Talking Wolverine

  She had spent the entire day on her feet,guiding juniors, rushing through back-to-back meetings, barely sipping water, eating only in haste. Twice she replied to him: busy, will talk later. No breaks. When she finally logged off, it was an hour and a half past office time. She went home exhausted, body aching, mind heavy. Soft music welcomed her as she entered. In the kitchen, he was there,apron on, dancing lightly while cooking. He didn’t say a word. In the bedroom, everything was already prepared. The geyser was on. His shirt lay on the bed with comfy pyjamas. The warm shower washed the day away. As she changed, she wondered how he always knew when she’d be home. She walked back into the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves, watching him dance. He came close, hugged her gently, tucked her hair behind her ear, and offered her coffee. Still no words. Just music. He lifted her onto the kitchen ota and began massaging her tired feet, slow and caring. Watching him, she realised,he had be...

Tara called him after the breakup. Two years had passed since their separation,two long years of silence, growth, pain, and unanswered questions. When the call connected, there was a pause. Not because they had nothing to say, but because there was too much. They spoke about their current lives. Work. Dreams. Struggles. Small victories. They shared everything, like they once used to,carefully, softly, as if afraid the past might break again. Then Tara asked, quietly but firmly, “Why did you choose me… when you knew it would be so hard to make it work?” He giggled at first, trying to dodge the weight of the question. “You already know,” he said. She insisted. And this time, he didn’t run. “You know how tough my childhood was,” he began. “You know how broken my financial condition was. I was trying so hard to be someone I wasn’t,trying to look cool, pretending I had it all together,while inside I was burning, broke, and scared.” He paused. “You were the first person who saw through that ...

-------------------------------------------------------PART 1 ------------------------------------------------------ *Hello?* He said “yes,” answering the call. She started scolding him. “Where are you, dumbass?” He replied, “On the way home.” “Come early, I’m hungry,” she said, and hung up. The bell rang, and she opened the door. She took his bags, pulled his shirt to bring him closer, kissed him on his forehead, and asked him to get ready as they were leaving for a party. He changed immediately into the casuals she had picked for him. Soon, they found themselves in the car and reached their friend’s place for the party. He being naughty, mischievous, and the heart of the party — outgoing, highly extroverted, always excited, and full of fun. He just flowed with the moment. Seeing this, her friend pulled her aside and asked, “Why are you with this cartoon? I’ve heard and seen that he’s rude, arrogant, dominating, and short-tempered.” She smiled and replied to her friend, “Yes, you’re r...

He was heading back home after a long, exhausting day at work. The city lights flickered like distant fireflies, but his heart felt heavier than the helmet on his head. He wasn’t just tired, he was angry, shattered, sad, frustrated, and, most unusual of all, silent. The boy who could fill a room with his voice now couldn’t even hear his own thoughts without flinching. His wrist twisted the throttle harder without thinking, the bike surging forward like it wanted to run away from everything with him. The wind tore past, biting his skin, whispering nothing that could calm him. His eyes blurred, not from dust, but from the tears he refused to let fall. His shouts stayed trapped inside his helmet, bouncing back to him like echoes in an empty hall. Maybe the day had been bad. Or maybe this had been building for years. Growing up, he had learned early that life wasn’t going to hand him comfort. His childhood wasn’t painted in warm hugs or gentle bedtime stories. There were no lazy Sunday ...

  Prithvi left the office early. Today was special—he was about to meet a girl, not just any girl, but one from an arranged marriage setup. His heart was beating faster than usual, and a strange mix of excitement and nervousness followed him all the way to the parking lot. He called her. She answered with a warm tone, "I’ll be leaving the office soon. I’ll reach the café on time—the one I decided." As he hung up, light raindrops began tapping on his helmet. He glanced up at the grey clouds— Pune rain, he muttered to himself, please be kind today. He didn’t carry a raincoat, and if it poured heavily, the first meeting would turn into a soggy mess. But the skies had other plans. Within minutes, it started raining heavily. Soaking. Merciless. He was completely drenched. He quickly tucked his phone into his back pocket and kept riding, but with every drop, doubt started creeping in. Should I cancel and reschedule for tomorrow? he thought. But something inside him said ...

 For the past couple of days, he had been a little off. He wasn’t his usual self, and something was clearly bothering him. Sleep had been a struggle, and as his partner, she never failed to notice even the slightest change in him. That morning, he sat at the breakfast table, barely speaking. As usual, she walked up to him, gently held his ear, and kissed his neck. He kissed her forehead in return, but something felt different. She could sense it. They left for work together, and as he drove, he attended calls, immersed in work. She sat beside him, watching him with concern, feeling helpless for not being able to ease his burden. When they reached her office, he pulled over, leaned in, and kissed her forehead. "I love you," he said, promising to call her later. She smiled, replying, "I love you too. Have lunch on time. See you in the evening." He waved goodbye and drove off, answering yet another call. At the office, he was swamped with back-to-back meetings and call...