in the room was unexpected, and a mix of curiosity and apprehension surged through me. I could tell he wasn't here to discuss anything light. His expression was serious, yet there was something else in his eyes-perhaps a trace of vulnerability or unresolved tension.
As Vyaan stepped further into the room, his eyes fell on me and the sketchpad in my hands. His expression hardened, and with a voice that was both firm and filled with authority, he said, "What are you doing, Mrs. Mehra? Shouldn't you be sleeping?"
I swallowed, surprised by his sudden shift in tone. My fingers instinctively tightened around the sketchpad as I met his gaze. The intensity in his eyes made my heart skip a beat. There was something about the way he said "Mrs. Mehra" that sent a ripple of both annoyance and something uncomfortably warm through me.
"I... I couldn't sleep," I responded quietly, feeling slightly defensive. I gestured toward my sketchpad, "So, I thought I'd sketch for a while."
His eyes softened just a touch as they flicked from my face to the pad, but his voice remained stern. "It's late, Mrs.Mehra. You need rest."
I raised an eyebrow, irritated by his tone, as if he suddenly had the right to dictate my life. "Since when do you care about my sleep schedule?" I shot back, my voice edged with defiance.
He stepped closer, and I could feel the heat of his presence now, his towering figure casting a shadow over me as he looked down with that unreadable expression of his. For a moment, I thought he might snap back at me, but instead, he just sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly.
