A/N: This chapter felt crazy to me when I wrote it and even now, it's the one I feel the most nervous about sharing. However, I hope it comes across well as you read it. Here's me keeping my fingers crossed that you like it.  

If you stop reading or get bored at any point in the chapter/story, I'd love to know. Just a simple, 'Hey, this is where I stopped,' would do if nothing else so I can fix them before publishing next year. TYSM for your help. ❤❤

Shashank stared at that blue door from the footpath three days later. The leather jacket from an Op Shop he wore was more an oversized blazer than a biker jacket. The patches Jyo had PVA'd to the arms to emulate 'the look' only made him feel like he was an eight-year-old again, dressed in a hodgepodge of things and calling it his Halloween costume. And that stupid hat Jyo had forced him to buy after visiting several suburbs and several Op Shops? Well, it was less cute-trilby-style-hat and more a Budget-Dundee-turning-up-to-a-biker's-party.

Ridiculous didn't even touch on how he was feeling, standing there shivering despite wearing more clothes than advisable for a November evening.

Heavy clouds bruised the sky, snuffing out the daylight. Storm was brewing. The wind snipped at his skin, but had little to do with why his hands were shaking or why he wanted to rush to the nearest bush and throw up that vitality blend Jyo had forced down his throat in an excuse for lunch.

He was shitting himself, peering at that distinct door in the gloomy afternoon. He was about to make a fool of himself and win Jun back, or he was about to make a fool of himself and still lose her.

And he was wholly under-prepared for both.

Behind him, at the bottom of the porch steps stood Jyo, her small ring-light already casting light on the back of his head as she eagerly spoke to her audience of god knew how many people, people watching him, witnessing him, about to make a fool of himself.

"Evening everyone. I'm ThatCrazyZookepeerGal a.k.a. Jyo, streaming live from the front yard of a home where my future bhauju may be. Some of you know I have a twin brother... well, he's here with me tonight, and he's about to do something crazy to for a chance to be with the girl he's been head over heels in love with since we were like seventeen. A week ago, he made a huge mistake, and it seemed like this whole thing was over before it even began. But now, we're here—he's here, trying to woo her back. We don't know what's gonna happen. He's shit scared. I'm shit scared, but we have a pani-puri thela on the lawn, a collection of old romantic songs, the fucking rain that's well timed, and he's ready and dressed..."

"This is probably not going to work," he muttered darkly to himself, aware that Jyo's camera was aimed at his back, waiting to knock on that door.

"... if you ever wanted to know what a romance writer would do for his own happily ever after, you're about to find out, because my brother is no other than Zachary Eve, writer of books like IF ALL WE HAD WAS A MOMENT. Here we go..."

He felt Jyo step up on the steps, getting closer to him.

"... The hero of this moment is about to kiss and make up with the gal, or we're about to witness severe heartbreak, my friends. I don't know about you, but I'm on the edge of my seat... and if you're watching this stream and you recognise where we are, come on down. Shashi has hired a pani-puri cart for his lady as a gesture of sorry, and there's plenty to share after the show! So let's do it. Shashi, go get your woman..."

Perhaps I should have come up with some other 'grand gesture' plan than to show up as her favourite romance hero and fall to my knees, while Jyo presses play on the mix-tape behind me...

He gripped the ukelele he'd hired from a music shop because he couldn't find an identical mandolin to the one from the movie, trying to take that first step forward. If only someone would push him.

"Go on." Jyo nudged him with a finger, her ring light hitting the side of his face and illuminating that blue door as if it was a spotlight on him.

Thunder cracked again, and Shashank jumped. "It's about to rain... maybe we should come back."

"Ain't no coming back. You're live. Hundreds of people are watching..." Jyo nudged him again. "Go. Ring the bell. You can do it."

Press the bell. Shashank stared at that tiny little button mounted on the brick wall.

"Hey, what's going on here?" a nosy neighbour rolling out his bin just before rain pelts down paused in the adjoining driveway and asked.

"Just... nothing. He's about to ask a girl out," Jyo offered. "You can watch online, live if you want at—"

"Jyo!" Shashank glared at her, past the blinding light. "Streaming is one thing. Can you not invite real life audience onto the streets? Please."

"Fine. I suppose this means there's no bonfire and tossing the book in."

"For the last time, I'm not going to set the book on fire in front of the house for symbolism. I have no desire to add 'arsonist' to my descriptors?" It was bad enough a neighbour was already lingering around to watch them instead of heading back inside. A bonfire in a steel bin Jyo bought from Bunnings just for this purpose in the middle of a yard, in the pouring rain? How many more people would that lure out of the surrounding houses?

No, it was bad enough he agreed to Jyo streaming the whole thing to showcase just how serious he was about apologising, so he couldn't take back later.

Jyo mumbled something like, "Party pooper," but didn't press further. "Go ahead then, knock. She won't telepathically know you're standing outside, about to serenade her."

If only that were possible.

His stomach flipped enough times to qualify for a gymnastics gold medal at the Olympics. What was he doing dressed up like some tacky version of her favourite character, hiring a puchki cart so he could imitate a scene, pretending he could play the damn ukelele? And worst, he'd brought Jyo of all people, as his wingwoman?

"Maybe we should come back." He turned around, blocking the camera with his palm.

"Oh, no." Jyo pulled him back by the collar of that jacket. "You did not spend the last three days planning this to chicken out now. Give the people what they want, a real life love story."

"What if this doesn't work?" Shashank worried his lips.

"Be in it to win it."

"Yep. You don't want to regret it at my age, mate," the neighbour in his late fifties pipped in, leaning against the fence now. "Wondering 'would have happened if I knocked on that door today'?"

"Exactly." Jyo wiggled her eyebrows. "Walk away, and regret. Or take a chance on love? What will it be, Shashank Ghimire? You've written plenty of happy endings for your characters. Are you going to write one for you today, or is this a tragedy?"

"What?" Shashank blinked at her. Tragedy? A bit melodramatic...

Jyo shrugged, glancing at the phone as she pointed at him. "Will you channel your inner Raj today and win your love? Or will you walk away and regret?"

Something resolute slid into place in his chest.

I can't walk away a second time. Last time too, I chickened out, and instead of telling her 'I like you,' I came home, quietly... always wondering what would have happened if I'd just told her the truth...

"Fuck it. I'm gonna do it."

As thunder cracked overhead again and the first smattering of rain hit the ground and lashed at both Jyo and him, he fished out the emergency flask of whiskey he'd hidden in the jacket's inside pocket, and drained it, pretending his insides squirmed because of the burning liquid.

With that, he about turned and knocked on that azure blue door hard.

While he waited, Jyo was saying behind him, "Here we go. That's my cue for the music..."

He heard her scramble across the porch to press play on the stereo they'd stayed up all night mixing.

"... Shashank Ghimire, ulf Zachary Eve, your boy-next-door romance author is doing it. He's giving love another try after a massive heartbreak. If you ever watched DDLJ and wondered what would have happened if he'd just turned up at her London home and knocked... this is it... OH, I can't watch, but I can't look away either..."

Shashank ignored everything around him: Jyo narrating, the rain pattering, the neighbour saying, "You got this," his thundering heart, his inner voice that kept on wanting to caution him.

He closed his eyes and pulled in another breath, then raised his hand again to knock. "Jun? I know you're in there. I made a mistake, so please, come out just once and hear me out."

When he'd planned this, he'd imagined Jun flinging that door open and appearing in front of him like a dream.

Instead, that door remained stubbornly closed. Momentary panic lodged in his throat. Is she even home? But a glance at that lounge room window where lights spilled out from the edges of the drawn curtain assured him for all he knew she was standing behind that wooden door, debating if she should open that door.

"I'm sorry," he lowered his voice a little, so it didn't feel like he was doing it for the 'show.' This was between him and Jun, despite the songs beginning to play from the stereo they'd fished out of Ma's garage.

"I'm sorry. For everything. I should have told you back in Nepal, when we met, how much I liked you. I should have told you from the day you came into my house that I was this broken, desperate, lost person who thought the only way to get my life back on track was to write that next story. So when you came, I was thrilled my words came too—I began writing again, and I thought I have to hold on this time. After several failed attempts and months of thinking, this is it, I have no more stories in me, you had me writing again. And I pretended it was important."

He heard a floorboard creak inside door and he desperately clawed at the door, willing it to open for him. She is there, his heart told him. She's there, listening. So make this count.

"I'd given up on love, on happiness, on joy, on my career. My house was as empty as me when you stepped right in through that door. You stepped in when I was ready to throw in the towel, and suddenly, I wanted to love again. I wanted to be liked, to flirt, to kiss, to... I wanted anything but to be the 'good boy' Ma told me to be, because every time I saw you, talked to you, breathed the same air as you, I wanted nothing else. No one else.

"Yet, it never occurred to me you could like me back, that I had a chance—this odd little hermit who wrote romance and daydreamed more than he dared. This whole time, I was convinced you wanted your ex back. It didn't even occur to me you wanted closure your way." He placed a palm flat on the wooden door, imagining he was resting it against Jun's. I'm sorry. "That we could be each other's lighthouses in the dark, choppy sea of life? Things like that didn't happen in my life. I wasn't lucky enough to think you would walk into my house, and you'd choose to stay. I'm sorry.

"I know I'm to blame. Since you came back into my life, you're all I've been thinking about, and unfortunately, my thoughts, my feelings, my fears and hopes around you spilled onto my pages. It's no excuse to hurt you, but believe me, hurting you is the last thing I ever wanted. It's just—I was scared. Several times, I've wanted to tell you, you're my love interest, you're the one I'll run to the airport for, hoping to stop you from boarding your flight, and scream 'I love you,' at the top of my lungs, just so you can hear me as you board. You're the one I think of before I go to sleep every night; you're the want to see every day, even if it's a few minutes, because those few minutes are priceless."

The floor board inside the old house creaked again, and Shashank knew without a doubt Jun stood on the other side, listening to him.

This was his chance to say what he'd come over to say.

"I know I'm no Raj Malhotra. I'm no hero, but I love you, and I want a chance to make things right. If you'll let me. You didn't ask to be my muse, and I didn't set out to write you—I broke your trust. I understand that now. So here is my penance, my punishment. Here's the only thing I can think to make this right. I won't write this book. In fact, I'll quit writing—"

He resolutely stared at the door before him. He was about to make the hardest pledge of his life. Writing was all he'd ever wanted to do since he was a child, and now he was about to put that behind him for a new adventure in life. Love.

"Jyo is streaming this live—I wanted her to stream it live, because I need you to know I'm serious when I said I'll do anything for forgiveness; for a second chance—"

"I hate to burst your little bubble there, mate," Jyo called out behind him abruptly. "But I'm pretty sure you're now on the evening news..."

"What?" Shashank turned, surprised to see Jyo wasn't the only one with their camera aimed at him and that door. A couple of local news vans had pulled up outside the fence line, their lenses trained on him, and a few neighbours, young and old, huddled beneath their large umbrellas.

"Tell her to turn the TV on," Jyo urged.

"I—" He blinked at the several sets of cameras and pairs of eyes trained on.

"I think you should say what you're about to say to the camera—" Jyo nodded at the small copse of media. "Hey, Jun. If you are listening, turn the news on."

He had the sudden urge to hide, be anywhere but where he was, but Jyo was right. He didn't want to regret anymore. It was truly he'd never expected he'd be begging for a second chance on the evening news, but he should say what he was about to say on camera. And whatever the fallout of it would be later, he'd face it like an adult. But that was tomorrow's problem.

He stepped off the porch, walking into the torrent of rain as one walks into a brewing storm, with a whole lot of sheer dumb courage and jangling nerves.

He gripped the prop ukelele tighter, blinked the rain madly from his eyes, and stared into the cameras, ready for this part to be over.

"I am Shashank Ghimire. I'm most notably known as Zachary Eve, author of 'If All We Had Was Today'. Right now, I'm standing in front of this door, asking the woman I've fallen in love with for forgiveness. She trusted me and brought me back to life, and instead of thanking her, I used her as a muse for my next book. So it's only right that I no longer write it. She's more to me than a book, so while I figure out what the next step is for me in life, if I quit writing, I'd like to say there will be no new Zachary Eve book in the future. For once, I'd like to focus on a love story of my own and not on the romances of people I made up. At least for a while. "

He glanced at the door, hoping that Jun would open it and take him in, away from prying eyes. Why had he agreed to go live? Why? He could already imagine fielding calls from both Terry and his editor in the morning, but again, that was a bridge he'd cross when he had to.

It's too late now to worry about it.

"I'd give anything to back to that time under the moon so that I could say what I couldn't then." With his eyes on that door, he lowered to his knees, ignoring that pinch he felt.

"Will you forgive this bumbling fool? Because I can't lose you like this. Not like this. Without you, there are no words, there is no story, there is no joy. If you forgive me today, I'll happily give up imagining love stories, because I'd have the one I've spent half my life dreaming of. I'll have you."

As if on cue, the mix-tape that had been playing blared out 'Tujhe dekha to ye jana sanam,' and Shashank said, to hell with it, and played the role he'd taken inspiration from. He threw the hat aside and opened up his arms, letting the pelt down on him, all the while waiting for her to run into his arm.

Here he was, embodying Raj Malhotra and silently praying for his own heroine to 'palat', or in his case, open that damn door and put him out of his misery.

"Come out here and tell me to get off your lawn or kiss me, Junkiri Baral," he shouted into the air, no longer caring for the gathered crowd or the streaming audience. All that mattered was Jun and the tiny chance that the door could open any moment now. "But I'm not leaving unless you tell me to, even if this takes all night."

Several gasps and hoots floated from the crowd, and hollers of, "Oh, come on, give him a chance," or others saying, "No, make him wait a bit more."

The reporters clamoured to announce, "You heard it here first. Famous author Zachary Eve, who's revealed his real identity today, has just announced there will be no more Zachary Eve romances, not if his real life romance goes as we're all hoping it will. Inside that house, we are told, is the woman Shashank Ghimire is in love with. We are about to witness something we rarely see in real life. The question is, will his love interest open the door to kick him out, or will she kiss him, officially bringing to an end the swoon-worthy era of Eve's epic romances?"

The evening had plunged further into darkness. The rain was lashing. The wind howling. The news van had turned their headlight onto the lawn to increase visibility. Yet, Shashank sat there, his knees sinking into the grass, arms wide open, while the love ballad came to a finish, waiting for Jun to run into his arms like a real-life heroine so he could hold her tight and never let go.

His pulse beat in his ears like a drum. His lungs burned from the breath he barely dared to take. His arms ached from holding up, but he refused to move.

He waited. As did the entire street. As did Jyo, in her corner of the porch. As did the audience watching him.

"Come on, Jun. Come out... If Jyo's right and you feel the same way..." He trained his eyes on that door.

Come out.

Come out.

Come out!

Thank you for reading JUST ANOTHER LOVE STORY. Don't forget to comment, react, vote, or follow me to see where this story ends up in 2025! 🖤