The sound of rain blurred the city outside his glass tower, but inside Aarav Malhotra’s office, the silence was deliberate — like him. Sharp. Focused. Controlled.

But today, something was… off.

The words from that anonymous blog kept echoing in his mind, looping like a song with no end.

InkSoul

He’d never hated a name so much for being untraceable.

"Status?" he asked without turning, tapping the glass table with a sleek Montblanc pen.

Kiara Mehta stood near the door, hair in a messy bun, iPad in hand. She’d been Aarav’s executive assistant for three years, but this was the first time she’d seen a poem crack his attention span longer than a boardroom pitch.

"Still no luck, sir. The blog’s hosted on a no-ID platform. No email. No handles. Just posts and an anonymous pen name. She’s careful."

Aarav’s eyes narrowed. “So be smarter.”

Kiara raised an eyebrow. "She could be anyone. A student. A housewife. A random romantic in Ludhiana. What do you want me to do—put out a nationwide poster that says ‘Have you seen this poet?’"

He didn’t smile. Aarav Malhotra rarely did.

But Kiara swore, for a moment, his fingers stilled.

“Offer a campaign prize,” he said after a pause. “₹5 lakhs. For original submissions. Anonymous allowed. Call it ‘Words of Soul.’”

Kiara blinked. “You want her to reveal herself...by accident?”

He looked at her then, eyes unreadable. “People can lie with their faces. But not with their words. I’ll know her writing when I see it.”

A Few Miles Away…

The rain tapped lightly against the windows of Pages & Brews, painting shadows on the wooden floors. Meher sat curled on the café couch with her journal open, chin resting on her palm.

Rishi brought her a fresh cup of cardamom tea, setting it down without asking. “You’ve been extra quiet today,” he said gently.

“I posted something yesterday,” she murmured.

He sat across from her, leaning forward. “The kind that makes you smile... or regret?”

Meher exhaled. “It blew up. Like, really blew up. I’ve never had that many people read my words before.”

Rishi grinned. “Good. Maybe now you’ll finally let the world know you’re InkSoul.”

She shook her head. “I’m not ready. My words feel braver than I am.”

He softened. “Then let them lead. You’ll catch up.”

Just then, a notification popped up on her old phone.

She clicked it — a new post from WriteIndia Portal:

"WORDS OF SOUL" Campaign — Win ₹5 lakhs.

Anonymous entries welcome. Seeking raw, emotional writing.

One post caught our eye. Yours could be next."

Meher blinked. That’s… new.

She read the rules again. Then again.

No fees. No forced names. Just emotion.

Rishi leaned over. “Are you… thinking about it?”

She bit her lip. “It feels… personal. Like someone’s searching for something.”

He smiled. “So give them something to find.”

Later that night, Aarav sat in his penthouse, lights dim, glass untouched on the table. Kiara had sent the first fifty entries already.

Most were good. A few were great.

But none were her.

Then one came in — soft, simple, unpolished…

And yet, it made something ache inside him.

“I don’t speak of pain. I dress it in metaphors.

And wait for someone who’ll read between the lines.”

He closed his eyes.

InkSoul was out there.

And now... she had seen the bait.

He would find her.

He didn’t know what he’d say when he did.

But he already knew —

she was the only thing in his life not wrapped in silence.