Ishaan Talwar Part 1: The First Note The first time Aryan strummed his guitar on the old green bench outside the Fine Arts Block, the sun was melting into the Delhi skyline and the air smelled of samosas from the canteen. He wasn’t playing for anyone. He never did. But someone was always listening. That evening, it was Tara—the girl with the nose ring and the journal full of angry poetry. She was standing near the rusted railing, scribbling something when his chords cut through the dusk like the beginning of something they didn’t yet know was coming. He looked…
