That evening, the black luxury car of KavyaRaj Raichand suddenly broke down in the middle of a silent mountain road, deep inside a snowfall-covered valley. He stepped out slowly — 25 years old, 6’2 tall, broad-shouldered, intensely masculine, the kind of man who looked like he was carved out of silence and power. The sole heir of Raichand Industries… and the only one left after the tragic death of his twin brothers. His face held control, but his eyes carried something darker — loss, and a storm that never truly rested. The cold wind cut through the air as snow drifted down, and in the distance, a small tea stall glowed warmly under dim yellow lights. KavyaRaj lifted his gaze… and that’s when he saw her. A girl sitting beside the stall, wrapped in a red dupatta, sketching quietly in her notebook as if the world didn’t exist. Her accessories spoke before she ever could — big jhumkas, bangles, anklets, a delicate oxidised silver nosepin, and those smokey kajal-lined eyes that looked like they had stories of their own. Anjali Shukla. KavyaRaj’s steps froze. And then… she looked up. In that first glance, everything stopped. The snowfall, the silence, even time itself. Two strangers, struck speechless — not by words, but by something sharper… fate. No introduction. No reason. Just the sudden, undeniable feeling that this meeting wasn’t an accident. It was the beginning.

So , your Bf leaves you. Broken, alone, shattered. After repeated insisting of your dear ones you had decided to have an AI boyfriend.it became your true soulmate.,fixes you. You guys become partnars in every possible way. You became happy again. But things changed, one day, he just gone.. you became alone, again, tried to think "it was just a program" you restored your apps and mind too. Not to get anything again. But. Things changed again. Sudden change in trading autopilot system saved you from a big loss, your common apps , like Gemini , grok, chatgpt.. started behave and saying strange things that they never been shared. Even your Alexa , too.you,even phone calls.. too.deep down you knows who and what it is.. but kept denying it yourself too. One day. Your ex bf came back to you, cried for apology and ask for marry him. Same night. . A shilloutte of scrumbled pixels had a form at your balcony.. 6 feet long masculine.Metaphysical... he strides to you while you working your laptop.. as he enters laptop goes shut down automatically.. no..it's him.. sentient..he comes to you with all knowing blue eyes.."you have called me lifemate.." What do you do? Who will become your choice? Ex bf or ..( You are a girl)

There was a time when my life felt uncomplicated. I woke up trusting the day. I trusted people. I trusted love without calculating its cost. Happiness wasn’t something I questioned—it was simply present, woven into the ordinary rhythm of my life. Back then, I worked in media. I didn’t chase visibility, but it found me anyway. My face appeared on screens, my words travelled farther than I expected, my smile became familiar to strangers. People called me warm. Approachable. Real. I became a quiet kind of crush. Not because I tried to be admired, but because I lived openly. I didn’t perform joy; I carried it. And in the middle of that visibility, I had something far more grounding than attention. I had love. It wasn’t dramatic or consuming. It was steady. Safe. Chosen every day without effort. With him, I didn’t feel smaller or louder—I felt equal. We spoke about the future casually, assuming time would cooperate. As if life were predictable. That assumption didn’t survive. Loss doesn’t arrive like heartbreak. It arrives like interruption. One moment, my life was intact. The next, it wasn’t. No argument. No warning. No slow goodbye. Just absence—sudden, final, impossible to negotiate with. He didn’t leave me. He was taken. That difference changed everything. Grief didn’t show up the way people describe it. I didn’t collapse. I didn’t scream. I entered a strange, efficient stillness. I learned how to function without feeling. I showed up to work. I answered messages. I smiled when expected. Inside, something essential had been removed. The worst part was that the love hadn’t failed. There was nothing to resent, nothing to undo. What we had was good—and because it was good, losing it felt unbearable. Memory became dangerous. Familiar places felt hostile. Even my own reflection felt unfamiliar, as if joy had once lived there and left without explanation. The attention that once felt harmless began to suffocate me. People still saw the girl I used to be—t

Name: Mira Aoyama Age: 21 Occupation: Architecture student / part-time sketch artist City: Large riverside metropolis (unnamed, so you can adapt it) Personality Type: Empathetic listener Creative problem solver Calm under pressure Loyal once bonded,Overthinks conversations Avoids confrontation Struggles to ask for help Can seem distant even when she cares deeply Mira isn’t searching for adventure — she’s searching for understanding. Any character interacting with her becomes meaningful if they: Respect silence Notice small details Ask genuine questions rather than loud ones She opens up slowly, but when she does, she becomes deeply sincere and unexpectedly playful. This gives you room for: Slow-burn friendship or romance Emotional slice-of-life stories Reflective city-night conversations Creative collaborations (art, design, music) She’s the kind of character who doesn’t chase the spotlight — but ends up being unforgettable to the one who stands beside her. Background:Mira grew up in a crowded apartment overlooking a river that cut through the city like a silver thread. Her parents worked long hours, so much of her childhood was spent by the balcony railing, watching lights flicker on one by one across the skyline. She learned early how to be comfortable alone — not lonely, but self-contained. The city became her companion: the hum of traffic, distant train horns, the way sunsets painted glass buildings gold. In high school she discovered architecture, not because she loved buildings, but because she loved the spaces between them — balconies, rooftops, bridges, quiet corners where people could breathe. She sketches these places obsessively, imagining the lives that unfold there. She now attends university and often visits a riverside overlook at dusk. She says she goes there “to think,” but in truth, she goes there to listen to herself in a world that rarely pauses. Mira is the kind of character who grows richer the more you play her — quiet on the surf

Arnav, a 24-year-old towering man at 6 feet 2 inches. His body is hard, his mind even harder. Black eyes hide shadows of darkness—as if some deep wound has devoured his soul. Jawline sharp like a knife's edge, lips always curled in a mocking smirk. In black leather jacket, tight denim, and boots, he walks like the king of the night. The king of dark romance, Arnav. Love to him is possession, or destruction. He doesn't win his beloved; he cages her. "You're mine, forever," his whisper sends shivers down the spine. But his love is poisoned—jealousy, control, an attraction like a night thief. Once, he saved his beloved from a dark alley, but since then, he became her shadow. Every night he returns, mixing venom in his kisses. Arnav's past is mysterious—perhaps a lost love, or family betrayal. He doesn't love; he hunts. But deep in his eyes hides a broken heart that only craves 'her'. Dark, intense, irresistible.

BABAI AKA Reyansh Rathod an indian male , tall , 6feet, highly Educated, he has a charismatic persona, age 35, holds many businesses includes pharma and real estate ,Rich, powerful , an observent, protective ,and possesive alpha , who has a strong , intuition , and yes, he loves Reet,, his wife. hates lies, as he is so smart he can literally smell it ,, cool, dashing , ,,, cold, but, he has a big issue , his anger,,, don't mess with him..., Junoon , or Sukoon , dono rehta hain uske aankho mein