In a time when radios played Lata's songs and letters carried feelings deeper than words ever could, she met him-on the first day of college, twenty years after India gained independence. He wasn't a freedom fighter, but he freed something in her. A smile. A feeling. A love she never dared to name. He loved sitars when the world had moved on to guitars. He loved books, children, music... and she? She loved him. Quietly. Completely. From behind the veil of silence every sanskaari girl was taught to wear back then. He was the boy every girl admired. She was that quiet girl-who changed herself, little by little, just to be noticed. While he chased dreams and disappeared into the world, she stayed behind-with ink-stained fingers and a heart that beat only for him. She doesn't know where he is now. But she remembers the way he once looked at her, like she mattered. And now, decades later, all she has are her memories... and a diary that was never really about her. It was always about Him.