chapter 5 - Maya's POV

I had no influence, no name people would take seriously. I was new in the city, an unknown face asking awkward questions. Slowly, that option faded. I stopped asking strangers.

So I kept my search quiet. I kept going to training.

The training lasted three months, filled with tension and pressure. Every day I studied hard, practiced, and prepared for the exam that would decide whether I could keep this job or not.

At last, I was confirmed in my job. For the first time, I felt relief — a sense of pride that I had achieved something on my own.

And then came the transfer. I was posted to Bangalore.

One side of me was happy, ready to start my career, to build a future. But another side was heavy, broken. Because I had to leave the city without knowing a single detail about her.

She lived somewhere nearby, I was sure of it. Yet she remained a mystery — a shadow that carried my face but no name.

In Bangalore, I stayed with my sister for a while. Soon after, I attended an interview for a project. It was one of the biggest projects in the company, with the kind of technology that could shape my future.

To my surprise, I was accepted. A fresher without experience, chosen for such a project — it felt like a turning point in my life. For the first time, I believed my good days had begun. I felt lucky, grateful, and excited.

Once I settled into the team, I moved out of my sister’s house and shifted into a hostel near the IT field.

Professionally, everything was smooth. The work was challenging, but the people around me were good. Step by step, I was building my career.

But in my personal life, nothing changed. The silence followed me. The loneliness sat beside me.

After a long break from training and joining, I finally went back home for a weekend. I thought maybe, with my job now secure, things would feel different. But home was the same — quiet, strict, unchanged.

I stayed in my room, finishing my work, waiting for Monday to return.

And once again, the memory of the girl on the road returned to me. The face I could not forget.

I thought maybe social media could help. But my own account was useless — namesake only.

My father never allowed me to post anything, and I had never shared myself online. If I suddenly started, my family would notice, and I did not want that.

So I decided to create a fake account. A place where I could write freely, search quietly, and maybe reach her.

But what could I post? I was not good at comedy, not music, not dance. I could not show my face.

I thought of food or plants, but living in a hostel, that was not possible either.

Finally, I decided to post about the incident itself. Words, pictures of roads, moments captured without my face.

Maybe, if fate was kind, she would see it. Maybe, she too was searching for me.

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