Author's Note: I am dedicating this OS to my friend Jasminerahul who had requested me to write a story on Rajvi-Khushi with the plot given by her.
Rajvansh Malhotra, known to everyone in the office as RV, was not someone who believed in dramatic love stories. He believed in logic, deadlines, and well-structured magazine issues.
He worked as the senior editor in Lifestyle Spectrum, a widely read magazine known for its human-interest stories. RV was admired for his sharp mind and calm personality. People said he could judge the strength of a story within a few lines.
But one evening, while reviewing submissions for the next issue, a story stopped him completely.
The title read: "When Silence Speaks Louder Than Love."
RV leaned back in his chair and began reading.
The writing felt different from the usual submissions. It was quiet but powerful. Every line carried emotion without exaggeration.
One particular line stayed with him.
"Sometimes love isn't about being chosen. Sometimes love is about quietly choosing someone every day—even if they never know."
RV closed the file slowly.
At the bottom of the article was the author's name.
Khushi Kohli.
He looked up from his laptop and saw Khushi across the office floor. She was laughing loudly with her colleagues, playfully arguing over coffee.
Khushi was everything the story was not - bright, talkative, spontaneous.
RV frowned slightly.
How could someone so bubbly write something so deeply reflective?
Curiosity slowly took root.
***
Over the next few weeks, RV found himself reading every article written by Khushi. Each one was beautiful in its own way, filled with emotions that felt real.
He started noticing Khushi more.
She always entered the office with energy, greeting everyone, making jokes, turning boring meetings into lighter moments. She wasn't the most disciplined employee, but people loved being around her.
One afternoon during a break, RV approached her.
"Khushi."
She looked up in surprise. "Oh... RV! Did I mess up the article format again?"
RV shook his head.
"No. Actually... I wanted to say your story in the last issue was exceptional."
Khushi blinked.
"Oh... thank you."
Her reaction was oddly shy for someone usually so confident.
RV continued, "Your writing feels very mature."
Khushi smiled quickly. "Well... maybe I'm secretly deep."
RV laughed slightly.
That conversation became the beginning of many more.
Coffee breaks turned into long discussions about stories, life, and dreams.
Slowly, admiration turned into affection.
And affection into love.
***
One evening, after finishing a late editorial meeting, RV walked Khushi to the office terrace.
The city lights glittered below them. RV took a deep breath.
"Khushi... I want to tell you something."
She looked at him curiously.
"I think I fell in love with you the first time I read your story."
Khushi's eyes widened.
RV continued softly, "Your words... they made me feel things I haven't felt in years."
There was silence between them.
Then Khushi said quietly,
"I love you too."
From that day, they became a couple.
***
A few weeks later, Khushi invited RV to her house for dinner.
"I want you to meet my family," she said cheerfully.
Her home was warm and welcoming. The walls were lined with books and framed photographs.
When RV arrived, the door was opened by a girl he had never seen before.
She had calm eyes and a quiet presence.
"Hello," she said politely. "You must be Rajvansh. I'm Poorvi."
"Khushi's sister?"
She nodded.
Khushi soon arrived, dragging RV inside excitedly.
"This is the boring one in the house," she joked, pointing at Poorvi. "Always reading or writing."
Poorvi smiled faintly but said nothing.
Throughout dinner, Khushi kept talking about office gossip, funny incidents, and her "writing process."
Poorvi mostly listened silently.
But every time RV mentioned a specific line from the articles, he noticed Poorvi glance up thoughtfully.
That night, while leaving, RV said to Poorvi,
"You like writing?"
She shrugged gently. "A little."
Something about her tone felt deeper than the words.
***
Over the next few visits to Khushi's house, RV found himself talking to Poorvi more often.
Unlike Khushi, Poorvi spoke slowly and thoughtfully.
One afternoon he found her sitting in the balcony with a notebook.
"What are you writing?" he asked.
She closed it quickly.
"Just thoughts."
RV sat beside her.
"You know... sometimes when I read Khushi's stories, I feel like the writer understands silence very well."
Poorvi smiled slightly.
"Silence speaks a lot... if someone is willing to listen."
RV looked at her thoughtfully.
"That line sounds like something from the magazine."
Poorvi laughed softly.
"Maybe writers steal lines from life."
Their conversations were always simple but strangely comforting.
RV began to appreciate her quiet intelligence.
Yet he never imagined what truth was hiding behind it.
***
One evening RV arrived at Khushi's house early. Khushi was still at the office.
Poorvi opened the door and asked him to wait in the living room.
While waiting, RV noticed a notebook on the table.
It looked familiar.
Curiosity got the better of him.
When he opened it, his heart stopped.
The pages contained handwritten drafts of the exact stories published in the magazine under Khushi's name.
The same lines. The same paragraphs.
But the handwriting belonged to Poorvi.
RV slowly looked up.
Poorvi stood near the doorway, frozen.
"You wrote these?" he asked quietly.
She nodded.
"Since when?"
"Since college."
"And Khushi publishes them?"
Poorvi lowered her eyes.
"She works at the magazine. It was easier that way."
RV's mind spun.
The emotions he admired... the words he fell in love with...
They weren't Khushi's.
They were Poorvi's.
At that moment Khushi entered the house.
Seeing the notebook in RV's hands, her smile disappeared.
"RV... I can explain."
His voice was calm but heavy.
"You should."
Khushi finally spoke, her voice trembling.
"Poorvi writes beautifully. But she never wanted to publish. I just... used her stories."
RV stared at her.
"You let me believe they were yours."
Khushi looked away.
"For the first time someone admired me... not Poorvi."
The room fell silent.
RV looked at Poorvi.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Poorvi answered softly.
"Because you loved my sister."
Her words were simple but sincere.
RV closed the notebook slowly.
"I fell in love with the heart behind these words."
Khushi whispered desperately,
"So what now?"
RV replied gently but firmly,
"I can't continue a relationship built on someone else's soul."
Khushi's eyes filled with tears.
Poorvi looked equally shaken.
But the truth had already changed everything.
***
Weeks passed.
Khushi moved to another city for a new job.
For the first time, she decided to build her own identity without borrowing Poorvi's words.
Meanwhile, RV kept encouraging Poorvi to publish under her own name.
Reluctantly, she agreed.
Her first story as Poorvi Kohli was published in the magazine.
It became the most loved article of the year.
***
A few days later, RV asked Poorvi to meet him at the office terrace.
The same place where he once confessed to Khushi.
Poorvi arrived nervously.
"You wanted to see me?"
RV handed her the freshly printed magazine.
Her name was on the cover page.
She stared at it with disbelief.
"This is really happening..."
RV smiled.
"The world finally knows the writer I admired from the beginning."
Poorvi looked at him softly.
"And what about the man who fell in love with the wrong sister?"
RV took a step closer.
"I didn't fall in love with the wrong person. I just discovered the truth late."
He took out a small ring.
Poorvi's breath caught.
"Poorvi... the first time I read your words, I felt like someone understood my heart without ever meeting me."
He looked directly into her eyes.
"Then I met you. And realized the person behind those words is even more beautiful."
Poorvi's eyes filled with tears.
"Rajvansh..."
"Will you let me be part of the story you write next?"
For a moment she said nothing.
Then she nodded softly.
"Yes."
RV slipped the ring onto her finger.
For the first time, Poorvi smiled without hesitation.
***
Later that evening, they walked through a quiet park.
The sky was filled with stars.
Poorvi leaned against the railing, watching the night breeze move through the trees.
RV stood beside her.
"You know," he said, "I spent months thinking I loved Khushi's writing."
Poorvi teased gently, "You did."
"But now I realize something."
"What?"
RV took her hand.
"The best story wasn't in the magazine."
Poorvi raised an eyebrow.
"Where was it?"
RV smiled.
"In the quiet girl who kept writing without asking for recognition."
Poorvi looked at him, her eyes warm.
"And what about the stubborn editor who refused to stop reading those stories?"
He leaned closer.
"Well... he finally got the author."
Poorvi laughed softly.
Then she rested her head on his shoulder.
For the first time, the silence between them wasn't hiding anything.
It was simply peace.
And somewhere in that quiet night, a new story had begun.
75