#They could address topics such as friendships that are lost due to things beyond our control.

[ludoka]

I'm reading posts that talk about a rewrite of G3 to make it look like G1? Honestly... Why? Let the newcomers have fun with G3. Let children and adolescents feel identified with characters that adapt to new generations.

Instead: why don't they demand a continuation of G1? What do I care about the life of a teenager between 14 and 17 years old? GIVE ME EXISTENTIAL CRISIS OF YOUNG ADULTS BETWEEN 20 AND 30!!!!

Give me a Deuce who feels stuck because he doesn't know what to do with his life!!! Give me a Gil who is looking to move out of his parents' house because he can't stand them anymore!! GIVE ME FRANKIE GOING INTO CRISIS BECAUSE SHE KNOWS HOW TO BE AN ADULT!! IT COST HORRORS FOR HER TO BE A TEENAGER, BEING A FUNCTIONAL ADULT IS KILLING HER!!!

Show how Clawdeen strives to be a dressmaker! What the world of modeling is like!! IT'S NOT AS EASY AS IT LOOKED WHEN I WAS A TEENAGER! Show how Jackson and Holt try to balance their lives so that each one fulfills what they dream of! Show how you organize yourself so that Holt has rehearsals and goes to concerts!! While Jackson manages his college study schedule!! Show Cleo struggling to grow up. This girl was a princess from ancient Egypt and probably had a pre-written life. Now that is not possible. She is grateful but horrified in equal parts because she no longer knows how to continue. Damn, show Toralei trying to achieve a better future but with a background that complicates her life!! OH MY GOD!!! SHE WAS IN A JUVENILE PRISON!!! THAT FILE IS BITTING HIS BUTT IN THE WORST WAY!!

I want characters I can identify with too. But I am no longer a child or teenager, I am an adult. I want adult characters that I can empathize with, identify with, and want to hug because I know how hard it is to try to be a functional adult.

Please leave G3 alone and give me a big sequel to G1.

[etaeternum]

Divide

Bond of the Grey (Mother of Griffons pt 2) Ch 3: Divide

For those who may be following along. Caoilainn discussed her plans with Nathaniel. 

9:32 Dragon

Tender hands hooded her eyes from where he paced behind her. Slow steps forward brought them to the door.

“No peeking, my love!” He exclaimed as he used a hand to open the entryway before resuming his mission to veil her sight. “All right, one more step. Be careful.”

They moved forward in unison. “Surprise!” Alistair yelled. His enthusiastic hands winged away, revealing the interior of a room. A small kitchen, a four-post bed, a table adorned with a bouquet of roses, and a separate bathing room.

The private cabin, tucked away outside of Redcliffe Village, sat near a secluded pond. Perfect for the reunited couple’s respite, the Hinterlands provided solitude and scenery.

“Maker,” Caoilainn gasped. Smiling, water pooling in her eyes as she gaped at the room before her.

“Now that you're done rebuilding the order, we can run away together,” Alistair walked into the room to study her. Excitement poured from every word. “That is, on occasion, until we go back the palace. It's like the best part of our Blight journeys. Except now we get a real bed... and walls! And of course, there's no Blight.”

He watched in hopeful expectation of her response to his gift.

“Alistair,” she murmured in awe. Her gaze traveling the room absorbed the tranquil space.

“Phew,” he made a playful wipe of his brow. “Thank the Maker. You haven't forgotten my name. I was worried there for a second. But really Caoilainn, do you like it?”

“It's perfect,” she mumbled, unable to find more suitable words.

Alistair inched closer to the dresser near the bed and pulled out the top drawer. Lingerie, something in which Caoilainn had expressed interest during a conversation with Leliana; he overheard and bought her robe before their coronation. Based on her adoration of the lacy attire, he quickly had an assistant purchase more items from Val Royeaux.

Alistair held up a lace camisole.

“And my favorite part. Now you're back, I get to see you in things like this more often.” He waggled his eyebrows.

She walked to him; seductive grin and a diligent stare locked. Her hand swept the camisole before she grabbed his shirt to pull him in. She kissed him; lips told of sultry plans for their month away from Denerim. After breaking away she walked to the bathroom and changed.

Weeks of lovemaking followed. In every part of the cabin, on every flat surface, and outside when the mood called for it. The royal couple explored the mountains during the day with no goal but to appreciate nature and each other’s company. When night fell, star-gazing gave opportunity to observe silence. Making their own meals, heating their own water, cleaning their own clothes brought independence not available in the palace.

Year after year, vacations at the cabin afforded much-needed privacy.

Great. Just great. Regret, influenced by inherent pining, motivated by indecisiveness. Some deep yearning compelled him to kiss Caoilainn. Her walls had come down, leaving him with a present and attentive partner. Festering indecision worsened, regardless of her attention or absence. His wife, he realized, was no longer the source of his discontent. It forced him to acknowledge his inner conflict as beyond her control; it heightened his frustration.

Now, Caoilainn likely waited in his tent for his return. Assuming her expectations for intimacy, and unable to deny the desire tugging his mind; craving the celebration of her life in the most private ways with her walls around him. Closeness, comfort created by connection seemed a welcome reprieve from conflict. But Alistair didn't want to look at her. It was too soon; he was too angry. The dichotomy drove his unpleasant disposition for the evening.

So he left, but only after he kissed her. Certain he confused her, annoyed with himself, he found a stream to bathe. Alistair used the solitude to think before returning, prepared to tell her to leave.

But when he arrived, he found his private camp empty.

Blackness surrounded. Expanding in all directions. A chill crawled up her spine. Caoilainn made to gasp, or yell, or scream, anything to break the deafening silence but no sound came out. Her body sweat despite the cold. The need to escape this void, this absence of anything, everything brought dread. She ran. Beads of moisture dripped down beneath her armor until running became falling. With no sense of direction of time, she plummeted, fast, to no end. Gripped by fear, her heart hammered.

Until the pain woke her, and she shot up. Gasping for air, the dream- no, nightmare- cut short by the stab in her chest where she had been hit by the disfigured enemy. The Red Templar’s spiked limb had driven into her body. Now healed, free of any wound, a strange swollen and unattractive scar marked the location to remind of her near-death. The persistent cough grew from this spot, she realized at the same time she noticed the metallic taste in her mouth.

Caoilainn went to find water to wash away the nightmare. The cool creek calmed her nerves; clean liquid brought to her face and neck rinsed sweat and terror. She made her way back to the tent, fearing sleep but needing rest before the continuation of the Inquisition march the next day.

She missed Alistair.

He had left her standing at the campfire. Mouth agape, Caoilainn watched Alistair walk until he disappeared from sight. Aloof steps carried him, joined by his cold shoulder. But the kiss belied his temper.

Perplexed, lost in the mixed messages from Alistair, she had wandered from his camp to the Wardens' encampment. Late in the night, the camp slept by the time she arrived; she stumbled into her tent. His wounds, deep and calling for healing by no clear remedy left Caoilainn without a plan, devoid of any strategy to solve their problems.

For now, she left him alone. Alistair's drastic differences did more to confuse than appreciate. Attempts of sleep led to the restlessness ridden with nightmares that no amount of clean water could cleanse from her mind.

She craved a warm body to keep her company and save her from the recurring bleak and lonely nightmare in vain. Commitment to Alistair made dalliances with Nathaniel unappealing, but the temptation of the lieutenant had rarely been about carnal need so much as a distraction from anxious patterns. Now tired from lack of sleep, her restless mind amplified the fear brought by nightmares. She craved the comfort of Alistair’s loving presence more than ever. It made the last image of his cold shoulder walking away poignantly discouraging.

What is this, anyway? Nathaniel pondered in the early morning hours. Stretched lazily on his bedroll, his lean and muscular frame relaxed. A lone leg hung out one side, appreciating the contrast of the cooler air against the warmth from underneath the blanket.

Warmth created by two. The young elf woman slept on him; her naked upper body draped over his chest, nestled under his arm. Languid repetitive movement of his hand stroked the bare skin of her toned back. His other hand appreciated the texture of her hair against his palm. The slumbering huntress had less bite than in her wakeful state.

He cared for her. Denial of this had been futile since he met her. But her appearance in his waking dream, the nightmare of Caoilainn’s death, disquieted him. It shook loose his rigid way of life: not reliant on anyone but himself, and uncommitted to anything but the Wardens. In his vision, Hale had challenged this approach, asked him to divulge his insecurities, and he suffered for it. The young woman’s reaction drove them apart. Yet, here she was, sleeping night after night in his tent.

Just another close friend, he concluded. The guilt springing from the parallels between this friendship and the affair with Caoilainn became harder to justify.

But in Caoilainn’s survival, he lost a friend; he had no evidence to believe otherwise.

Just as the thought floated through his mind, Caoilainn barged into Nathaniel’s tent. Fully armored, hair braided tighter than usual- a sign of an inflexible mood. The circles under her eyes did not diminish her energy, and her professionalism did not falter when Caoilainn’s gaze processed Hale in Nate’s bedroll.

“I need your time,” Caoilainn ordered, her hands planted firmly on her hips as she stared down at him. A judgmental brow raised as Hale shifted in her sleep, her head resting on Nate’s chest, turning to face the other direction. Caoilainn’s eyes rolled. “I’m so glad to see the Inquisitor’s cousin is being treated so well.”

The night before the battle, Caoilainn had addressed Nate's interest in Hale, a relative of the Inquisitor. Though Caoilainn discouraged relations among Wardens, she did not enforce rules. All knew the Commander’s husband, the King of Ferelden had himself been a Warden. But she banned cross-rank relations to protect the junior soldiers. An exception due to her own hypocrisy, Nate had more freedom. She trusted him. Caoilainn warned him not to harm the young woman though both knew if Nate hurt Hale, the huntress would ensure her own consequences.

“As always, my time is yours, Commander,” Nate offered with a smirk, ignoring her last comment. He didn’t move from his position under Hale and the rumble of his chest caused the young woman to rustle again. Hale made a whimpering groan of displeasure at her sleep being disturbed.

Caoilainn started, her tone sharp and annoyed, “Nate-”

“Caoilainn.” He replied with a riposte to her lack of decorum in using his nickname.

Muscles tightening in a quick and frustrated response, Caoilainn’s face scrunched as she sighed. She cleared her throat and reframed her statement. “Lieutenant, I’d like to discuss an urgent matter with you,” she said; her strained voice sounded and her forehead lifted, dramatizing the urgency of this topic. “In private.”

“Hm,” Nate grumbled; his brow arched. “I thought you called an end to our ‘private meetings,’ Commander. Whatever could the Mother of the Grey want with me before her army wakes?”

“Nathaniel!” Shocked, she rasped as her eyes grew larger. Long held agreement of the secrecy of the unprofessional aspects of their friendship opposed Nate’s blatant disrespect.

“Caoilainn,” his smug attitude continued. The huntress’s breathing changed. Deep breaths disrupted, transitioned to lighter inhales and exhales. Hale was awake, but she kept her eyes closed. It did not stop his reply to Caoilainn. “If for no one’s interest but your own, I suggest we keep our meetings outside of my tent.”

Damn it, Caoilainn cursed herself. He’s right. “While I appreciate your sound advice, Lieutenant, I suggest you lose the attitude.”

“Yes, Mother,” Nate replied, eyes squinting as his snarky grin widened.

Caoilainn rolled her eyes and scoffed. “I mean it. And fine, if you want to talk with your new pet here, so be it.” She caught her breath and took a quick moment to plan her words. “Nate, if I step down, I want you to succeed me.”

“Whoa, Caoilainn,” his head drew back at the impact of her statement. Brow furrowed, he held on to Hale tighter. “Is that whiny husband of yours putting you up to this? You don’t have to listen to him.”

“No, he’s not,” she gave an irritated huff and shook her head. “I’m trying to find a cure. I want to be free of the taint. I want to know if you’ll take my stead.”

“What? Since when?” He asked, regretting not meeting Caoilainn’s demand for a private conversation. The words falling from her mouth contradicted everything Nate knew of her dedication to the Wardens.

“Since I ended the Blight,” the sound of Caoilainn’s curt reply lingered in the heavy air of the small tent.

Nate paused to breathe, eyes darting as his mind sifted through memories of the last ten years. The pedestal on which he had placed Caoilainn as the ‘Mother of Griffons’ toppled as if the Caoilainn he thought he knew was a lie. He had no words.

“Nathaniel, I need to know,” Caoilainn stared, brow creased, urgency captured by her tone.

“No, Caoilainn,” Nate snapped, a low bark he caught and calmed before completing; his jaw clenched. Though he knew Hale wasn’t sleeping, she was supposed to be. “No, you don’t. Let’s talk about this when it’s relevant.”

“Damn it, Nate,” she hissed, eyes wide. “What has gotten into you? We’ll talk about it when I say. As long as I am Commander-”

“Then the answer is no,” his deep grumble interrupted her. Jaw dropped, Caoilainn did not reply. With no retort, she stared at Nate, brows furrowed. “If you want me to make that decision now, the answer is no, I will not take your stead.” His final statement left no room for argument. But Caoilainn’s look of apparent desperation brought a sympathetic sigh. “Fine. Give me some time to think about it, Commander.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” professionalism resumed. Caoilainn knew to cut her losses and hope for the best by giving Nate time to think. “We’ll depart at daybreak. Please make sure your guest is out before the camp wakes.”

Caoilainn nodded toward Hale and left Nathaniel’s tent.

Just as the tent flap closed, Hale pushed up off his chest and faced him. “The fuck’s she mean a cure?” She asked, her forehead scrunched in confusion.

Nate gave a lazy shake to his head, reflecting his exasperation with Caoilainn and his genuine disbelief. “To the Calling. She’s abandoning the Wardens to stay with him.” The honesty with which he spoke to Hale shocked even himself.

“But then she won’t be a Warden anymore,” Hale tried to follow the logic and her eyes widened as if she didn’t understand. “That’s why she wants you to be Commander, is it? Looks like you might get that promotion after all, old man.”

“I don’t know,” he grumbled, frowning both at her accurate reflection and her jab at his age. His free hand came to his forehead to press his fingers to his temples. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Fine,” Hale shrugged. “Whatever you say. But,” she pulled Nate’s hand away from his forehead to permit eye contact. The strong-willed young woman glared at him, her threatening finger held between them. “I’m not yer fucking pet.”

A tired chuckle broke Nate’s frown, pleasantly surprised by Hale’s willingness to let the subject drop, and completely unsurprised by her crass remark. “Of course not, my lady,” he teased. “I would never attempt to domesticate you.”

“Good,” she lifted her chin and puffed her bare chest, “you better not.”

Smirking, Nate appreciated the brazen woman’s display. Her bloated confidence made him question if she fully understood the meaning of the word ‘domesticate.’

The young Dalish woman, orphaned in the Denerim Alienage at the age of 9, had admitted her lack of education to him on their journey through Orlais. But the thought didn’t last as Hale rediscovered her position of lounging against Nate’s chest. Her unhurried fingers traced wandering lines through his chest hair as her lids closed to nap before daybreak.

Nathaniel’s utter disappointment in the news from Caoilainn contended with the ease the huntress’s company provided.

Having forgone her efforts to sleep, discontent now jumbled by Nate’s belligerence. Caoilainn left his quarters to pack for the trip for the day. The world spinning around her, short breath caught on anxious whirlwinds of thoughts. Questioning who she trusted to take over the Wardens if not Nathaniel led her mind in circles pressuring her to delay the relinquishment of her title.

The distant worry of living without the Taint, no longer being connected to her army removed from her awareness. Occasional thoughts crept in with her other worries but left when her frustration with Nate and Alistair recurred.

Troubled by the combativeness of the two most important men in her life, Caoilainn found no clear strategy to tackle the challenges of communicating with them; waiting resulted as her only option.

Fatigue found her as the morning entered, and with severity. Poor sleep, exacerbated by quiet bouts of coughing prevented Caoilainn from active participation in the collapsing of the Grey Warden camp. None noticed her diminished energy or detached demeanor, and as the Wardens joined the rest of the Inquisition to repeat another day of marching, she hid her symptoms. Her coughs muffled by the cloth she brought to her mouth. The patterned waves of movements resumed as the formations continued north through the wider path of the lush forest.

[v-thinks-on]

A Scandal on Baker Street - Day 2

First | Previous | Next

The next morning, I sat at breakfast alone. Irene had been out investigating all night and I wasn’t surprised that she had yet to return. I was a little worried, but such is my duty as her husband. It was a relief when a knock at the door interrupted my contemplative staring at the morning paper. Irene was back, and she bore the best news we could have hoped for under the circumstances - none at all.

She sat across from me at the table, unusually subdued as she nibbled at her breakfast.

Suddenly, she exclaimed, “I could swear I’ve talked to every boy on the streets of London! Not a single one had a word to say about Mr. Sherlock Holmes - beyond what is known by the general public and his willingness to pay for information.”

“That’s good,” I replied, though my enthusiasm quickly faded. “Do you think that settles it? It’s hard to believe they would have said anything even if...” I trailed off.

“You don’t know what I went so far as to say!” she said.

“I mean no offence, but I doubt I would like to know what you said.” I respected her art, but I was still a prudish Englishman somewhere deep down, with an ingrained sense of shame and even some remnants of propriety.

“No, you wouldn’t,” she replied simply. “Suffice to say, I’ve found all the ‘Baker Street Irregulars’ and not a single one...”

I nodded in understanding and swallowed a bit of egg before speaking, “Then, I’d consider that a success.”

“Perhaps…” she said, but only hesitantly. “In a case like this, it is very difficult to prove innocence, Godfrey.”

She stared off into the middle distance, concentrating on something that I couldn’t see as she took another bite of toast.

Finally she spoke again. “It’s time we talk to Mr. Mycroft Holmes. We need to know Mr. Holmes’s history.”

“What reason will Victoria and Albert Drebber have for visiting Mr. Holmes the elder?” I asked.

“They won’t,” she said. “He will instead be interviewed by Messrs Nathaniel Powell and Theodore Clapham, reporters for a little known magazine, Accounts of Fact and Fiction.”

For a haven of recluses, the Diogenes Club was very richly decorated. The walls and furniture were all inlaid with ornate patterns and every surface was covered in plush material that was luxurious to the touch and absorbed any noise that dared trespass. It was like a silent maze, full of little nooks where men sat reading or in lost in meditation, all in their own little worlds.

Even though we had been told we could talk in the Stranger’s Room - a room like a study separated from the rest of the club for that very purpose - the whole place had the feeling of a library that demanded silence of a contemplative sort. So we exchanged not a word as we waited for Mr. Mycroft Holmes. We were both dressed in the simple clothes of newspaper men. Irene had taken on the guise of a young man to make use of her feminine features while I appeared significantly aged with greying hair.

Finally, a large, stout man came in. I could recognize him from Dr. Watson’s description. Through his massive face I perceived a glint of the sharpness of expression for which his younger brother was so well known, and he had a far-away, introspective look that gave him the air of someone at once utterly disconnected and highly perceptive.

I hastily stood to greet him.

“Mr. Mycroft Holmes, is it?” I asked with an outstretched hand.

He did not take it, but instead gave me an appraising nod and asked as though torn between boredom and bemusement, “What brings you here?”

“My name is Theodore Powell, this is my colleague, Mr. Nathaniel Clapham.” The words came tumbling out, but somehow I managed to make a coherent sentence out of it.

Irene jumped to her feet at the mention of her supposed name and stood at attention, her foot tapping nervously. An instant too late, I realized I had mixed up the first names, but I could not fix it now - the show had to go on.

“We’re reporters,” I explained, forcing myself to speak a little slower, “With Accounts of Fact and Fiction - it’s a magazine, you probably haven’t heard of it, it’s not too well known.”

Mr. Holmes the elder gave a slight smile. “Do take a seat, make yourselves comfortable.” With that, he seated himself in a nearby chair.

Mr. Clapham and I followed suit, returning to the chairs we had been in before.

“Now, what brings two reporters to the Diogenes Club?” He asked, a hint of joking condescension to his voice.

I took in a deep breath and continued, “We are following up on Dr. Watson’s latest publication, ‘A Scandal in Bohemia.’ Mr. Holmes the younger, we are aware, is away in France, but we were hoping that as his brother, you could give us some insight into his relationship with Miss Irene Adler.”

“You must have done quite a bit of research to find me,” he remarked.

“With all due respect,” Mr. Clapham spoke up, “We are reporters, sir.”

“Yes, of course. As to Miss Adler,” he continued, “I know only as much as the reading public and there is little else to know.” He turned to Mr. Clapham. “You of all people should be well aware of that.”

“Why I never!” Mr. Clapham exclaimed, utterly taken aback. “How do you reckon that?”

“Miss Adler, disguises can be fun - you and my brother both have a penchant for them -  but do not take me for a fool.”

I glanced over at my companion and in an instant her features had transformed from that of the nervous Mr. Clapham to the confident Irene that I knew so well. Even without a change in costume, the transformation was visible.

“It’s Mrs. Norton, thank you,” she answered.

“My apologies. And I take it this is your oft forgotten husband, Mr. Norton.” He motioned towards me.

I nodded. “Mr. Godfrey Norton at your service.”

“I recommend you keep your legal practice, acting is not your calling,” he said to me, not unkindly.

“No, it is not,” I admitted.

He turned to Irene. “And the famed Mrs. Norton, we meet at last. You are as remarkable as I have heard, though it would have served you to do some research in advance.”

“I’m flattered,” she replied. “You have little reputation to speak of. One does not expect there to be another unknown Mr. Sherlock Holmes, brother or none.”

He waved off the suggestion. “His famed deduction is a mere hobby for me. Though we have agreed that I am the superior mind by seven years.”

“Modest, too,” she said with some irony.

“Perhaps,” he said, utterly indifferent to the description. “Now, what brings such an illustrious figure back to London, asking about her own relationship with Sherlock Holmes? And in such a hurry, at that.”

“A slightly less savory inquiry,” she answered.

He seemed to take the non-answer in stride. “I take it you are not here merely to sate your own curiosity. Who is your employer?”

“I’m sorry, that’s confidential,” she said.

“I see,” he said as though he expected nothing less. “Perhaps we may come to an arrangement; you wish to know about my brother and you have piqued my curiosity about your secretive employer.”

I chafed at his casually superior tone. My impatience won over my good sense and I spoke up, “I hate to interrupt, but whoever our employer may be, this is a serious matter.”

Mr. Holmes the elder turned on me with his sharp gaze and for a moment I hesitated, but resolve won over and I continued. “Are you aware of an organization of street boys under your brother’s employ, known as the ‘Baker Street Irregulars’?”

Mr. Holmes’ eyes narrowed as he puzzled through what I was implying. Suddenly he let out a barking laugh, his sizable head shaking from side to side in incredulous amusement.

It took him a moment before he was calm enough to reply seriously, “Your accusations on that count are utterly unwarranted.”

Irene opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand and she fell silent, waiting for him to continue.

“My brother may be many things, but he would do nothing of the sort. What he has actually done is for you to find out for yourselves, but there is no point in chasing down an empty alleyway.” His tone brooked no argument, and he changed topics as though his words settled it: “I am sure you are already aware of his close friendship with Dr. John Watson, a perfectly pleasant man whom I have had the chance to meet.”

“How close, would you say?” Irene asked, apparently content to let the matter rest.

“It should tell you something that he was introduced to me at all.”

She nodded.

“I recommend you also contact Mr. Victor Trevor,” he continued, “A very close friend of my brother’s while they knew each other. I believe he was the only friend Sherlock had at university. Mr. Trevor currently lives in Terai, in India, where I hear he is involved in tea planting.”

“Under what circumstances did they part?” she asked.

“If I recall correctly, Mr. Trevor was heartbroken after the death of his father. Though my brother solved the case, it was little consolation.”

“Are they still in communication?”

“No.”

Seemingly content with that line of questioning, Irene asked, “What interest do you have in aiding us against your brother?”

“Not against him; I have quite a bit of interest in clearing his name,” Mr. Holmes said lightly.

“Then why have you recommended we contact an old friend of his? For all you know Mr. Trevor could implicate him,” she insisted.

“Do you honestly expect him to say something incriminating, no matter what the truth is? Take it as a gesture of good faith toward future collaboration. And I admit I am curious about Mr. Trevor - I never had a chance to meet the man. When will you be seeing your employer next? Tomorrow?”

Irene nodded.

“If you would be so kind, I would appreciate it if you joined me for lunch the day after; I may have some more information for you. Until then, you can reach Mr. Trevor at this address-” he handed me a paper with a hastily scribbled address on it.

“Thank you,” Irene said and stood.

They briefly shook hands and we went on our way. Irene vanished and soon joined me as Victoria, though thankfully the bulk of her personality was her own. She called a cab and told the driver to take us back to Baker Street before settling in the back with me.

“Mr. Holmes the elder plainly believes that our employer has no case,” Irene remarked.

“So then he believes his brother is innocent? He could be biased,” I suggested, though something about the man made it hard to believe.

Irene shook her head in accordance with my thoughts. “He either has reason to believe that his brother is innocent, or believes that even if he is guilty, there’s not much risk of anything coming of it. Otherwise, he would have attempted to deter us from the investigation altogether.”

She paused for a moment in thought before exclaiming, “What I want to know is who he thinks we’re working for! Clearly he doesn’t think there’s any risk of our employer damaging his brother’s reputation, innocent or otherwise.”

“I don’t suppose that narrows it down at all?” I asked, not entirely hopeful.

“If our employer was hired by the Scotland Yard or some other official force, Mr. Holmes could easily be aware of how little progress has been made on the investigation,” she remarked. “But, the professor exerted quite a bit of effort to bring us in rather than rely on the force’s resources.”

“So then his interest is probably something less than… legal, or at least unconventional,” I suggested.

Irene nodded. “Or a very personal matter.”

“So the pursuit of justice is out?” I asked with a wry smile.

She smiled back. “Not entirely, but we should certainly consider other possibilities.” She paused to consider. “There’s always Mrs. Watson - there seems to be no woman interested in Holmes for our client to be attempting to deter-”

“He could be trying to impress you,” I put in.

“Oh” - she waved me off with a smile - “that’s ridiculous. This is serious, Godfrey.”

“You were never without suitors… But alright. You think he could be trying to implicate Dr. Watson to separate him from his wife?”

“That or hired by Mrs. Watson, though I would be surprised if we were brought all the way across the pond merely to investigate an unfaithful husband. Alternatively, our client could be out for revenge - I’m sure as a detective he’s made himself plenty of enemies - or he could be attempting to discredit Mr. Holmes prior to a trial or some such.” She continued with a stream of possibilities, “Maybe our employer has some personal interest in Mr. Holmes, or he’s employed by a woman who does, but has suspicions of her own. Or perhaps the employer is Dr. Watson himself. If Mr. Holmes is as enigmatic as we’ve been lead to understand, he might be wanting a third opinion on an ambiguous relationship.”

“This sounds like something right out of a dime novel,” I declared.

Irene laughed.

I offered up, “What if he has heard that Mr. Holmes might be under investigation by the Yard and has employed us to preemptively find evidence against it? He did say he wanted our help in proving them innocent.”

“Then he must be a very foolish man indeed,” she said. “Innocence is hard to prove; our investigation can only dredge up more suspicions.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes before Irene spoke up once more, “We should write to Mr. Trevor today. It will be a matter of weeks before he receives our letter, let alone writes back.”

“What do you intend to say to him?” I asked.

“There seems to be a pattern,” she said in answering, though it really was nothing of the sort, “Mr. Holmes has one friend at a time, to which he is apparently very close.”

“So, then, what can Mr. Trevor tell us?” I pressed. “His own tendencies? I doubt he is so much a fool. You think he would admit if Mr. Holmes had made some advance toward him?”

Irene shook her head. “If it is as Mr. Holmes the elder says, I doubt he would purposefully incriminate his former companion. I suspect he may feel somewhat indebted to Mr. Holmes the younger - perhaps we could use that to our advantage.”

“You are a malicious woman,” I said, though my teasing smile did away with any weight the statement could have held.

The cab soon came to a stop back at the Baker Street flat. We were a little late for lunch with Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Watson, but a young woman who worked for the landlady greeted us at the door and led us down into Mrs. Hudson’s personal apartments. We passed through a cozy sitting room, into a small, well-kept dining room. There, we found Mrs. Hudson sitting across from a dainty young woman, who was modestly but fashionably dressed. Between them were several platters bearing all the makings for a lovely luncheon.

“My apologies for the delay,” I said as the ladies stopped mid-conversation and turned to face us.

“Don’t worry yourself about it,” Mrs. Hudson replied. “I’m glad you could join us.”

“Hello! It’s so nice to meet you!” Victoria exclaimed at Mrs. Watson.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Mrs. Watson said.

“Do have a seat,” Mrs. Hudson said kindly, motioning to a chair across from Mrs. Watson.

Victoria complied. I followed suit, taking the open chair at the foot of the table, out of the ladies’ way. For a moment, we all busied ourselves with filling our plates with light luncheon fare.

“So, what brings you and your husband to London?” Mrs. Watson asked.

“Vacation,” Victoria explained, “This is where we met and it’s been a long time since we’ve been back, hasn’t it dear?”

“Much too long,” I replied with a benign smile.

“What do you do for work?” Mrs. Hudson asked me - it seemed I could not escape the conversation so easily.

“A lawyer, though while I’m on vacation, I prefer not to think about it.” I chuckled.

“That’s a good philosophy,” Mrs. Watson remarked - I fancy I detected a hint of irony in her tone - “To work only when one is at work…”

“Yes,” Victoria replied with a smile at me, “It serves the both of us well.”

“How is Dr. Watson doing?” Mrs. Hudson asked, turning to Mrs. Watson.

“Well enough,” she replied, suddenly stiff.

“What’s it like,” Victoria exclaimed, ignoring the change in tone, “Being married to the famed Dr. Watson?”

Mrs. Watson sighed. “He’s lovely, really.” She smiled, but it didn’t last long. “He’s just a very busy man.”

“Doctors are always on call, aren’t they?” Victoria said with a kind smile, her tone greatly subdued.

“His practice must have expanded by quite a bit since Mr. Holmes left for France,” there was a hint of skepticism in Mrs. Hudson’s voice.

“He has also returned to writing,” Mrs. Watson explained with some reluctance.

“I uniquely adored ‘A Scandal in Bohemia’,” Victoria spoke up, “I have been dying to know what happened to Mr. Holmes and Miss Alder!”

Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Watson stopped short.

“Victoria,” I warned, and turned to the others, “My apologies, I don’t know what she was thinking.”

“I’m sorry, that was improper, wasn’t it…” Victoria said sheepishly.

“It’s alright,” Mrs. Hudson replied.

Mrs. Watson cracked a smile. “Don’t worry about it. You’re not the only one who wants to know. We’ve even gotten visitors from a few low brow papers asking about Mr. Holmes’s relationship with Miss Adler.” She turned to Mrs. Hudson and asked, “Do you know if he has seen her since?”

“It’s Mrs. Norton now - she is a married woman, after all,” Mrs. Hudson said. “And despite what Dr. Watson may have insinuated, any interest Mr. Holmes may have had in her was purely professional.”

Mrs. Watson bristled at Mrs. Hudson’s words. “John knew there would be questions! With a woman like Mrs. Norton there is always speculation, he only wanted to preempt it and protect Mr. Holmes’s reputation.”

It is true, Irene is not a conventional woman by any means, and she had an adventurous youth, but that does not mean I was happy to sit by and listen to my dear wife being insulted right in front of me. I felt Irene’s hand on my arm, a reminder that I had to stay calm and in character.

“And Mrs. Norton’s marriage is not necessarily a happy one,” Mrs. Watson continued with the serious tone of someone speaking wisdom from experience. “All marriages have their difficulties, especially those formed hastily. Once the honeymoon is over, there are many things that may occupy a man, keeping him from his wife.”

“Does Dr. Watson still solve cases with Mr. Holmes?” Victoria asked delicately, but with an innocence that suggested she didn’t actually realize the implication that working with Mr. Holmes could have kept Dr. Watson from his wife.

“Not often, no,” Mrs. Hudson answered sadly.

Mrs. Watson’s lips twitched into a frown. “They exchange letters, but I can tell that it’s not the same,” she admitted. “I am almost sorry that Holmes is away in France.”

“It is a real shame,” Victoria put in.

“I suppose,” Mrs. Watson said, though she did not sound certain of it.

Victoria eagerly changed the topic, and they launched into an avid discussion of neighborhood gossip at an astounding rate. It was just ladies’ talk, so I let my mind wander. Eventually they all finished eating - I had little else to do, so I had long since cleaned my plate - and made to leave.

“Mrs. Drebber,” Mrs. Watson remarked, “I should be going, but would you and Mr. Drebber like to come over one evening for dinner with my husband and I?”

“You really mean it? I wouldn’t wish to impose, I know I’m just a reader, not a personal friend or anything,” Irene let the words tumble out in Victoria’s eager surprise.

“John would appreciate meeting someone so touched by his writing,” Mrs. Watson said.

“Thank you so much! Albert, what do you think?” Victoria glanced at me, her expression so hopeful, it was almost pleading.

I chuckled. “I would like to meet the famed Dr. Watson as well. I would be honored to accept your invitation.”

“It’s settled then, I’ll talk to John and send a note to confirm the day.” She gathered her things and stood. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson, thank you Mr. and Mrs. Drebber,” she said and took her leave.

Victoria and I began gathering our things to go as well.

“It was very kind of Mrs. Watson to invite us for dinner,” Victoria exclaimed.

“Yes, it was.” Mrs. Hudson gave a small smile.

We were just moving towards the door when she remarked, almost as though she had forgotten we were there, “I shouldn’t be so hard on the poor girl. Dr. Watson has been an excellent companion to Mr. Holmes, a difficult man who I must say has been in dire need of a friend, but I confess at times he seems a less than attentive husband.”

With a start, she seemed to remember our presence . “But I shouldn’t speculate. It was very nice lunching with you, but I ought to get back to work.”

“Oh, is there anything I can help you with?” Victoria asked.

“Don’t worry about it. Enjoy your vacation.” Mrs. Hudson showed us to the door.

“Thank you,” I said, and Victoria followed me out.

It was Irene who joined me in our flat. Despite her costume, she looked distinctly like herself as she strode inside and declared, “That settles it.”

“Mrs. Watson did have a lot to say - Mrs. Hudson too,” I acknowledged, though I did not bother to hide the uncertainty in my tone.

Irene gave me a skeptical look and explained, “I can now say with some confidence that Mrs. Watson neither hired our employer, nor is his client’s true aim. She is too loyal to her husband to hire someone to investigate him and has no suitors to speak of.”

“You powers of perception are remarkable as always,” I said.

“Yes, I was actually listening to the conversation,” she retorted with a smile.

“I heard some of it,” I protested a little.

“Really?” she challenged.

“Mrs. Watson appears to be in quite the situation,” I attempted. “Her husband is inattentive, it seems largely on account of Mr. Holmes. I would say that she has plenty of reason to have him investigated, if she were so inclined.”

“But she is not so inclined,” Irene insisted. “She is a very loyal woman; you heard her defend her husband when Mrs. Hudson criticized his introduction to ‘As Scandal in Bohemia’ - you were listening then, at least. And if such an investigation into Mr. Holmes bore fruit, even if it did not implicate her dear husband, it would devastate him. She knows how much Mr. Holmes means to her husband. She would not risk it.”

I nodded in assent.

“You also heard her fascinating little analysis of our own relationship,” Irene continued with a wry smile.

“Yes,” I answered with a frown.

“It’s not the first time,” Irene remarked. “When a lady is in so much distress that she cannot bear to address it directly, sometimes it is easier to discuss imagined flaws in another woman’s life. However, this is the first time I have heard anyone attempt to dissect our relationship without knowing my true identity.” She appeared amused by this peculiar development, rather than insulted. “Equally remarkable, I believe Mrs. Watson has elected to believe that there is some involvement between Mr. Holmes and myself rather than risk implicating her own husband.”

I frowned at the suggestion.

Irene waved it off. “It is a good thing we’ve been invited to join Mr. and Mrs. Watson for dinner, that simplifies things quite a bit. I was considering posing as a patient to get an opportunity to question the good doctor.”

“I must say, we’ve been very well received,” I acknowledged.

Irene gave a theatrical bow. “I try.”

“And it has paid off,” I said with a smile.

“Yes, it has. Now, we have a letter to write.” she declared, and headed to the study. I hastily followed.

A reprint of a letter from Mrs. Irene Norton to Mr. Victor Trevor:

Dear Mr. Victor Trevor,

My name is Irene Adler. I do not know if my reputation has traveled so far as India. If you have heard of me, it is likely as “the woman” from Dr. John Watson’s account of “A Scandal in Bohemia.” To Dr. Watson’s credit, it is a much fictionalized account.

To put it simply, I am not a married woman, as the story - if you have read it - implies, though I hope soon to be: I am engaged to Mr. Sherlock Holmes, with whom I am deeply in love. It was he who told me about his friendship with you and how it so suddenly ended. My sincerest apologies for bringing back old memories that I know may be painful to you, but I am in desperate need of assistance and you are the only person who I can turn to for help.

I love Sherlock, about that there is no question, and I am sure he loves me. He is a wonderful man. I should be the happiest woman on earth, but I cannot help a nagging doubt that is festering in the back of my mind.

Just as you were his only friend in university, he now has Dr. John Watson, who is more than a mere biographer. They are the closest of friends and quite attached to one another. I find that Dr. Watson may be able to bring him more happiness than myself and I fear that to marry Sherlock and demand his affections above such a friend would be unpardonable. Yes, Dr. Watson is a married man himself, but his marriage seems to be less than happy for some of the same reasons that I have come to doubt my own engagement to my dear Sherlock.

In some respects, you must know my fiancé better than I. I know this is a very delicate matter and that is why I cannot ask anyone but you. Please return post as soon as possible with whatever advice you can give me; I am in a desperate situation and the last thing I wish to do is hurt my beloved Sherlock with my ignorance.

I thank you more than I can express.

Forever in your debt,

Miss Irene Adler

[tellytantra]

"There is a charm to letters and cards that emails and smses can't ever replicate, you cannot inhale them, drawing the fragrance of the place they have been mailed from, the feel of paper in your hand bearing the weight of the words contained within. You cannot rub your fingers over the paper and visualise the sender, seated at a table, writing, perhaps with a smile on their lips or a frown splitting the brow. You can't see the pressure of the pen on the reverse of the page and imagine the mood the person might have been in when he or she was writing it" ― Kiran Manral, The Face at the Window Dear Angry Chorni I know at this very moment you are frowning because of the way I have addressed you but I can't help it because for me you will always be my angry, violent chorni who stole my heart. That day you asked me why I loved you and I told you that I am lucky to have you in my life. Today, give me the chance of telling you why I thank God every day for making you. I still remember the day you waltzed into my life. It had been 21 days since, I had left home but for me that was the norm. You see I was like the free bird who couldn't be tamed by his own mother. So, I used to go on these solitary excursions and surprisingly, rather than being at home, I felt more at peace when I observed other people or when I somehow could help people solve their problems. I was clicking pictures when my camera lens managed to capture your eyes and you instantly hid your face by bending down. You tried your best that day to hide your face, but your eyes not only had left an imprint on my camera, but their allure had captivated my soul as well. There was just something about them it felt like those brown orbs were full of mysteries and I couldn't help but feel like unraveling them. You compelled me to ask "Tasveer main kis ka chera hain" and I just had a feeling that this was going to be the start of something new "Ya koi kahani shuru hui hain jis main naam humraha hain" . When I turned my attention elsewhere you slowly walked towards the front and sat with your back towards and then music started playing and ah well you know me I couldn't help but dance to the beats and at this one particular moment I was almost about to fall but you held my hand making sure that I don't fall. I should have known there and then that you will always be there catching me, holding me together when I fall apart. I did thank you that day but instead of saying you are welcome like normal people do you told me "Haath samblnay kay liay diya tha thamnay kay liay nahi aur waisay bhi jab apnay hi chod kar chalay jayay toh haath thaamnay ki adaadt nahi rehti" I won't shy away from expressing that what you said hit really hard. I couldn't help but reminisce how baba had let go of my hand in childhood and how he had abandoned me and I knew for sure that even you had experienced a similar kind of pain. The very same day I heard you telling Ketki that she was blessed to have such a loving family and that she had no idea what it felt to be left behind by the ones you loved. "Tumhay koi idea nahi hain kaisa lag ta hain apnay papa kay liay wait karna jo shahid kabhi nahi ahayay gay" Ketu might never know but I do. I know how it feels to wait day in day out hoping against hope that the one person you have looked up to for the most part of your childhood would walk through that gate and would embrace you in a hug. I had waited on the foyer as well and I knew how much it hurt. Ironically, the second time I met you was due to pain as well. The atmosphere at my place due to Ketki's Godhana had been stifling so I stepped out trying to divert my attention from yet another day where my Maa had managed to manipulate things in her favor. While reciting my shayri I was flicking through my camera gallery when again your picture piqued my interest"Kia koi aur hain duyna main jo meri tarah deewana hain" and right on cue your voice echoed amongst the ruins and than you and I started our hide and seek game. You managed to locate me behind that pillar and than like the stubborn angry chorni you are you decided to leave warning me that I would be sorry if I tried to follow you but do you remember what I told you that day "Shaid upar walay nay mujhay aap ki madad karany kay liya bheja hain ya phir aap ko meri in short Upar wala hum dono ki help kar raha hain" you scoffed at the idea that day and in your haste you managed to drop your earring and as I clutched that earring in between my palm I just knew that somehow those words would come true. You had indeed helped me that day because witnessing your pain, playing that game with you had managed to make me forget my own pain and I have never thanked you for that. It was at night time near that mandir when I first got too see my violent angry chorni in all her glory and I couldn't help but admire your fierceness. I wanted to stop you but and even smeared your face with color but than you looked at me and this one lone tear fell from your eyes and you said "Galat toh woh tha jo ho raha tha main toh bas ussay sahi karnay ki koshish kar rahi hu" and I just knew that you were telling the truth. The very next day we met for the first time where you challenged me that "Aaj main tumhay apnay rang main rang dun gi" and you managed to fulfill your end of the bargain. You are right when you say that one should never underestimate Misthi Aggarwal. I could go on and on about how we kept meeting again and again and how slowly and gradually you managed to creep through the deep crevices of my heart but there are a few things that I can't help but mention it is your ability to see beyond my mask of indifference. That night at the mandir when I was trying to tell you that you need to let go of the past you stumped me when you said "Tum bhi apnay Baba ko yaad kar kay itna sad mat hua karo" and you managed to silence the boy who loved talking. There was a chink in my armor and you had managed to seep through the crack I however, wasn't prepared to let anyone in so I immediately diverted the topic. When Ketki's wedding was called off I set up camp near the lakeside that I often used to visit with my father. Misthi that day I really missed him and I just wanted him to come back so when you kept a comforting hand on my shoulder I couldn't help but embrace you in a hug. I was so overwhelmed with emotions that it took me a moment to register that at such an odd hour of the night you had sneaked out just to check up on me. No one in my family had stopped me when I was leaving, they hadn't even bothered to ask me if I was okay but you did and honestly it meant a lot. No one had shown me that amount of care. With your arrival my mood lightened up and I started cracking jokes but one thing I said still holds true "Tum awesome ho" you have no idea about the affect you have on people. You don't even know that how that concern of yours made me feel on cloud nine and the way you deliberately lost the race just warmed my heart. You called it your friendship ka discount but what it meant to me is indescribable. I have got to admit though I am a teeny weeny bit scared of your anger that you showed in full force when I got arrested. The whole car ride I dared not say a word because it felt like you would just skin me alive not only did you drive my car but you also had the audacity to lock me in it. I asked you the reason and you pointed towards by bruised knuckles and once again Angry chorni you surprised me. You told me how my uncontrollable anger invariably end up hurting my friends who care about me and then I asked you that why were you so concerned about my friends and you replied with all the haq " Kyun kay main bhi tumhari dost hu" and just like that you managed to left me speechless. That day you showed me that my well-being mattered to someone that day I knew that in you I had found a true friend or maybe just maybe something more than a friend. Than you started working with me and completely took over the exhibition preps. The way you carefully handled my paintings and my photographs and the way you managed to display them making sure that their beauty wasn't diminished just made me admire you little more as none of my family members had ever offered their assistance. They hadn't looked at my art with the same glee and excitement. The way you showcased it made my art look even more beautiful. On one end I was helping Kunal in wooing you and on the other end I was falling for you. No wonder when Parul Maasi asked me to paint from my heart I filled the canvas with your picture. A chorni who without even me knowing it had stolen my heart but at that time I felt my feelings were forbidden as you were promised to someone else. My dreams and hopes were futile but when the fire broke out that day and the foolish you decided to stay back to save my painting, I realized that I was in the deep end. My feelings for you were too strong because a mere girl without fearing for her own safety had walked into a room full of fire trying to save something that was precious to me. No one had given me that much importance and here you put your life on the line for me. I tried to stay away from you but somehow you knew that something was bothering me and on the day of the godhana I came to meet you one last time and you gave me your diary. You asked me to jot down what I was feeling and as fate would have it I accidentally picked up your personal diary. While I was leaving the city I flicked through the pages of your diary and I realized that all the things you admired about Kunal were actually done by me so it wasn't Kunal for whom you had feelings for it was for me. I felt elated I finally felt I had a chance and so I raced back to try to tell Kunal the truth so that he would call off the engagement, but you beat me to it. You broke the ristha your own self by citing some very valid reasons and I understood that you and Kunal were just not meant to be. A part of me was afraid that after knowing that I had done all those things for you instead of Kunal would make you give up on our friendship. A friendship that was slowly becoming the best thing that had happened to me in a while. I couldn't afford to lose you. I was so desperate to talk to you that I even got a phone just because you had asked me on numerous occasions to get one. The champagnr trip couldn't have come at a better time as I got the perfect opportunity to say sorry to you. Remember our bus ride the whole journey was a laughter riot and with a jolt I realized that travelling solo now will never have the same charm as travelling with you by my side. I had almost given up on you accepting my apology after I missed the bus a part of thought that you had left but imagine my surprise when I saw you walking up to me struggling to drag that scooter. To say I was happy to see you would be an understatement I was elated beyond measure. Someone had finally stayed back for the boy who had been left behind. Our scooter ride is one of the most beautiful memories of my life, I am glad that my jokes managed to make you laugh and that day I wished greedily that the journey would never end. When we reached the school site you again astounded me with the way you handled everything not for a minute did you flinch while looking at the dismal state of the school. No, no my angry chorni is a women of action who encouraged my team and I to pull up our socks and to get to work. Oh btw when I fake proposed to you that day each and every word of that proposal was true.3     "Qismaton ki mujh par yay pehli mehrbaani hain Aik shezadi jis ka chasma hi uss ki nishani hain" I just can't thank fate enough for playing its cards and for introducing me to you because Angry Chorni you have completely transformed my life. When Kuku got kidnapped I asked you to not to follow me and to out yourself in danger but I should have known better. Of course my angry chorni had to be all daring and bold as she arrived unarmed, all alone to the lion's den in order to save all of us. When I saw you in the hands of those captors I was willing to give up Baba's land and his dream because your life mattered more to me than anything else and somehow you understood my intentions without me voicing it and you kept on asking me to stop. Angry chorni if that day that guy had asked me for my life, I would have gladly given that up for you as well because for me nothing else mattered. He had you and he was about to hurt you there was no choice to make. It was you and it will always be you. In the next moment when the gun shot 's noise echoed in the air and you fell to the ground a part of my heart stop functioning. I couldn't fathom what I would have done had something happened to you that day. I know that you are the bravest girl I have ever met but please be careful and be mindful of your safety because after all it's not only you that you need to take care of but its also my heart that is yours for eternity. You broke your promise that day and put yourself in a situation that could have had dire consequences so generally I was angry at you because I just couldn't come to terms with the fact that how could you think that your life is so indispensable how could not see that your safety was the only thing that mattered to me. I however, could not stay mad at you for long as you used my very own shayri against me and managed to mend our friendship. Afterwards both of us desperately tried to bring KUKU closer and somehow in the process even you and I got closer. Misthi I don't think I have thanked you enough for saving my life that night when a cyclone wreaked havoc in our city. Once again without caring for your own life you ventured out alone to see if I was okay. I can't even tell you the relief that coursed through my entire being when I saw you through the car window. A part of me had accepted the fact that I am going to die as I thought that no one would come for me but yet you did. Just earlier that day I had express my conviction that whenever I needed help my painting wali would never shy away from helping me and you didn't. I don't know what super-human strength had possessed you that day as you broke the window and managed to get me on the cart right in the nick of time before my car exploded. Everything after that is a blur but I remember waking up to you sleeping on my bedside and at that moment I realized what true serenity actually is. You held on to my hand so firmly that even when I tried to remove it from your grasp I was unable to do so. Than you woke up and I pretended to be asleep and in my sleep induced haze I asked you to stay with me forever. You began chiding me for stepping out in such dangerous weather and expressed your fear on what you would have done had something happened to me and at that very moment I dropped all pretense and asked you the real reason you came to help me out. You diverted the answer and got an opportunity to slip away when my family came. That day I became sure of one thing that the feelings we had for each other were mutual and so I began my quest of making you realize the true depth of your feelings and for also showing you my love through actions rather then just my words. When Bade Papa told me that you had left for the airport I felt like my whole world had been blown to smithereens. Nanu may god bless him reminded me of how I still had time and how you hadn't left. So, angry chorni I raced to the airport clad on a white horse such a stark contrast to the boy who once said that "Kitna impractical hain kay koi prince charming safed godhey par ahayay" to which you had replied "Mainay kabi aisay sapnay nahi dekhay kyun kay meri life koi fairytale nahi hain" that day both of us were proven wrong as we lived our very own fairytale. I took you to mandir because I wanted to confess my feelings for you at one of the most purest places ever , a place where God resides as I wanted Him to witness our love. As I have already said that you managed to live up to your end of the bargain and I will repeat it here "Tumnay mujay apnay rang main rang hi diya , Angry chorni I love you" apart from all the reasons I have stated I can give you a million different reasons but every day since our confession you leave me spell bound with the amount of love you shower on me. Recently, when Kunal insulted you publicly once again I apologize for his idiocy not once did you get angry at me although you had every right. Instead you asked me something that I had never expected it was something that no one had ever asked me. I know for a minute you hesitated because you know how sensitive the topic was for me but that hesitation didn't stop you asking if you could assist me in trying to find my father. No words can encapsulate what I felt when you asked me casually if you could help like it was the most normal thing ever. I couldn't help but fall in love with you all over again. I was so overwhelmed with your gesture that I just hugged you because as I already said words could never convey how grateful I felt for having you in my life. I know that now with your support I will find answers to all my questions. So before, I sign this off I want to say thank you. Thank you for loving me back. Thank you for teaching me that sometimes in the process of saving other people we forget that we need saving too. So, thank you for saving me both literally and figuratively. Thank you for making this banjara realize that while a house can be made out of brick and mortar a true home/ghar can only me made when all inhabitants of it experience the same amount of happiness and pain. That home need not be a place sometimes home is a person. Thank you for being my person. A person that I am not ashamed to show my real self beneath my mask. Thank you for being my biggest support system and helping me with things that I never asked your help for. Thank you for making me realize that I am enough to make someone stay for me to make someone root for me. Thank you for making me realize that I am worthy of you sneaking out and jumping of walls just to meet me. Thank you for making us a part of a modern day Cinderella story. I don't know what the future has in store for us but I want you to know that I am deeply and irrevocably in love with you. I don't need a reason to love you for me its as easy as breathing for me its something worth living for. Forever under your spell Your Ajeeb Rajvansh Suno remember how I once told you chori karna buri baat hain well when you robbed me of my heart I realized that "Kabi kabi dil ki duyna main chori karna achi baat hain" Fangirl1012z

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