"She crossed oceans chasing a dream, never knowing destiny had already memorized her name."

________________________________________________________________________________

Milan, Italy

The shrill sound of an alarm shattered the silence of the tiny apartment.

Shagun groaned, her hand instinctively searching the bedside table before the second alarm had the chance to ring. Her fingers brushed against a pile of notes, a pair of spectacles and finally her phone. The screen glowed faintly in the darkness as she silenced it with a sleepy tap.

For a long moment, she didn't move.

The room remained still around her, wrapped in the pale blue darkness that came just before dawn. Beyond the single window, Milan was still asleep, its streets hidden beneath a blanket of winter mist.

Her gaze wandered to the ceiling.

A thin crack stretched across the faded white paint, branching into smaller lines like the veins of a leaf. She had stared at that crack so often over the past two months that she could probably redraw it from memory.

Funny how quickly a place stopped feeling unfamiliar.

Another morning.

Another lecture.

Another shift at the café.

Another night that would end with her buried beneath textbooks long after the rest of the city had gone to sleep.

She let out a quiet breath and swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

The wooden floor greeted her with an icy bite, making her hiss softly before slipping into her slippers. Her apartment wasn't much bigger than a studio. A single bed stood against one wall, opposite a narrow study desk that was forever buried beneath medical textbooks, printed notes and colour-coded sticky tabs. The tiny kitchenette occupied one corner of the room, while a modest dining table doubled as both a workspace and a dinner table.

It wasn't luxurious.

Far from it.

But every item inside had been arranged by her own hands.

Every little corner carried a piece of her.

Pulling the curtains aside, she looked outside.

The city had turned white overnight.

Snow drifted lazily through the air, settling over rooftops, parked bicycles and the narrow streets below. A cyclist rode past, leaving behind a thin trail on the untouched road before it slowly disappeared beneath fresh flakes.

A smile found its way to her lips without permission.

Back home, snowfall existed only on television screens.

Here...

It greeted her almost every morning.

For a few quiet seconds, she simply stood there, watching the city breathe beneath a sky the colour of ash.

Then reality returned.

Seven fifteen.

She couldn't afford to be late.

Never.

Warm steam quickly filled the tiny bathroom as she stepped beneath the shower.

The water eased the stiffness from her shoulders, washing away the heaviness that had settled into her bones after weeks of balancing lectures, assignments and evening shifts. Living alone had changed the way she looked at ordinary things. A hot shower no longer felt routine.

It felt earned.

By the time she stepped back into her room, the mirror had fogged completely.

She wiped a small circle across the glass with the sleeve of her nightshirt before leaning closer.

Moisturiser.

Sunscreen.

Nothing fancy.

Nothing expensive.

She had once spent hours watching skincare videos online, fascinated by routines that involved ten different products. These days, she barely had enough time for two.

And somehow...

That felt enough.

Her damp hair rested over one shoulder as she walked into the kitchenette.

Silence welcomed her once again.

Not the uncomfortable kind.

The peaceful kind she had slowly grown attached to.

She opened the little refrigerator.

A carton of milk.

A bottle of water.

Leftover vegetables.

And tucked neatly inside a paper box...

Two chocolate cupcakes.

She smiled.

She had bought them after work yesterday, convincing herself she deserved something sweet after surviving another endless day.

Her hand instinctively reached for the box.

It stopped halfway.

"No," she murmured to herself, almost amused.

She gently pushed it back onto the shelf.

"Complete two chapters tonight."

"Then you can have one."

Living alone had taught her something no classroom ever could.

Sometimes, you have to become your own parent.

She poured milk into a saucepan before preparing herself a mug of coffee.

The rich aroma slowly filled the apartment, replacing the cold stillness with something warm and familiar.

Cradling the mug between both hands, she wandered towards the wall beside her study desk.

Most people would've decorated it with photographs.

Shagun had filled hers with words.

Simple white frames hung in neat rows, each holding a quote she had designed herself on Canva before printing them at a stationery shop down the street.

Some were borrowed.

Some were rewritten.

One belonged only to her.

Her eyes settled on it immediately.

You wanted this dream.

Now become worthy of it.

She hadn't read those words anywhere.

They had appeared one sleepless night while she questioned whether leaving home had been the right decision.

Ever since then...

They had become the quiet voice that pushed her forward whenever exhaustion whispered louder.

Two months.

It had only been two months since she arrived in Italy.

Some days it felt like she'd been here forever.

Other days...

She still caught herself calculating what time it would be in India before reaching for her phone.

A sharp vibration against the table pulled her out of her thoughts.

The screen lit up.

Mumma ❤️

Her smile softened instantly.

She accepted the video call.

The familiar face of Meera Joshi appeared almost immediately, wrapped in a cotton saree with her hair tied into a loose bun.

"Uth gayi, beta?" (You're awake, sweetheart?) she asked, adjusting the phone.

"Hmm."

Shagun nodded, taking a sip of her coffee.

Before either of them could continue, another voice floated from somewhere in the background.

"Shagun ko phone lagaya hai?" (Did you call Shagun?)

She laughed even before her father appeared on the screen.

"There he is."

Her father adjusted his glasses, leaning closer to the camera as if the distance between India and Italy would somehow shrink.

"You're eating properly?"

"Yes, Pappa."

"You aren't skipping meals?"

"No."

"You lock your room at night?"

"Yes."

"You don't go anywhere alone?"

She sighed dramatically.

"Pappa..."

He ignored the warning in her voice.

"Focus on your studies. Don't wander around unnecessarily. Stay away from strangers. We cannot trust anyone these days."

Shagun couldn't stop herself from laughing.

"Calm down."

"Arre hato bhi. Mujhe baat karne dijiye usse." (Oh, move aside. Let me talk to her.)

Meera gently pushed him away, earning an exaggerated look of offence from her husband.

She looked back at the screen with the same warmth only mothers possessed.

"Kaisi hai tu?" (How are you?)

Shagun smiled.

"Roz wahi sawaal poochogi? Acchi hoon." (You'll ask me the same question every day? I'm fine.)

Meera studied her daughter for another brief moment before deciding not to push any further.

Instead, she smiled.

"Nashta kar liya?" (Did you have breakfast?)

Shagun glanced at the coffee mug in her hand.

"Coffee."

"Sirf coffee?" (Only coffee?)

A laugh escaped Shagun before she could stop it.

"Mumma, seriously... I'm fine."

For a second, none of them spoke.

The silence wasn't uncomfortable.

It was the kind that settled between people who loved each other enough to worry but didn't always know how to express it.

Shagun looked at the familiar walls behind them.

The family photographs.

The wooden showcase her mother dusted every Sunday.

The swing by the balcony where her father insisted on reading the newspaper every morning.

Nothing had changed there.

Everything had changed here.

“Bye maa, i’ll get late”

The screen went dark.

For a fleeting moment, the apartment felt larger than it actually was.

Perhaps because silence always sounded louder after hearing the voices you missed the most.

Shagun placed the phone face down on the table and drew in a slow breath.

Homesickness was a peculiar thing.

It rarely announced itself.

It lingered quietly in familiar voices, forgotten routines, and the instinct to turn around whenever something good happened—only to remember there was no one standing behind you.

She shook the thought away before it could settle deeper.

There wasn't time for that.

Not today.

The saucepan hissed softly as the last of the milk warmed.

She poured it into her coffee, rinsed the utensils immediately afterwards and reached for the rice she'd cooked the previous night.

Cooking had never been something she particularly enjoyed.

Back home, there had always been someone in the kitchen before she even woke up.

Here...

Burning a meal meant going hungry.

So she learned.

One recipe at a time.

The chopping board slid across the counter as she diced a few vegetables with practised ease before tossing them into a hot pan. The familiar aroma of garlic, spring onions and Schezwan sauce quickly filled the apartment.

Simple.

Quick.

Affordable.

Exactly what she needed.

Within fifteen minutes, her lunch was packed neatly inside a steel container.

She slipped it into her bag beside a thick pathology textbook, two notebooks, a pencil case and a folder already overflowing with printed notes.

The weight of the bag made her smile.

It was strangely comforting.

Heavy bags usually meant she was moving forward.

Getting dressed took considerably less time.

Unlike universities back home, hers didn't require a uniform.

Some students arrived in oversized hoodies.

Some looked as though they'd walked straight out of a fashion campaign.

No one cared.

Shagun stood before the mirror, debating between two cardigans before eventually choosing the cream-coloured one.

It felt warmer.

She paired it with flared blue jeans and white sneakers that had already begun collecting faint marks from Milan's snowy streets.

Her hair, still slightly damp, disappeared into a neat ponytail.

She adjusted the thin silver frame of her spectacles.

Then frowned.

A strand of hair had already escaped.

Typical.

With an amused shake of her head, she tucked it behind her ear before slipping into her puffer jacket.

The moment she opened the apartment door, a rush of icy air greeted her.

Winter wasted no time reminding people where they were.

The streets were beginning to wake.

Cafés unlocked their doors one by one, warm yellow lights spilling onto snow-covered pavements. The rich smell of freshly baked bread drifted through the crisp morning air, blending with roasted coffee beans and the faint sweetness of pastries arranged behind glass displays.

Cyclists hurried past.

A tram rattled along its tracks.

Somewhere nearby, church bells echoed across the neighbourhood, their slow chimes disappearing into the morning fog.

Shagun pulled her scarf a little higher around her neck.

The twenty-minute walk to the university had slowly become her favourite part of the day.

No lectures.

No responsibilities.

No conversations she struggled to begin.

Just her...

And the city.

She crossed the narrow streets at an unhurried pace, occasionally pausing at traffic lights where strangers stood beside her, each lost in lives she would never know.

It fascinated her sometimes.

How thousands of people could share the same road without ever becoming part of each other's stories.

Her fingers instinctively found the strap of her backpack.

A habit she'd developed whenever unfamiliar crowds surrounded her.

Being an introvert wasn't simply about enjoying solitude.

It was the constant awareness of yourself in public.

The irrational feeling that someone, somewhere, was watching.

Judging.

Even when they probably weren't.

She had spent years trying to convince herself otherwise.

Some days she succeeded.

Most days...

She simply learned to walk through the feeling.

Snowflakes settled gently over her sleeves as she reached the university gates.

Students streamed inside in small groups, their conversations bouncing across the courtyard in Italian, English and half a dozen other languages she still couldn't recognise.

For a brief second, she stood there, taking it all in.

Two months ago, this place had terrified her.

Today...

It merely intimidated her.

Progress, she supposed.

She adjusted her glasses, tightened her grip on her bag and stepped through the gates.

The familiar warmth of the university building wrapped around her the moment she stepped inside, a welcome contrast to the bitter cold lingering outside. Snow clung stubbornly to the soles of her shoes as she climbed the staircase, following the signs that led towards the medical department.

She checked the classroom number twice.

Not because she couldn't remember it.

Because she had always been the kind of person who preferred being certain.

The corridor buzzed with conversations. Students walked in groups, balancing coffee cups, laptops and unfinished assignments while laughter echoed off the high ceilings. Some greeted professors in passing, others rushed towards their lectures, apologising for being late before disappearing behind classroom doors.

Shagun simply walked through them.

Not hurriedly.

Not slowly.

Just... quietly.

By now she had accepted that no one noticed the girl who always arrived early and left without making much noise.

And strangely enough...

She had stopped expecting them to.

She reached the lecture hall nearly ten minutes before class.

Rows of empty seats stretched before her.

The room was so quiet that the soft hum of the projector sounded unusually loud.

Her eyes wandered instinctively towards the third row.

The same seat.

She wasn't superstitious.

She simply liked familiarity.

Sliding into the chair, she carefully placed her backpack beside her feet before taking out her notebook, a pen and the day's lecture slides.

Everything arranged in the same order.

Every single day.

Students gradually began filling the room.

Some entered mid-conversation, laughing so loudly that the silence disappeared within seconds. Others waved at friends sitting across the hall, saving seats with backpacks and jackets before hurrying back to the entrance to meet someone else.

Without really thinking, Shagun looked at the empty chair beside her.

It remained empty.

Someone almost walked towards it before another voice called their name from behind.

They smiled apologetically at a friend instead and chose another row.

She lowered her gaze back to her notebook.

It wasn't personal.

It never was.

Still...

The empty chair had quietly become a part of her routine.

By the time the professor entered, every other corner of the lecture hall buzzed with whispers.

She remained exactly where she was.

The lecture began.

Medical terminology filled the room almost immediately.

Complex diagrams appeared one after another across the projector screen while pages turned in hurried succession.

Shagun listened with unwavering attention.

Her pen moved almost as quickly as the professor spoke, filling the margins of her notebook with tiny observations, arrows and colour-coded annotations only she could understand.

Occasionally she adjusted her spectacles before scribbling another note, completely unaware of how intensely she concentrated whenever she studied.

Hours slipped away unnoticed.

Outside, snow continued to fall.

Inside, time dissolved beneath endless explanations, clinical discussions and complicated case studies.

When the professor finally closed his laptop, the room collectively exhaled.

The lecture was over.

A chorus of chairs scraping against the floor echoed through the hall as students stretched, yawned and immediately reached for their phones.

"We've got thirty minutes before the next class."

"Coffee?"

"Let's go downstairs."

"I'm starving."

Conversations overlapped until the classroom emptied almost as quickly as it had filled.

Shagun stayed seated for another minute.

She flexed her fingers, slightly sore from writing, before closing her notebook with a quiet sigh.

Only then did she reach for her phone.

The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden streaks across the now-empty lecture hall.

She lifted her phone and recorded a short video.

Just a few seconds.

Rows of vacant chairs.

The professor's notes still displayed on the board.

The soft winter light spilling across polished wooden desks.

Nothing extraordinary.

Just another memory.

She stepped into the corridor and recorded another brief clip.

Students hurried in every direction while announcements echoed faintly through the speakers overhead.

Someone laughed nearby.

Someone argued over an assignment deadline.

Someone complained about the weather.

Life moved around her with effortless ease.

She captured none of it.

Only the corridor itself.

The architecture.

The sunlight.

The quiet beauty hidden between ordinary moments.

The canteen was far busier.

The smell of freshly baked pizza, pasta, coffee and warm bread greeted her long before she reached the entrance.

Almost every table was occupied.

Groups of friends crowded together, speaking so quickly that their conversations blended into little more than cheerful noise.

A couple sat near the window, sharing a plate of fries while debating something animatedly.

A group of exchange students compared lecture notes across three different languages.

Near the vending machines, someone had started singing softly enough for only their friends to hear.

Shagun smiled to herself.

Places like these reminded her that happiness was rarely loud.

Sometimes...

It simply looked like having someone to sit beside.

She found an empty table tucked into a quieter corner.

Two chairs.

She placed her backpack on one.

Sat on the other.

And opened her lunchbox.

The familiar aroma of Schezwan rice escaped immediately.

Still warm.

Good.

She had worried it would turn cold by lunchtime.

She finished eating quietly, packed the empty lunchbox back into her bag and glanced at the clock mounted above the entrance.

Ten minutes.

Enough time.

She stood, adjusted the strap of her backpack over her shoulder and made her way back towards the academic building.

Her footsteps echoed softly against the marble floor.

Another lecture waited.

Then another.

And after that...

An evening that was only beginning.

The rest of the day unfolded much like the first half.

One lecture blended into another until the words on the projector began to lose their shape.

Pathology.

Clinical practice.

Patient care.

More notes.

More diagrams.

More pages filled with hurried handwriting that only she would later understand.

By late afternoon, the warmth of the classrooms had given way to fatigue. Her shoulders ached from carrying the weight of her backpack, and her fingers protested every time she uncapped her pen.

When the final professor dismissed the class, the room emptied with surprising speed.

Students poured into the corridor, already discussing dinner plans, weekend trips and unfinished assignments.

Shagun packed her belongings at her usual unhurried pace.

She slid her notebook into her bag, checked twice that she hadn't forgotten her charger and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before zipping everything shut.

Only then did she leave the classroom.

The icy evening air greeted her the moment she stepped outside.

The temperature had dropped noticeably since morning.

Street lamps had already begun glowing against the grey sky while fresh snow continued drifting down in slow, unhurried flakes.

She glanced at the time.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh, no..."

The words escaped before she realised she'd spoken aloud.

She was going to be late.

Without another thought, she adjusted the strap of her backpack and broke into a run.

The cold air burned her lungs as she hurried through familiar streets, weaving past pedestrians with hurried apologies whenever someone blocked her path.

The bell above the café door chimed loudly as she pushed it open.

Warmth embraced her instantly.

Along with the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee, melted chocolate and baked bread.

She bent slightly, one hand resting against her knee as she caught her breath.

"You ran again, didn't you?"

A deep voice carried from behind the counter.

Shagun looked up.

Andrew stood there with his arms folded, though the amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth ruined any attempt at looking stern.

"I..."

She laughed between breaths.

"I might have."

He shook his head.

"One day you'll collapse before your shift even begins."

"I was only..." she inhaled sharply, "...three minutes late."

"Two."

She blinked.

"What?"

"You were only two minutes late."

Andrew glanced towards the clock before smiling.

"I checked."

She couldn't help smiling back.

It was such a small thing.

Yet somehow...

He always noticed.

Before she could say another word, she disappeared behind the counter, quickly hanging her puffer jacket on the hook before tying the familiar brown apron around her waist.

Caffè Aurum.

The embroidered words had become oddly comforting.

Almost like slipping into another version of herself.

The quiet university student gave way to the attentive barista who somehow found it easier to smile at strangers than to start conversations with classmates.

No sooner had she adjusted the apron than the café door opened again.

The first customer of her shift walked in.

An elderly gentleman.

Grey scarf.

Dark wool coat.

Leather gloves.

Shagun recognised him immediately.

"Good evening, Mr. Ricci."

The old man looked pleasantly surprised.

"You remember me."

"You always order a cappuccino."

She smiled gently.

"Extra cinnamon."

"And no sugar."

His eyes crinkled with laughter.

"I suppose I don't need to order anymore."

"You really don't."

She prepared his coffee exactly the way he liked it, sprinkling the cinnamon with practiced hands before placing the warm cup on the tray.

"Here you go."

He accepted it with a grateful smile.

"Grazie."

"Prego."

Andrew watched the interaction from the coffee machine before quietly muttering to himself,

"Photographic memory."

"I heard that," Shagun laughed.

"I wanted you to."

The evening gradually settled into its familiar rhythm.

The hiss of steaming milk.

The clink of ceramic cups.

The quiet murmur of conversations filling the café.

Students occupied the corner tables with laptops spread open beside untouched coffees.

A young couple sat near the window, sharing a slice of tiramisu while watching the snowfall outside.

A businessman typed furiously between phone calls, pausing only long enough to sip his espresso.

Shagun moved between them with quiet efficiency.

She never rushed.

Never forgot an order.

Never let a table wait longer than necessary.

Perhaps because she understood how comforting familiar places could become.

And she wanted this café to feel that way for everyone who walked through its doors.

Just as she picked up a menu and turned towards a newly occupied table—

"Ohhh... look who's here!"

The cheerful voice echoed across the café.

Shagun looked over her shoulder and smiled almost immediately.

"Good evening, Aunty."

Aren walked straight towards her without the slightest concern for who might be watching.

"Oh, my princess."

She cupped Shagun's face for a brief second before gently patting her cheek.

"How was university today?"

Shagun laughed softly.

"Long."

"I knew it."

Aren nodded as though she'd expected no other answer.

"Go serve your customers first. Then you'll tell me everything."

"Yes, Aunty."

There was something almost magical about Aren.

She had never once tried to force Shagun out of her shell.

She simply waited.

Patiently.

Kindly.

And little by little, conversation had stopped feeling like effort.

Two months ago, Shagun had walked into Caffè Aurum looking for a part-time job.

Somehow...

She had walked out with something she hadn't expected.

People who worried whether she'd eaten.

People who reminded her to wear gloves before stepping outside.

People who asked how her lectures had gone—and genuinely waited for the answer.

Family didn't always arrive by blood.

Sometimes...

It found you in unexpected cities.

The evening slipped away one customer at a time.

By the time Andrew turned the sign on the door to Closed, exhaustion settled over the café like a soft blanket.

Shagun untied her apron and folded it neatly before placing it in her locker.

Only then did she finally allow herself to sit.

The chair beside the large glass window had quietly become hers.

Outside, snow continued to fall beneath the amber glow of streetlights.

People hurried home with scarves wrapped tightly around their faces.

Some walked hand in hand.

Others disappeared into waiting taxis.

She watched them absent-mindedly, resting her chin against her palm.

The city never seemed to stop moving.

Sometimes she wondered if it ever felt lonely.

A ceramic mug appeared in front of her.

She looked up.

Aren lowered herself into the chair opposite, wrapping both hands around her own cup of tea.

Without asking, she'd already ordered Shagun's favourite.

Hot chocolate.

A smile spread across Shagun's face before she even realised it.

She reached into the pocket of her jeans, pulled out a few coins and placed them on the table.

Aren stared at them.

Then at her.

Then quietly pushed them back across the table.

"It's a reward."

"Aunty..."

"No."

She shook her head firmly.

"You don't pay for rewards."

"But—"

"No arguments."

Shagun looked down at the mug, unable to stop the smile tugging at her lips.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm very sure, child."

The first sip melted across her tongue, rich and warm enough to chase away the winter that had settled beneath her skin.

She closed her eyes for just a second.

It tasted exactly like comfort.

Aren smiled knowingly.

"There she is."

"Hmm?"

"My five-year-old."

Shagun laughed.

"I do not look five."

"No," Aren teased. "Only when someone gives you hot chocolate."

The café filled with their laughter, soft enough not to disturb the quiet evening.

For a little while, university deadlines, lonely lecture halls and tomorrow's responsibilities ceased to exist.

There was only warmth.

A mug of hot chocolate.

And the comforting illusion that home wasn't always a place.

Sometimes...

It was people.

The warmth of the café lingered with her long after she stepped outside.

Snow crunched softly beneath her boots as she pulled her puffer jacket closer around herself. The streets had grown quieter than they had been a few hours ago. Most of the shops had switched off their lights, leaving only the glow of cafés and restaurants spilling onto the white pavements.

Her breath formed little clouds in the freezing air.

For a moment, she tilted her head back.

Snowflakes landed on her cheeks before melting almost instantly.

She smiled.

Somehow, the walk back never felt as long as the walk to work.

Perhaps because she was finally heading home.

Or perhaps because she had learned to enjoy the silence that accompanied her every evening.

By the time she reached her apartment building, the corridor lights had already dimmed to their night setting.

She climbed the stairs quietly, careful not to disturb anyone.

The familiar click of her key echoed softly as she unlocked the door.

Warmth welcomed her.

Not because someone had been waiting inside.

But because she had slowly turned this little apartment into a place that waited for her.

She slipped off her shoes beside the entrance before placing her backpack against the study desk.

The room looked exactly the way she'd left it that morning.

The mug she'd forgotten to wash sat inside the sink.

A folded blanket rested neatly at the foot of the bed.

Her textbooks occupied almost every inch of the desk, silently reminding her that the day still wasn't over.

She walked straight towards the washbasin, splashing cold water across her face before tying her hair into a loose bun.

The exhaustion settled over her almost immediately.

Her feet ached.

Her shoulders felt impossibly heavy.

And yet...

There were still chapters left to study.

Just as she reached for her phone to call home—

It vibrated in her hand.

Tai ❤️

The corners of her lips lifted automatically.

She accepted the video call.

Lakshita's face filled the screen almost instantly.

Behind her, books lay scattered across the bed in complete chaos.

Shagun laughed.

"Raat ke ek baje kaun phone karta hai?" (Who calls someone at one in the night?)

Lakshita looked dramatically offended.

"Wahan toh sirf aath baje hain." (It's only eight there.) She pointed a finger at the screen. "Time zones yaad rakha kar." (At least remember the time zones.)

They both laughed.

It amazed Shagun how easily her sister could make distance disappear.

"So..." Lakshita rested her chin on her palm.

"How was today?"

Shagun smiled.

"You first."

"No."

"You."

"No."

A beat of silence.

Then—

Both sisters started speaking at the exact same time.

They stopped.

Looked at each other.

And burst into laughter all over again.

"Fine," Lakshita surrendered. "You go first."

Shagun talked about her lectures, the endless notes she'd taken, the professor whose accent still confused her and how she'd nearly been late for work because she'd lost track of time.

Lakshita listened without interrupting, occasionally nodding, occasionally laughing.

Only when Shagun had finished did she begin describing her own day.

Assignments.

College gossip.

A presentation that had almost gone terribly wrong.

Somehow, even the ordinary parts sounded entertaining when Lakshita narrated them.

Shagun leaned comfortably against the headboard, smiling more than she realised.

There were very few people in the world with whom silence never demanded explanation.

Lakshita was one of them.

"Where's Shaivik Bhaiya?" she asked, noticing he hadn't appeared yet.

"In the kitchen."

Lakshita rolled her eyes dramatically.

"He's decided he suddenly enjoys cooking."

"Oh?"

Shagun grinned mischievously.

"I saw your Instagram story."

Lakshita froze.

"So?"

"So..."

Shagun dragged the word deliberately.

"Date?"

Colour rose to Lakshita's cheeks almost immediately.

"There was no date."

"Mhmm."

"There wasn't."

"Mhmm."

"It was just dinner."

"With?"

Lakshita groaned loudly.

"I don't like you."

"You love me."

"I tolerate you."

"Same thing."

Both sisters laughed again.

The laughter slowly faded.

Shagun's smile softened.

"I want to ask you that question again, Tai."

Lakshita immediately understood which question she meant.

Her playful expression disappeared.

She looked away from the screen for a brief second.

"You know..."

She spoke quietly.

"I'm still not sure."

"But he is."

Shagun's voice remained gentle.

"It's been eight years."

Lakshita let out a slow breath.

"Eight years don't magically remove fear."

"No."

"They don't."

Silence settled between them.

Not awkward.

Just... thoughtful.

Finally, Lakshita forced a small smile.

"Enough about me."

She looked back at the screen.

"You tell me."

"Any friends yet?"

Shagun answered almost immediately.

"Never."

Lakshita sighed, though there was affection in her eyes.

"You've been there for two months."

"I know."

"You can't spend your entire course talking only to professors."

"I practically can."

"You know what I mean."

Shagun smiled faintly.

"I do."

"I just..."

She searched for the right words.

"It isn't that easy."

Lakshita nodded.

She understood.

Better than anyone.

"I hope you find someone."

"A friend."

"A really good one."

Shagun looked towards the window where snow continued drifting through the darkness.

"If God wishes."

Before either of them could speak again, the bedroom door behind Lakshita opened.

A familiar face appeared carrying a tray balanced carefully between both hands.

Two steaming bowls of noodles.

"Move."

Shaivik nudged the door open with his shoulder before placing the tray beside Lakshita.

Only then did he notice the laptop.

A smile spread across his face.

"So this is where my sister disappeared."

"Good morning, Bhaiya," Shagun greeted cheerfully

"Good morning, Bhaiya," Shagun greeted cheerfully.

He chuckled.

"Kaisi hai tu?" (How are you?)

"Better."

He studied her face for a second.

Perhaps making sure she truly meant it.

Then he looked towards Lakshita.

"Akshi."

"Hmm?"

"Eat."

She frowned.

"I will."

Shagun laughed so hard that tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

For a little while...

It almost felt like she was sitting there with them.

Not thousands of kilometres away.

Not separated by different countries.

Just...

Home.

Eventually, she glanced towards the clock resting on her study desk.

Her smile faltered.

The books waiting beside it seemed heavier than before.

"I should go."

Lakshita frowned.

"So early?"

"I still have to study."

Shaivik nodded knowingly.

"Don't stay up too late."

"I'll try."

"And eat properly."

"I will."

"And call tomorrow."

"I promise."

One by one, they exchanged their goodbyes.

The screen turned black.

Silence returned.

The apartment seemed almost unfamiliar after so much laughter.

Shagun remained sitting exactly where she was.

Her phone rested loosely in her lap.

Outside, snow continued falling with quiet determination, covering the streets, the rooftops and every footprint left behind.

She stared at the white world beyond the window for a long time before finally standing.

There was still studying to do.

Still dreams to chase.

Still a life to build.

She walked towards her desk, opened the pathology textbook and uncapped her pen.

The room fell silent once again.

Neither she...

Nor anyone she loved...

Had the slightest idea that this ordinary little routine—the lectures, the café, the nightly calls, the comfort she had so carefully built—

was standing on the edge of a change that would quietly alter every corner of her life.

And somewhere beyond the snow-covered streets of Milan...

fate had already begun moving.

It simply hadn't introduced itself yet.

— End of Chapter One —

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Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading the first chapter of Her Refuge. I truly hope you enjoyed it and connected with Shagun, even if it was just a little.

This story is a slow-burn romance, and I promise I'm taking my time for a reason. Every conversation, every silence, every chapter, and every character has a purpose. I'm not rushing the journey because I want you to experience every emotion alongside them.

So, all I ask is for a little patience.

I give you my word—if you stay with me, this story will slowly find its way into your heart... and before you realise it, you'll be completely addicted to it.

Thank you for trusting me with your time.

With love,
Shagun
Rosebud Realms

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