The next morning, Armaan stirred as the bright sunlight filtered through the curtains, hitting his face directly. He groaned, his eyes shut tight, unwilling to face the day just yet. His head ached slightly, a dull throb reminding him of the fever from the night before. He felt utterly drained, every muscle in his body heavy with exhaustion. Even his chest ached with the weight of emotions he’d tried so hard to suppress, but which had burst out of him uncontrollably yesterday.

His mind still hazy from sleep, Armaan felt something comforting—a hand moving gently through his hair. The soft touch soothed his aching head, and he instinctively nuzzled further into the warmth. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, adjusting to the light, and it was then he noticed Abhira.

She was sitting upright in bed, her back resting against the headboard, eyes closed but not fully asleep. Her hand moved rhythmically through his hair, fingers tenderly stroking, as though she knew he needed the comfort even in her half-asleep state. He realized then that he was curled up against her, his head resting on her stomach, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist, seeking solace in her presence even in his sleep.

Armaan’s chest tightened as he took in the sight of her, exhausted from the previous night but still there, still holding him close, offering him a sense of safety he hadn’t felt in so long. Abhira’s dedication to him, her love—it was overwhelming.

He didn’t know how long he had stayed in her arms, crying the night before. His memories of it were fragmented, hazy with the fever and the storm of emotions that had erupted inside him. But now, with the morning light filtering in, the events of the previous day came crashing back into his mind.

The sketchbook. The pictures. His mother’s diary. The flood of memories, buried for so long, had surfaced in a tidal wave of grief and longing. He had cried for his mother, for the childhood he’d never fully grieved, for the sense of abandonment that had always lingered in the back of his heart.

And through it all, Abhira had been there. Holding him, whispering soft reassurances, grounding him when he felt like he might lose himself to the overwhelming sorrow.

A lump formed in his throat as he stared at her now, her face peaceful, though her posture revealed her tiredness. She hadn’t left his side. Not once. Even now, her hand moved through his hair, as if to remind him that she was there, that he wasn’t alone.

Armaan felt a surge of gratitude, mixed with something deeper—something that went beyond words. He shifted slightly, not wanting to disturb her, but as he moved, the weight of everything that had transpired settled heavily on his chest again. The Poddars, the years of neglect, the feeling of never truly belonging—it all gnawed at him, threatening to pull him back into that dark place. But Abhira was here. She was his anchor, the only constant in a life that had so often felt adrift.

He closed his eyes again, not ready to face the world outside of this moment. Not yet. For now, all he wanted was to stay here, wrapped in her warmth, feeling the steady rhythm of her hand in his hair and the soft rise and fall of her breathing beneath him.

This—this was what home felt like.

Not the Poddar Mansion, not the family that had always kept him at a distance.

It was Abhira. It was her love, her presence, her unwavering support.

Abhira stirred awake, her body stiff from staying in the same position for so long. She glanced down to find Armaan still curled up against her, his face resting on her stomach. His expression looked more peaceful than it had in days, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her.

Her hand instinctively went to his forehead, checking for any lingering signs of fever. His skin felt warm, but not feverish—just the soft warmth of someone resting peacefully.

A surge of love rose within her as she gazed at him. Even in his most vulnerable state, Armaan looked like the man she loved with every fiber of her being—strong yet tender. She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips as she gently brushed his hair back from his forehead, pressing a feather-light kiss on his temple. He didn’t stir, so she kissed the bridge of his nose softly, then his cheek, her heart swelling with affection for him.

“I am always there for you” she whispered, more to herself than to him. She didn’t want to disturb his rest, but something about these quiet moments made her want to stay there with him forever.

Abhira carefully lifted herself, trying not to wake him, and began tucking the blanket around his body to keep him snug and warm. She kissed his nose again, smiling at how peaceful he looked, then quietly got up, planning to leave him for a while to prepare for the day.

But just as she took a step toward the door, she felt a gentle tug on her wrist.

Armaan’s hand had shot out, gripping her fingers softly. She looked down in surprise, finding his eyes still closed but a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Armaan,” she said softly, “I thought you were asleep.”

“I was, untill sometime back” he confessed, opening his eyes slowly. “I didn’t want you to go.”

Before she could respond, he pulled her back toward the bed, making her fall gently beside him. He immediately shifted, resting his head in her lap, his eyes closing again as if that was the most natural thing in the world. “Stay,” he whispered, his voice tender.

“Armaan, I have things to do,” she protested half-heartedly, though her hands were already finding their way back into his hair, stroking it gently.

“It’s Sunday,” he mumbled, tilting his head so he could look up at her. “That means we get to stay in bed longer.”

Abhira chuckled at his reasoning. “Sunday or not, someone has to make breakfast,” she said, though she couldn’t deny how much she wanted to stay there with him, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breath against her lap.

“We can order something,” Armaan suggested, his tone playful. “Let’s face it, we both know our cooking skills are... still questionable. After sleeping on empty stomachs last night, I think we deserve a decent meal.”

Abhira couldn’t help but laugh softly. He was right; neither of them had eaten the night before, too consumed by the weight of their emotions. “Alright, fine. But don’t blame me if the delivery takes too long,” she teased, running her fingers through his hair again, this time with a bit more affection.

Armaan shifted, moving to sit up slightly so that he could be closer to her face. His eyes, though still tired, were filled with a warmth that made her heart flutter. “Deal,” he said softly, his voice dropping as he leaned in to press a kiss to her cheek. His lips lingered there for a moment, warm and gentle.

Abhira felt her breath hitch as his mouth moved to her jaw, planting soft kisses along her skin. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the moment, her hand still resting on his cheek as he trailed kisses down her neck.

“Armaan,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Hm?” He hummed against her skin, his lips still grazing her neck.

“I love you,” she whispered, her heart full as she held him close.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek as his gaze softened. “I love you more, Abhira,” he murmured, his voice low and full of sincerity. “More than anything.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the weight of the previous day forgotten, at least for now. In that moment, it was just them—no outside world, no pain from the past, just the quiet comfort of their love.

After a few more quiet moments in each other’s arms, Abhira finally relented, reaching over to grab her phone from the nightstand. “Alright, let’s order breakfast,” she said with a small smile. “Pancakes and coffee sound good?”

Armaan nodded, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “Perfect. Extra maple syrup.”

Abhira rolled her eyes playfully but placed the order nonetheless. Once the meal was on its way, Armaan nestled closer to her again, burying his face in her neck and letting out a content sigh. She wrapped her arms around him, neither of them in any rush to move.

They stayed like that until the doorbell finally rang, signaling the arrival of their breakfast. Reluctantly, Armaan pulled away and went to fetch the food, leaving Abhira sitting up against the pillows, the soft glow of morning light filling the room.

When he returned, arms laden with a tray of fluffy pancakes, steaming coffee, and little containers of syrup and butter, Abhira’s eyes lit up. “Breakfast in bed? That’s like a perfect start to a Sunday,” she teased, helping him set the tray down between them.

“We deserve it,” Armaan replied, handing her a cup of coffee. He picked up a pancake with his fork and smeared butter across it before drowning it in maple syrup. “These look amazing.”

They ate together in comfortable silence, the sound of utensils clinking against plates the only thing breaking the quiet. Abhira savored each bite, the warm sweetness of the pancakes melting in her mouth. But it wasn’t long before she noticed Armaan’s clumsy side kicking in.

“Armaan!” she exclaimed with a laugh, watching as a thick drizzle of maple syrup missed his plate entirely and landed squarely on the bedsheets. He looked down, wide-eyed, realizing his mistake as syrup slowly soaked into the fabric.

“Oops,” he said sheepishly, flashing her an innocent smile.

Abhira couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking her head in amusement. “You’re such a messy eater. What am I going to do with you?” she teased, swatting at him lightly.

Armaan pouted dramatically, his eyes widening as he tried to give her his best “I’m-too-cute-to-be-mad-at” expression. “I didn’t mean to!” he said, his voice almost childlike in its innocence.

Abhira let out an exasperated sigh but couldn’t stop the grin from forming on her lips. “You’re impossible,” she muttered before reaching over and pulling at his cheeks playfully. “But you’re cute, so I’ll let it slide this time.”

Armaan grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned into her touch. “Only this time?” he asked, his voice teasing.

Abhira chuckled, giving each of his cheeks a quick kiss. “Maybe always,” she admitted softly, her lips brushing against his skin. She pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. “How can I stay mad at you when you’re this adorable?”

Armaan’s grin widened as he leaned in to kiss her forehead in return. “You can’t,” he said with a wink.

They both laughed, the earlier heaviness of the past few days fading into the background. As they continued to enjoy their breakfast, Abhira couldn’t help but feel thankful for these little moments with him—the quiet, playful, and tender exchanges that made everything else seem a little lighter.

After finishing their playful breakfast in bed, Abhira gathered the plates and cups and made her way to the kitchen to wash them up.

Armaan stayed behind, eyeing the syrup-soaked bedsheet with a sheepish smile. Determined to make up for his clumsiness, he pulled the sticky sheet off the bed, bundled it up, and carried it to the laundry basket. He then grabbed a fresh set of sheets from the closet and replaced them, smoothing the fabric over the mattress with care. Once the room was back in order, he gave a satisfied nod, feeling good about his small act of redemption.

Heading to the kitchen, Armaan found Abhira already washing the dishes, her back to him as she hummed softly under her breath. Smiling to himself, he quietly walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist in a gentle back hug. He rested his chin on her shoulder, breathing in her scent and feeling a wave of warmth settle over him.

Abhira paused, smiling at the sudden embrace. "What are you up to?" she asked playfully, continuing to rinse the dishes while leaning into his touch.

"Just helping," Armaan murmured, his voice low, his chin still on her shoulder. He kissed the side of her neck lightly, sending a soft shiver through her.

She turned her head slightly, giving him a side glance full of warmth. "Helping, huh? You sure you're not trying to distract me?" she teased, but the laughter in her voice was undeniable.

"Maybe a little of both," he admitted, kissing her shoulder again.

Just then the sound of Abhira’s phone ringing cut through the moment. She sighed, reaching for a towel to dry her hands before grabbing her phone from the counter. Armaan leaned back slightly, watching her expression shift as she answered the call.

“Hello? Yes, this is Abhira,” she said, her tone quickly becoming more businesslike. After a few moments of listening, her brow furrowed slightly. “I see... Yes, I can manage that. I’ll set up for the meeting in a few minutes.”

As she hung up the phone, Armaan raised an eyebrow. “Something urgent?”

Abhira nodded, turning to face him. “It’s a client. There’s an urgent meeting they need me to attend. I’ll have to set up my laptop and get started right away.”

Armaan smiled, though there was a touch of disappointment in his eyes. “No problem. You can set up in the drawing hall—it has better light and network coverage there. I’ll stay in the room so I don’t disturb you.”

Abhira gave him a grateful smile, stepping closer and reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for understanding,” she said softly.

Before heading off, Armaan leaned in and kissed her cheek in return, a playful glint in his eyes. “You’re welcome, but don’t think I’m letting you off so easily. We’ll pick up where we left off later,” he teased.

Abhira chuckled, her hand gently brushing his as she walked past him. “Deal,” she whispered, giving him a wink before heading to the drawing hall to prepare for her meeting.

Armaan watched her go, a smile lingering on his face as he returned to the room, giving her the space she needed to focus. Even though their cozy morning had been cut short, he was still grateful for these moments together.

Armaan sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze falling on a neatly organized carton that sat on the small desk in their room. He recognized the contents immediately — the sketches, the diary, and the other items from yesterday that he had scattered across the bed during his emotional breakdown. Abhira must have gathered them all after he had fallen asleep. His heart swelled with gratitude as he thought of how she’d taken care of everything without a word.

In the background, he could faintly hear Abhira's voice, polite and professional, as she greeted someone on her work call. The comforting sound of her voice grounded him, but his attention soon returned to the carton.

Slowly, Armaan walked to the desk, pulling the chair out. He sat down and carefully lifted the carton lid. The sketches lay on top, their crinkled edges betraying how they had been dampened by his tears the night before. He gently caressed the pages, the lines his mother had drawn, feeling an ache in his chest.

Next, his fingers found the diary. There were more entries than the ones he had read yesterday. He opened it again, flipping through the pages, eager yet anxious about what he might discover next.

One entry caught his eye

"My darling Armaan won a prize today in his drawing competition! I can’t describe how proud I am of him. He held up his drawing so proudly, and even though it was just a simple sketch of a house and trees, to me, it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. My little artist! I hope he always carries this love for drawing in his heart..."

Drawing competition !?

Armaan frowned as he tried to dig into the recesses of his mind. He tried to recall any memory of that day or even the competition itself. He could remember nothing. Nothing about him ever loving to draw or sketch. It seemed foreign to him, like a life he had no recollection of living. How could his mother have seen him as an artist when he didn’t remember ever holding a pencil to sketch anything?

Then, with a jolt, it struck him. The Poddar Mansion. The rigid expectations. He had never been encouraged to explore anything creative, be it drawing, dancing, or singing. Those were seen as frivolous activities, unsuitable for children of a "reputed" family. His own love for art must have been suffocated, buried under years of trying to live up to the Poddar standards. He recalled how Krish had struggled to pursue his passion for music, always being held back because it wasn't "respectable" enough for the family. Armaan's own creativity had likely suffered the same fate.

_________

He continued flipping through the diary, and another entry made him pause:

"Today Armaan came home completely drenched! It was pouring outside, and he had found a puddle of muddy water to jump into. My heart melted when I saw his dirty clothes and that wide grin on his face. Oh, how I wish I could freeze time and keep him like this forever, my little mischief-maker. There’s a joy in these small moments, and I cherish every second of it."

Armaan’s lips twitched upward, trying to picture himself as the boy his mother described. Drenched in mud, carefree, joyful. That boy felt like a stranger to him, as if he had lived a completely different life before the Poddar Mansion swallowed him whole.

________

He turned another page and found yet another sweet memory.

"Armaan threw the most adorable tantrum today! He had scratched his knee while playing and made such a fuss about it. When I laughed, he cried even louder, telling me I was 'mean' for laughing. But how could I not? He was too cute with his pouting face, and I kissed his knee better while he glared at me. My little boy, always so dramatic but always so lovable."

Armaan chuckled softly, feeling the warmth of the memory. His mother’s words painted a picture of a childhood filled with love and laughter. A life full of joy, one he had been forced to leave behind. As he flipped through the diary, his heart tightened with every turn. The next page was blank. And the one after that. And the one after that.

There were no more entries.

The empty pages stretched before him like the emptiness that had filled his life after his mother’s death. The blank space mirrored the way his life had felt without her — hollow, full of longing. These entries had been a window into the first four years of his life, years that had been filled with love, warmth, and care. But the next twenty-four years felt like a wasteland in comparison.

He sat there, staring at the empty pages, realizing how stark the contrast was between those early years with his mother and the years that followed in the Poddar Mansion. The love and freedom he had once known had been replaced by rigidity, expectations, and coldness. He had been molded into someone he no longer recognized.

His mother had wanted him to be happy, to be free, to live a life filled with art and joy. But the Poddars had turned him into someone who had forgotten those dreams, someone who had been denied that joy.

He closed the diary gently, the weight of his mother’s love lingering in his heart. It was both a comfort and a sorrow — to know that once, he had been loved so completely, but also to realize how much of that life had been taken from him.

As aArmaan sat, the soft hum of the air around him drowned out by the whirlpool of thoughts spiraling in his mind. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration building as he tried to piece together the mess his life had become. It wasn’t just about the Poddars, or Dev, or the chaos surrounding his career. It was something deeper—something that had been brewing inside him for years, but he’d never let it surface.

He thought about the years he’d spent bending over backward for the Poddars. He remembered the late nights, the endless work at the firm, the way he had molded himself into the perfect son and grandson, sacrificing his own desires, his own dreams. He had been doing everything to live up to their expectations, thinking that was love. He believed that being accepted by them, earning their approval, meant that they loved him in return.

But now, sitting here in the silence, it hit him like a wave—they never really loved him.

They tolerated him. They used him. They saw him as a tool, as someone who could bring them prestige, someone who could uphold the Poddar name.

But love? No, that wasn’t love.

The Poddars’ so-called love was conditional, transactional. It was always about what he could do for them, what he could sacrifice for them, how well he could fit into their image of the perfect Poddar.

They had never asked him what he wanted. They had never cared for his dreams or his happiness. To them, love was a currency, something they offered in return for loyalty, service, and obedience.

He could still hear Dadi sa’s harsh words from the day she made that announcement. The way she had looked down on him, dismissing everything he had ever done for the family, because he wasn’t her "true blood." The Poddars had always made him feel like an outsider—someone who had to earn his place in their world, even though he had given everything to them.

Armaan’s chest tightened as he thought about it all. His entire life, he had been chasing something that was never real.

Love wasn’t supposed to feel like that.

Love wasn’t about power or control. It wasn’t about making someone prove their worth over and over again. No, love was supposed to be unconditional. Love was supposed to feel safe.

And then, almost instinctively, his thoughts drifted to his mother—his real source of love.

His mother’s face appeared in his mind, her gentle smile, the way she had always held him close when he was a child, the way she never demanded anything from him except to be himself. She had given him everything without asking for anything in return.

That was love—pure, selfless, unwavering love.

His mother had loved him not because of what he could do, not because of how much success he could bring to the family name, but simply because he was her son. She had been his constant support, even when he felt like the world was crashing around him. She had never once tried to control him, never once asked him to be anything other than who he was.

That was love.

A deep breath escaped his lips as he realized how far he had strayed from that kind of love, chasing after something that had never been real.

And then, there was Abhira.

His eyes softened as he thought of her—her fierce loyalty, her gentle touch, the way she always stood by him no matter what. She was so different from the Poddars, from the twisted version of love they had tried to instill in him. Abhira’s love was like a fire—strong, passionate, protective—but also soft, tender, and healing. She loved him for who he was, not for what he could do for her.

She loved him fiercely but never demanded anything in return.

Abhira never asked him to prove himself. She never made him feel like he had to be someone else to earn her love. She was always there, fighting for him, even when he couldn’t fight for himself. She had stood up to Dadi sa for him, defended him when he was too broken to do it for himself. And not once had she ever asked for anything in return.

That was love.

It was fierce but gentle. It was unconditional and pure. And that’s what he had been missing all these years.

The realization hit him hard—the Poddars never loved him. Not really. What they called love was manipulation, control, and power. They had used him, twisted his understanding of what love was supposed to be, until he couldn’t even recognize the real thing when it was right in front of him.

But now, sitting here in the quiet, with the memory of his mother’s love and Abhira’s unwavering support in his heart, he finally saw the truth. He didn’t need the Poddars' approval. He didn’t need their version of love.

He had real love.

He had the love of his mother, who had always believed in him. He had Abhira, who loved him with every fiber of her being. And that was enough. More than enough.

Armaan took a deep breath, feeling lighter than he had in years. He wasn’t going to chase after the Poddars’ twisted form of love anymore. He didn’t need their validation or their acceptance. He had all the love he needed—the kind that didn’t come with strings attached, the kind that made him feel whole, not broken.

And with that, he knew he could let go. Let go of the Poddars, let go of their expectations, their control. He could live his life on his own terms, with the people who truly loved him. And for the first time in a long time, Armaan felt free.

Free to be himself.

Free to love and be loved—the way it was meant to be.

As Armaan sat there, the realization of everything he had been carrying for so long settled in. His thoughts drifted back to Abhira—how she had been with him through every storm. She had never wavered, never left his side, even when he had pushed her away with his frustrations, his fears, and his insecurities. In the past few days, she had stood like a rock, shielding him from the weight of the world, reminding him of his worth when he himself had forgotten it.

He could see now how much he had burdened himself with—how he had let the expectations of others crush him under a load he was never meant to bear. For years, he had been chasing the approval of people who didn’t truly care, allowing their demands to shape his life, suffocating under the weight of responsibility that wasn’t his to carry. And through it all, Abhira had been there, quietly supporting him, reminding him of who he really was.

But no more.

Armaan’s gaze shifted to the small turtle figurine he held in his hand. It was a symbol of patience, perseverance, and wisdom—everything he now understood he needed to embrace moving forward. As he held it, a new determination filled him.

He wouldn’t linger in the past any longer.

The Poddars, their expectations, and their manipulations—they were behind him now. What mattered was the future, the future he would build with Abhira by his side.

Just as the resolve settled in his heart, a soft ping echoed in the room, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at his phone, lying face down on the bed. Picking it up, he saw a message from Dev.

_"Kya socha tumne about the firm, Armaan?"_

The words hung in the air as Armaan stared at the screen. His first instinct was to delay, to buy himself more time to think. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing the words mechanically— _"Need time to thi…"_

But then, something inside him shifted.

Why was he hesitating?

He had spent enough time running from his decisions, drowning in doubts that had been planted by people who didn’t believe in him. But now, it was different. This was his chance to take control of his own future. This was his opportunity to step out of the shadow of the Poddars and create something of his own—something meaningful, with someone who genuinely respected his talent.

Taking a deep breath, Armaan backspaced the words he had typed. No more waiting. No more fear.

He paused for a second, his heart beating faster as he typed the words that had been forming in the back of his mind all along.

_"I am in."_

His fingers hovered over the send button, a wave of uncertainty washing over him for just a moment. Was this the right choice? Would this be the step that finally set him free?

But the doubt didn’t last. He took another deep breath, steadying himself, and with a firm click, he pressed ‘send.’

The message flew off into the digital ether, and as the phone fell silent once again, Armaan felt something inside him release. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest—a burden that had been pressing down on him for too long. He set his phone aside, exhaling deeply, feeling lighter than he had in years.

A soft smile spread across his lips, a smile that wasn’t burdened by the past, by regrets or doubts. For the first time, Armaan felt a sense of accomplishment, of pride. He had made a decision for himself, and it felt right.

Armaan sat there, lost that he didn’t notice Abhira entering the room until he felt the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder. The warmth of her presence grounded him instantly, pulling him out of the maze of his thoughts.

He looked up at her, his eyes glassy, emotions swirling behind them. Without a word, he turned on the chair to face her, burying his face in her stomach. His arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close as if seeking solace in the only place that had always felt like home — her. Abhira’s fingers instinctively moved through his hair, comforting him in the silent way only she could.

Bending down, she pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, lingering for a moment as she held him closer. Her heart ached at the sight of him like this, so vulnerable yet so strong. She had never seen him like this before — a man who had always held himself together for everyone else now allowing himself to lean on her. And she wanted nothing more than to hold him through it all.

Finally, Armaan spoke, his voice muffled against her stomach, “I accepted Dev’s offer.”

Abhira’s heart skipped a beat. She pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, her lips curling into a proud smile. "You did?" she asked softly, her voice filled with admiration.

Armaan nodded, his grip tightening around her waist as he rested his head against her, taking in her warmth. "I thought about everything… about us, about my life… and I just want to move forward. I want to start something that’s mine, something I can build with you by my side."

Abhira’s chest swelled with pride. She cupped his face gently, making him look up at her. “I am so, so proud of you, Armaan,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with love. “You made the right choice. This is your moment to shine.”

Her words washed over him, bringing a wave of relief and contentment. In that moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders. He rose slightly from the chair, pulling her closer, his eyes locking with hers.

And then, as if drawn together by an unspoken force, their lips met in a kiss — soft at first, tender and full of unspoken emotions. But as the moment deepened, the kiss grew more passionate, a mingling of relief, love, and a newfound hope for the future. It was as if through that kiss, they promised to stand by each other no matter what came next, to face every challenge together, to build the life they both deserved.

In that shared moment, they weren’t just two people in love. They were two people ready to conquer the world together.

~End of Flashback~

*..*..*..*..*

The first set of Flashback Ends here.

The next two chapter would go back to chapter 3 where the flashbacks started from ie the day the news of poddars going bankrupt flashed on the TV.

Do tell me ur views in the comments.

~TheLostSoul