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"Sometimes, two souls are destined to meet, not by chance, but by the whispers of fate."

- Unknown

Vivaan Chaturvedi sat in his studio, the soft brush strokes of his paintbrush gliding over the canvas as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the large windows. The room, filled with half-completed artworks, was his sanctuary, a place where he could escape the haunting memories of the past. His hands, though steady from years of experience, trembled slightly as they moved, almost as if the brush itself felt the weight of the emotions he hadn't been able to express in words.

It had been years since the tragic accident that claimed the lives of his parents and younger brother. Vivaan had been just a teenager at the time, forced to grow up quickly. In an instant, his world had been shattered-no parents, no brother, no one left but his sister, Meera, and his grandmother, Nirmala. The grief had consumed him, and the only thing that had kept him going was his art- each piece a silent cry, each stroke a whisper of the sorrow he carried. He had poured all his pain and longing into his work, but no matter how much he painted, it never seemed enough to fill the void.

Meera had become his anchor. Though younger than him, she was the one who kept the family together. Nirmala's wisdom and strength had provided him with a sense of grounding, reminding him of the importance of carrying on. Yet, no matter how much time passed, Vivaan couldn't escape the shadow of loss that loomed over him.

He walked to the living room to take a small, refreshing break from work.

The room was quiet except for the soft rustle of papers. Nirmala Chaturvedi, Vivaan's grandmother, adjusted her glasses as she went through the biodata of a prospective bride. Her gaze shifted toward her grandson, who sat in his studio, lost in the swirl of colors on his canvas.

"Vivaan," she called, her voice carrying the gentle authority he could never ignore.

He paused, wiping his paint-streaked hands on a cloth before walking toward her. "What is it, Dadi?"

Nirmala held up the biodata, a slight smile on her face. "Another proposal."

Vivaan exhaled deeply, his fingers running through his hair. "I told you, Dadi. I'm not ready."

"Life doesn't wait for readiness, Vivaan. Sometimes, it's about taking a leap and letting things unfold."

Meanwhile, miles away in a bustling apartment, Roohi Ahuja was seated at the dining table with her mother, Anjali. The table bore the weight of freshly printed papers - biodatas of eligible bachelors.

"Roohi, this one looks perfect," Anjali said, pushing a paper toward her.

Roohi barely glanced at it, her focus still on her laptop. "Maa, I'm not interested. I have a project deadline tomorrow."

Anjali's tone sharpened. "You're 25, Roohi. If you don't start considering these proposals now, people will start talking."

"Let them talk," Roohi replied, her voice calm but firm.

Ashok, her father, who had been quietly reading the newspaper, finally spoke up, his deep voice cutting through the tension. "Roohi, beta, your mother is not wrong. Marriage isn't just about society's expectations,it's about finding someone who can be your companion in this journey of life."

Roohi paused, looking at her father. His tone was kind but resolute.

"All we're asking is for you to meet him once," Ashok continued. "Vivaan Chaturvedi is a good man. He's been through a lot, but he's talented, hardworking, and grounded. We think he could be a good match for you."

Roohi sighed. She respected her father immensely, and while she wasn't convinced, she couldn't outright dismiss his request.

"Fine," she said, closing her laptop. "I'll meet him. But just once."

For both Vivaan and Roohi, the concept of marriage wasn't foreign, but it felt distant, like a road they were expected to take but didn't feel ready for.

Vivaan spent his days immersed in his art, using colors to fill the void left by loss, while Roohi built her fort of independence, shielding herself from societal expectations.

That evening, unable to shake off her curiosity, Roohi sat back at her desk after her mother had left for the evening. She opened her laptop once more, her mind wandering back to the name that had been mentioned in the conversation - Vivaan Chaturvedi.

"Let's see what he's like," she muttered, typing his name into the search engine.

The first result was a link to a gallery featuring his artwork, and Roohi clicked it eagerly. As the page loaded, she was greeted by a collection of paintings that immediately captivated her. Each one told a story of grief, beauty, and emotion - a rawness she hadn't expected to see in an artist's work. The colors were deep, the brush strokes full of intensity, and the themes seemed to echo a profound understanding of loss, much like what her own family had faced at times.

She scrolled through the images, mesmerized by the intricate details, the subtle play of light and shadow, the quiet yet powerful way his paintings captured the fragility of life. One piece, in particular, caught her eye - an abstract portrayal of a shattered family, the jagged edges symbolizing broken bonds, yet the warm tones surrounding it suggested a quiet healing.

Roohi leaned forward, her breath catching in her throat. She felt a strange connection to the emotions in his work. There was something undeniably humane about it,something that reached her in ways words couldn't. It struck a chord with her.

"This is... beautiful," she whispered, her mind racing. Was this what Vivaan was really like? Could an artist be this raw, this open with their emotions?

She closed her laptop after a few moments, her thoughts swirling. The idea of meeting him now felt different. It wasn't just about an arranged marriage anymore - it was about meeting the person behind those paintings, understanding the mind that could create such art.

As the clock ticked toward the evening, Roohi's thoughts swirled with uncertainty. She had agreed to meet him, but now, a quiet curiosity had replaced her initial hesitation. Would he be someone who understood the complexities of life, of love and loss? Or would he be just another man trying to fit into the role her parents had set for him?

The hour of their meeting approached, each of them lost in their thoughts. Neither of them expected anything more than a brief, obligatory conversation. But in that quiet uncertainty, a flicker of something more lingered - an unspoken possibility, a moment where two lives could unknowingly begin to intersect.

As the sun set and the evening began to cool, Vivaan stood from his chair, taking one last look at the unfinished canvas. He grabbed his jacket and keys, his heart racing with an unfamiliar anticipation.

Roohi, too, stood from her seat, gathering her resolve. She took one final glance at the papers on the table before heading out the door.

In the space between their individual journeys, there existed the smallest of openings - a chance to step into the unknown, to meet face-to-face, and to see what awaited them.

And so, as both made their way to the meeting, they carried with them a mixture of hope and hesitation. Their paths were about to cross, and the meeting would mark the beginning of a new chapter the one they hadn't yet fully understood, but were each about to embrace.