They say some people were never meant to cross paths.
That when two storms collide, they don’t calm each other — they destroy.
Rhea Sharma knew how to stay invisible.
A soft voice. A softer gaze.
A girl whose words were louder than her presence, bleeding through ink-stained pages and anonymous Instagram posts.
She wrote of longing, of death disguised as love, of bruised hearts craving a quieter kind of ruin.
And no one ever noticed the storm she carried.
No one… until him.
Kabir Malhotra was the boy everyone saw but no one really looked at.
The campus king with the reckless smile, football trophies, and a trail of hearts left bleeding in his wake.
But inside, he was starving.
For something real.
Something dark.
Something dangerous enough to cut through the numbness.
And then he found her words.
Raw. Unfiltered. Beautifully violent.
Words that felt like knives pressed against old wounds he thought no one could see.
He didn’t know her name. He didn’t need to.
The damage was already done.
Some stories don’t begin with eye contact.
Or a casual hello.
Some stories begin in the dark corners of your mind,
when a stranger’s words feel like home,
and obsession tastes like love.
This wasn’t a love story.
It was a warning.
And neither of them would make it out whole.
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