Chapter 3: Of Guilty Curiosity and Fictional Lines Crossed

There are moments in a writer’s life when they realize they’ve stopped writing stories and begun living in one.
For Ira Sen, that moment arrived with a single email �" and the sound of her conscience screaming into a cushion.

But let’s rewind.

One must accept an uncomfortable truth about artists �" especially those who trade in emotions for a living. They steal. Not money, not objects, but moments. Glances. Pain. Unspoken longings.

And Ira, for all her charm and wit, was a thief like the rest.
---
It began with silence.

Not the literary kind, heavy with metaphor, but real silence �" the kind that fills a room when you’ve read something too private to be yours and can’t unsee it.

Aarav’s voice echoed in her head, lifted straight from the transcript:

> “I know how to disappear emotionally �" while sitting right next to someone.”

And then this:

> “Shimla was the last time I was honest. And it ended with her walking out into a snowstorm.”

There was something cinematic about it. Too perfect to be real.
But it was real.

And Ira couldn’t stop thinking about it.

---

She made tea.
Didn’t drink it.
Reheated it. Forgot it.

Around her, the room felt tilted, like the air had been rewritten.

Her flatmate peeked in, noticed the open laptop and unblinking stare.

> “You look like you’re plotting a murder. Or worse �" a love story.”

> “Worse,” Ira muttered. “A lawsuit.”

---

This is where the chapter becomes quietly brilliant.

Because somewhere in that transcript, she didn’t just meet a stranger.

She saw herself.

> “Like a buzzing in my head that won’t stop…”

What writer hasn’t felt that?

What person hasn’t?
---

So she did what any self-aware, caffeine-addled millennial might:
She wrote him.

A carefully crafted email. Just enough apology to be sincere. Just enough distance to hide how deeply she was affected.

---

> Subject: Re: Confidential Mistake �" Clarification and Apology

Dear Mr. Verma,

I believe I’ve received a confidential transcript by mistake. I should have deleted it. I didn’t. I read it. Not because I’m nosy �" but because I’m a writer, and your words wouldn’t let me go.

If you’d like to meet to discuss this �" even if only to tell me to back off �" I’ll be at the College Street Coffee House, Thursday, 5 PM.

I’ll be the one with the guilty expression and a pen.

Sincerely,
Ira Sen
---

she hits Send.

She doesn’t breathe.
Just stares at the screen like it might explode.

Because here’s the paradox of vulnerability: when you admit you’ve crossed a line, there’s always the chance someone will cross one back �" toward you, or against you.

---

it’s about emotional escalation.What started as an accident is now something deeper.

A story tethered to real pain. A character stepping into a role she didn’t audition for.

And somewhere across the city, a man who’s spent his entire life designing clean, sharp edges just got an email from a stranger who doesn’t believe in emotional blueprints.