A taxi moved along a clean road, passing by a market with brand showrooms, malls, and all sorts of luxury places. Soon, it entered a rich colony where every house looked like a palace. It felt like all the world’s money was gathered in this place.

The taxi driver seemed nervous as he entered the colony. He kept looking at the young woman in the backseat, wondering if she had given the correct address but decided not to ask.

In the backseat sat Anjali, a 23-year-old woman, wearing a white top that looked pure like a god’s blessing and blue jeans that added to her angelic look. She held her handbag tightly, looking nervous. The driver’s frequent glances made her even more uneasy.

As her heartbeat quickened, the taxi slowed down and finally stopped in front of a large gate. The place looked like a palace where gods might go on vacation and angels live.

The taxi driver stopped and looked at Anjali to confirm they had reached the destination. As she got out and handed him the money, he sighed in relief and quickly drove away, happy to leave the place.

Anjali stood there, looking at the gate and the name “Sandhya’s Palace” written on it. She stared at the name for a while, emotions swirling in her eyes.

Just as she was about to murmur something, a head maid in her fifties came running out of the gate. The maid hurriedly grabbed Anjali’s hand and pulled her inside as if urging her to come quickly.

As they walked from the entrance gate to the house, they passed trees and a water fountain that echoed the sounds of nature, creating a soothing music.

The maid looked worried and said, “Your father is here. Why did you go outside without taking anyone with you? You even sent back the people we sent to escort you. You took the metro for the first time! Do you know there was an accident? One person died. It’s good that nothing happened to you.”

Anjali listened with surprise and sadness. The maid continued, “I don’t know why your father came here. His face looks solemn. Be careful.”

As they reached the house, the guard opened the door, and they entered. Inside, Anjali’s father was drinking tea from a cup. Seeing Anjali, he put the cup down and asked, “What is your decision? Did you think about it?”

Anjali felt a wave of fear and moved closer to the head maid, seeking emotional support. Her father sighed with disappointment and asked again, “I hope you made a correct decision”

Anjali, still fearful, looked at her father and then at the maid. She looked into her handbag, trying to find something but couldn’t. She took out a book, checked it, and said, “I decided to complete my novel.”

Her father rose from his seat and said angrily, “Drop all this nonsense! You’ve been writing that novel for ten years, and you’re not even close to finishing it. I’m fed up with this. I won’t give you any more time. Stop this nonsense and come with me.”

Anjali, with misty eyes, said, “No, I will not come with you. I want to do at least one thing I wish to do.”

Her father’s face twitched with temper. He suddenly rose from the sofa, accidentally kicking the tea set, which fell and shattered.

Startled, Anjali covered her ears, looked scared, and ran upstairs to her room, closing the door behind her.

Her father sighed and looked at the head maid, saying, “Tell her that I don’t want her to indulge in this anymore. And also tell her specifically that she doesn’t have enough time. Remind her the deadline we agreed upon is near.” He then left the house with his assistant.

The maid stood there, looking between Anjali’s father leaving and Anjali’s room. She approached the door and called out, “Anjali, Anjali… Can we talk for a moment?” But there was no response. She sighed and said, “Rest for a bit. We’ll talk later.”

Inside her room, Anjali slowly stood up and searched her handbag again, looking for her novel draft. She couldn’t find it. She then went to a corner of the room with a bookshelf, a table, and sticky notes all around. She picked up a book from the “Novel Drafts” section.

As she opened the draft and began to read, the world around her seemed to fade. The pages transformed into a doorway, and she was no longer in her room but transported into the vibrant, living world of her novel.

The air was filled with scents and sounds that she had only imagined while writing. Trees rustled with a gentle breeze, and distant chatter reached her ears. Anjali felt the grass beneath her feet and the warmth of the sun on her skin.

She was no longer reading about her characters; she was amidst them, feeling their emotions and witnessing their lives firsthand. The lines between reality and fiction blurred, and she was entirely immersed in this new, alive world.

As she read the draft, she became immersed in her story. But on the last page, she found a character named Rudra, murmuring, “What is this? Is this hell or heaven?”

As the writer, she understood her characters better than anyone. Seeing this new character, which she hadn’t written, she felt sad. She thought, “My novel should be beautiful and happy. I don’t want this sadness.”

She picked up a pen and struck out Rudra’s name. But when she flipped the page, she found Rudra’s name again. She looked back at the crossed-out name, feeling bewildered. “I just struck out this character. I didn’t write it again. Why is it still here?”

Anjali murmured, “Why are you so sad? Are you also like me, not understanding why we are sad?” She thought about understanding and interacting with the character. But her father’s words echoed in her mind “Drop all this nonsense!”, urging her to stop.

Frustrated, she ripped the page and moved to another draft. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t remove Rudra. His haunting words echoed in her mind: “Maybe you are laughing at me, looking at me from somewhere,” and “This blood might dry up, these bones might disintegrate, but I will still climb back. I want to live, and I will live.”

Unable to do anything to remove Rudra, Anjali resigned herself and thought of a plan. Her eyes brightened as she got an idea. Slowly, as she immersed herself deeper into her novel, thinking about it, a small curve formed under her lips.

She forgot what had happened earlier and focused on removing Rudra’s memories and making him a character in her novel, turning him into a blank slate where he couldn’t interfere with her episode anymore.

As she continued to write, shaping Rudra to fit her story, a sense of calm washed over her. She realized that by moulding his character to her narrative, she could bring harmony to her novel. Rudra would now be an integral part of her story, a tool to help her complete her tale in ways she hadn’t imagined. The thought filled her with a renewed sense of purpose and determination