THEM 'Ishman'

Ishq

Dream love story..........Purani Delhi wala Ishq 💌🎀❤️

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The narrow lanes of Old Delhi buzzed with life under the warm glow of streetlamps, their golden light pooling over ancient cobblestones worn smooth by countless footsteps. 

The air was alive with the heady aroma of fresh jalebis, their sugary sweetness curling up from sizzling woks and mingling with the sharp, tangy scent of street-side chaat. 

A faint trace of damp stone lingered, a reminder of the recent washing that had settled the dust, leaving the ground gleaming underfoot.

Voices rose and fell in a melodic hum as hawkers called out their wares, their rhythmic chants weaving through the air. 

"Moong dal ke pakode, garam garam!" echoed from a vendor pushing his cart, the tiny bell on its edge jingling softly. 

Laughter rang out as children darted through the maze of alleys, their joyous giggles floating above the distant, rhythmic thump of a dhol, adding to the vibrant pulse of the mohalla.

From the balcony of his family's modest haveli, Ishan stood leaning over the wrought-iron railing, his gaze fixed on the lively scene below. 

The soft pink of his kurta seemed to glow under the streetlamps, the delicate fabric fluttering gently in the evening breeze. 

It brushed against his slender wrists, the subtle movement mirroring the playful sway of his dark curls that framed his face in soft waves.

His eyes sparkled with a blend of curiosity and anticipation, their dark depths reflecting the golden light from the bustling street. 

With a thoughtful smile playing on his lips, Ishan tossed down tiny flower petals, watching them twirl gracefully before settling on the cobblestones below.

 A faint blush colored his cheeks, a rosy hue that made him look even more delicate—like a painting come to life.

Despite the vibrant chaos below, Ishan's heart raced, his fingers curling tightly around the cool iron railing. 

He seemed poised on the edge of a secret, his breaths shallow, his gaze lingering on the bustling lane as if waiting for someone who made his pulse quicken just by existing.

He wouldn't admit it aloud, but Ishan wasn't just scattering petals for no reason. 

His fingers brushed delicately against the soft blooms, releasing them one by one, watching them dance on the evening breeze before drifting to the cobbled street below. 

His eyes, however, kept darting to the entrance of the lane, lingering just a second longer each time, searching for a familiar figure. 

His heart betrayed him, fluttering with every shadow that passed, anticipation weaving itself into his breaths.

"Yeh kya hai? Aasmaan se phoolon ki barsaat ho rahi hai?"

The teasing voice jolted him out of his reverie. 

Ishan's eyes snapped downward, his grip tightening on the railing. 

There he was—Shubman, leaning casually against his cycle, one hand resting on the handlebar as if he owned the very street beneath his feet.

Dressed in a cream kurta that was simple yet effortlessly elegant, Shubman looked almost ethereal under the golden glow of the streetlamps. 

The soft fabric clung to his broad shoulders, catching the light in a way that made him appear almost unreal, a figure crafted by the evening itself.