🎀

The train rattled to a halt, brakes screeching against the silence of dawn. Hardik Pandya stepped off, slinging his bag over his shoulder, his gaze sweeping across the small, quiet platform. A salty breeze drifted through the air, filling his lungs with the unmistakable scent of the sea. Mandwa was nothing like Mumbai, nor like any city he’d known, but that’s what he needed—somewhere remote, quiet, untouched by fame or memories.

After a grueling season and more personal struggles than he cared to admit, Hardik wanted anonymity. He wanted to step away from the relentless schedules, the weight of being known everywhere he went. He wanted to feel the calmness he remembered from childhood, a simplicity that had all but vanished in the years since cricket had turned him into a national figure.

The town was small enough that a taxi wasn’t necessary, and he preferred to walk, weaving through narrow lanes lined with small, sun-bleached houses. Mandwa’s streets held a kind of old-world charm, where neighbors knew each other, where the only sounds at dawn were birds, distant waves, and the clink of tea glasses in the market.

When he reached the house, he stopped. It was nothing like his sleek Mumbai apartment. Here, the walls were weathered, softened by years under the sun, and vines crawled up one side, reaching toward the terrace. It was modest, nestled under the shade of ancient palm trees, but he could already tell it was exactly what he needed—a place that wouldn’t demand anything of him.

The house was owned by the Mehtas, an elderly couple who rented out rooms to passing travelers and “lost souls” as Mr. Mehta jokingly called them. Hardik was both of those things at that moment. The couple welcomed him in with the warmth of people who had lived their lives full of stories, people who knew that everyone arrived at their doorstep for a reason, even if they didn’t know it themselves yet.

Hardik took a deep breath as he unpacked in his modest room, savoring the stillness around him. He hadn’t experienced quiet like this in years. No crowds, no pressure, no flashing cameras. Just the gentle hum of the ceiling fan and the distant crash of waves against the shore. It was as if he’d been given a chance to finally breathe.

But there was something else about the house, something he hadn’t expected. Subtle traces—a faint scent of oil paints, a half-open door leading to an unused art room—suggested there was someone else here too. Another guest, perhaps, but for now, she remained a mystery.

🎀

k says🥰

hello people!!!

I'm here again with a new story of hardik.

this is very different than the other one.

pata chal hi gya hoga pehle ka sab padhke.

also, in this universe, agastya doesn't exist as hardik never got married to natasa. (i love you agu but I'm so sorry😭)

just the ipl shit happens to him.

abhi just i woke up from a very deadly nap, i didn't even know where I was.

i was out for lunch with my friends aur pet bharke khaana khaya toh ghar aake seedha so gyi without even changing my clothes.

it was a good nap tho.

chalo bohot bak bak kar li.

aur ek baat, tum log chapters padhte toh ho but vote vagera nhi karte.

reads and votes ka ratio dekho.

vote karneke paise lagte hai kya? nhi na, toh ek click karne mein kya jaata hai?

abhi chalo jao mere har ek book ke chapters ko vote karo.

please🥺

help out a gareeb.

toh I'll jaldi se jaldi try to update the next chapters of every book.

okay then.

bye bye.

~k.