“So,” he whispered, “will you let me be your sequel?”
Savita looked up. Arjun was already smiling.
Panel 1: A nervous boy holding an umbrella. Panel 2: The same boy walking a girl home under a starlit sky. Panel 3: A close-up of the girl’s smile. Panel 4: The boy thinking, “I want to be the reason she keeps drawing.”
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Arjun wasn’t the hero from her comics. He was the boy who returned her library books on time, who saved her a seat during monsoon lectures, and who once doodled a tiny star next to her name on a coffee shop napkin.
And just like that—between ink pots and half-finished stories—Savita’s greatest romance began. Not with a grand gesture, but with a cartoon confession and a boy who saw her as both the artist and the art.
One rainy evening, as Savita erased a flawed line from her latest cartoon strip, Arjun slid a folded paper across the table. “So,” he whispered, “will you let me be your sequel
She opened it. A four-panel comic.
“For you,” he said, voice softer than the rain.
A soft, pastel cartoon illustration of Savita (a thoughtful girl with glasses and a paintbrush behind her ear) and Arjun (a warm-smiling boy holding a sketchbook) sitting under a banyan tree, surrounded by falling jacaranda petals. Caption: Panel 2: The same boy walking a girl
In a world painted in watercolor hues, Savita believed in two things: the magic of a good story and the quiet courage of a sketch. She spent her days bringing fictional characters to life, never once imagining that her own love story was waiting just outside her window—drawn in the margins of someone else’s notebook.
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