Lahat ng Kabanata ng - Familiar Stranger: Kabanata 11 - Kabanata 20

Sanjana pov The scent of pinewood lingered in the crisp Kashmiri air, but to me, the valley no longer felt like the safe haven it once was. The call from the hospital had shattered my fragile calm. My uncle—the man who had raised me like his own daughter—had been in an accident while returning from his shop downtown. The doctors said he would recover, but the bills were already mounting—and with them came the whispers of debts he had never confessed to me. For hours, I sat on the edge of my bed, numb, staring at the folded piece of paper with the figures scribbled in a hurried hand. The weight of it crushed my chest. Tuition fees, hospital bills, loans… numbers that had no mercy. I pressed my palms against my eyes, fighting back tears. I had always promised myself I would never bend, never beg. Singing had been my one escape, my rebellion against poverty. But now, even my voice could not silence the roar of desperation. A harsh knock jolted me from my thoughts. When I opened th

Liam Pov She deserved peace. She pushed her fragile form on the nearby couch and lay down, covering herself with a blanket. “Please leave me alone,” she said, closing her eyes and turning. Her back is facing us. But I— I was burning. I straightened slowly, my fists curling at my sides, and turned to where Kabir slouched by the window , his armsfoldedat hischest, his face half-shadowed. He looked too composed. Too calm for someone who had just witnessed her break apart. “You knew.” My voice came out low, edged with steel. Jaws clenched, eyes filled with rage and despair. I felt betrayed by my best friend. Kabir didn’t move. “We’ve had this conversation before.” “Not like this.” I stepped closer, anger boiling over. My fists curled . “You knew everything—her debts, her uncle Mohan’s accident, the landlord… hell, you probably even knew about every bruise she’s tried to hide. And all this time, you said nothing.” My voice rose, but not enough to disturb Sanjana.

Sanjana pov The knock came just as I opened my mouth. For a second, my heart began thumping wildly, every beat echoing in my ears. What if the landlord had returned? Mama( maternal uncle) was in no condition to face him. I stood frozen like a statue, sunlight pooling around me like a harsh spotlight. My throat tightened. Kabir and Liam both turned towards the sound, but my stomach sank with a flicker of recognition ,something about that knock felt familiar, like the quiet, steady way Uncle Mohan always knocked before entering. My mind must be playing games. How could Mama go out? It was only last night that he had been discharged. No, it must be the evil landlord. The door creaked open, and there he was—Uncle Mohan—wrapped in his worn wool shawl. The comforting smell of chai clung to him, and his slippers dragged softly against the wooden floor. He looked steadier than yesterday, but still little paleness clung to his features. “Uncle,” A wave of relief washed over me, accompa

Sanjana POVI was amazed to see the studio. The atmosphere was incredible—the only words that came to my mind were angelic, electric, and amazing. Every single knob on the master mixer sitting on the table, the smooth sound of the bass resonating through the industrial speakers, the faint hum of cables and lights—it was a recording artist’s sanctuary and refuge.The soft hum of equipment filled the room, mingling with the occasional strum of a guitar and the muted tap of drumsticks in the background.Liam adjusted his headphones and watched me settle in front of the microphone, my fingers brushing the sheet music as if it were delicate glass.“You’re ready?” he asked, his voice calm through the headphones, though I could sense something beneath it—his chest seemed to thump more than it should have.I nodded, glancing briefly toward him. My eyes met his for a fleeting second before I forced myself to focus on the lyrics. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, my voice soft yet hesitant.L

Liam Pov The next morning, the air in the studio felt distinctly different, as if that very air had shifted. Or perhaps it was just me. After what Kabir had said last night here in the studio, every step toward the recording booth carried a heaviness I couldn’t shake off. His words had made a distinctive impact on my mind, and now, walking through these familiar halls, I felt like a man walking toward something inevitable, something I wasn’t ready to name. The polished floors reflected the dim golden lights overhead, but even their glow couldn’t ease the storm brewing inside me. As I approached the recording booth, I saw that Sanjana was already preparing. She stood by the microphone, adjusting her headphones with practised care. She absently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. A gesture that I had started to notice more than I should. Through the glass, our eyes met. She offered me a tentative smile—a small yet radiant smile that added a flicker of warmth to the otherwise cool