दामन में समेटे अँधेरा लाई है बहरूपिया रोशनी
हो, लोरियाँ गाए तो नींदें जल जाती हैं लागे कलसुरि चाँदनी
मेरे साईंयाँ रे, साईंयाँ रे
दिल शीशे का टूटा आशियाँ रे, हो

Chapter 3 of TERI DEEWANI has been updated on scrollstack.  Link is in our Instagram and Wattpad bio.

And chapter 3 will be updated here on 9 January.

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Note to Everyone:

This is an important message addressing multiple comments and accusations that have been circulating recently. I request everyone to read this carefully, as I want to clarify several misunderstandings and allegations.

To those accusing us of begging silent readers to vote or asking people to make fake accounts-

Let me make this absolutely clear, we have never begged anyone to ask silent readers to vote. We respect our readers, and it’s against our principles to make anyone beg for votes or take actions they’re uncomfortable with. Silent readers choose to stay silent, and that is entirely their decision. When we give notices to vote, we simply remind silent readers who genuinely enjoy the story to come forward and support us if they wish to. Many of them do vote after these reminders, and that’s entirely voluntary.

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Additionally, even when vote targets aren’t met, we still update. Not a single time have we left an update pending when we said we would release it. So, when we fulfill our promises even in the absence of target completion, why doesn’t anyone remember that? These accusations of unfairness feel extremely unfair to us, considering how much effort we put into ensuring timely updates for both platforms.

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It’s been said multiple times that our chapters are extremely long, often 15,000+ words. Writing and editing such chapters takes a lot of time and effort. However, if you want 2-3 chapters on ScrollStack like other authors provide, we can do that. But understand this—if we do that, each chapter will be 5,000-6,000 words maximum because that’s the word limit for ScrollStack.

So, instead of one long, detailed chapter, we will split it into smaller chapters. A 15,000-word chapter would become three shorter updates. If that’s what you prefer, fine—we can start doing it. But make sure you’re okay with shorter chapters, as that’s the only way we can manage 2-3 updates per release.

To all the readers who genuinely support the story and enjoy our work, thank you for your constant love and motivation. It’s because of you that we continue to write despite balancing studies, personal life, and other responsibilities.  We hope this clears up any confusion. If you still have concerns, we’re open to constructive feedback, but baseless allegations and negativity will not be entertained anymore. Thank you.

Enjoy reading 🎀

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Darsh’s feet echoed in his as he wandered aimlessly, the cool evening breeze brushing against his face. He had been trying to clear his head, but his thoughts kept drifting to the letter he had received. It had arrived so suddenly, and the moment the postman handed it to him, his heart skipped a beat. He had recognized the handwriting immediately — it was hers.

"But usse yahan ka adress mila kaise!" He couldn't help but think.

His fingers trembled slightly as he ripped the envelope open. He couldn’t wait any longer. The anticipation was too much. Once he unfolded the letter, his eyes gleamed with excitement as he began reading, and a smile slowly crept onto his face.

To My Dearest Darsh,

Subject: Notice of Unavoidable Emotional Breach

I, the undersigned, am writing this letter to inform you that despite my best efforts to refrain from communication, I find myself in violation of my own personal directive. You see, this year, much like the previous ones, I swore an oath to myself — an oath to maintain a certain distance from you for a set period of time, believing it would help with my emotional case. However, as with all legal matters, I find that the law of love is far more binding than any contract, and I am in breach of it.

Each day, I thought I could survive without contacting you, but like a habitual offender, I found myself revisiting the scene of the crime. The crime of missing you, that is. And now, I am compelled to submit this letter as evidence of my continued feelings, despite my best efforts to uphold the principle of ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ in a rather ‘impractical’ manner.

In the matter of my daily thoughts, I have conducted a thorough investigation and come to the conclusion that I am guilty of missing you more than words can express. I have reviewed the case from all angles, and there is no doubt in my mind that your absence has caused irreparable emotional damage, which no amount of legal counsel can mitigate.

Therefore, I, the plaintiff in this emotional case, hereby request your immediate attention and a response in the form of either a phone call or a letter (preferably with a promise of not making me wait for long periods of time). Should you fail to comply, I will be forced to file an injunction on my own sanity and declare a public trial of my feelings.

Darsh couldn’t help himself — he burst out laughing halfway through reading it.

Once he finished, he lay back on his bed, holding the letter to his chest. He kissed it gently, feeling the warmth of her words seep into his heart.

Darsh sat at his desk, a pile of unsorted papers and textbooks scattered around him, yet his mind was far from focused on the academic material before him. His thoughts were entirely consumed by the letters that had somehow found their way to him over the past three years — letters from her.

He had received her letters in every imaginable way: slipped into the complaint box, hidden in his bag, left in Vihaan’s bag, or mysteriously appearing in his room when he least expected it. It was a routine now, this secretive game they played, though he had no idea how or when they were exchanged. All he knew was that every Saturday, without fail, there was always another letter from her waiting to be found.

And as always, he had a small smile on his face when he realized that another week had passed with another letter, her words a little gift that brightened his day. But there was a frustration too — a frustration he couldn’t shake off. He wanted to reply, but how? How could he return these letters to her? How could he express everything he had kept inside for all this time?

He slapped his forehead, the idea suddenly coming to him.

“But I can write it and keep those letters to myself. Phir jab bhi usse milunga, sare ek sath de dunga.” He paused, chuckling to himself. “Woww, I am so smart! Par ye idea mujhe pehle kyun nahi aaya?” He smiled, excited by the plan.

Grabbing a notebook and pen, he began to write. His mind quickly formed the words, a playful yet deeply heartfelt reply to her, written in his own unique style, blending law terms with the affection he felt for her.

Miss Anamika,

[A/N- Anamika, means a person who is nameless.]

Subject: A Case of Heart Theft — Evidence Enclosed

As a diligent law student, I find myself in the unfortunate position of needing to file a complaint, and believe me, it’s not a complaint I ever thought I’d be making. The case is simple: you, Miss Anamika, have committed a most grievous crime. And the evidence is irrefutable. You have stolen my heart, and to make matters worse, you did so with nothing but words.

You must be aware, as a lawyer, that under the principle of “Mens Rea” (the intention to commit a crime), you are guilty of premeditated heart theft. Your letters have been well-prepared, no doubt — written with such finesse that no one, not even the most disciplined heart, could escape the charm they hold.

But there’s more. The actus reus — the act of stealing — has been carried out so skillfully that I have no choice but to acknowledge your criminal intent. And let’s not forget, the modus operandi you use to carry out these crimes — slipping these letters into places where I am bound to find them. You’ve made a criminal out of me too, Miss Anamika, as I eagerly await your next letter, a mere accomplice in this affair of stolen hearts.

But despite the evidence, there remains a mitigating factor: I am willingly complicit in this crime. Each week, as the letter arrives, I act as though I don’t want it, when in reality, it’s all I look forward to. And I can’t help but smile as I read your words, even if you’ve turned my life upside down in the process.

Aapne apne letters ke through jo barfi banayi hai, wo mujhe har baar padhne ki soorat de deti hai. (The sweetness of your letters gives me no choice but to keep reading them).

Now, regarding the matter at hand — will it be too late, if I say I have finally realized what all this has led to? I’ve tried to resist, I’ve tried to pretend that I didn’t need your letters, that they didn’t matter. But as you so perfectly pointed out, it’s impossible to fight what is already decided by the heart, no matter how much logic tries to stand in the way.

So here I am, confessing my verdict: I have fallen in love with you. Perhaps, as a lawyer, you may find this admission too late in the case. But, as they say, better late than never, right? The defendant (my heart) has confessed, and the plaintiff (you) shall always win.

I eagerly await your next letter, though now, I think I may start writing you letters of my own, if only to make sure the defendant’s case is always heard.

Yours in unlawful love,

Darsh"

[A/N- We studied law for just one year so please ignore if there are any mistakes 🙂]

He placed the pen down and grinned, looking at the letter with a satisfied expression. His mind raced with excitement, imagining her reaction to his words. Would she laugh? Would she respond? Only time would tell.

Darsh's heart raced as he picked up the letter from the floor, hoping to hide it away before anyone saw it. He quickly stuffed it into his bag, but just as he was about to get it back to safety, the door swung open with a creak.

Divya and Vihaan stepped into the room, unaware of what Darsh was holding. The moment they entered, his hand froze, and the letter slipped from his grasp. It floated to the floor, landing perfectly in front of Divya. She glanced down, her eyes catching the edge of the paper before her curiosity kicked in.

"Wow, matlab ab idhar se bhi letters jaane lage?" Divya grinned, a teasing sparkle in her eyes as she picked it up. "Par tu kaise dega usse ye? Pata bhi hai kahan dena hai?" She turned it over in her hand, inspecting it carefully as if trying to piece together the mystery.

Darsh’s stomach sank, his face turning red as he rushed to snatch the letter from her grasp. “Aur Anamika kya hota hai? Uska naam Anamika hai?” Divya asked in mock surprise, smirking at Darsh.

"Yaar, ye sab mat kar!" Darsh shot back, trying to hide his nervousness. "Dikhana toh!" Vihaan said with an amused chuckle, reaching to take the letter, but Divya pulled it out of his reach, thoroughly enjoying the moment.

"Dikhana mat! Kuch samajh nahi aa raha?" Darsh said, his tone sharp as he swiped the letter from Divya’s hands. He smacked her lightly on the head as he did so, his frustration bubbling over.

"Jyada naak mat ghusaya kar tu!" he snapped. "Tu kyun padh rahi hai? Tere liye thodi likha hai! Meri personal cheejon ko hath mat lagao dono." He shot a glare at them, his embarrassment written clearly on his face.

Divya wasn’t fazed in the slightest. "Jyada smart banne ki zarurat nahi hai!" she retorted with a laugh. "Abhi jaa ke Naman uncle ko dikha dungi ye letter, sari akal thikane aa jayegi jo bina matlab ka attitude dikhata hai. Ek letter kya aane laga, khud ko kahin ka Shahrukh Khan samjhne laga... rahega toh tu bakasur hi." Her words came out teasingly, but the underlying meaning was clear: she wasn't going to let Darsh off the hook so easily.

Darsh scowled. "Aur tu ganji chudail, taadka!" he shot back, his irritation growing. But before Divya could respond, he heard his father call his name from downstairs. Realizing he didn’t have time for any more teasing, Darsh quickly grabbed his bag, shoving the letter deep inside it.

He shot Divya one last warning glance. "Agar kisi ne dekha letters toh khair nahi," he warned in a low voice, his tone a mix of seriousness and annoyance.

As Darsh rushed out of the room, his mind still occupied with the letter, Divya couldn't help but grin widely. The excitement bubbled up inside her, and before she could stop herself, a soft giggle escaped her lips.

"Pagal ho gayi ho kya?" Vihaan asked, looking at her with a raised eyebrow, his expression a mixture of confusion and amusement.

Divya turned to him, her face flushed with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. "He is writing a letter," she said, her voice soft but full of joy. "Can you believe it?"

Vihaan's face softened slightly, his tone turning serious. "Divya, kab tak aise chup ke letters bhejti rahegi usse tu? He’s becoming so attached. He is going to get hurt if he finds out." His voice was laced with concern as he tried to reason with her.

Divya sighed, her smile faltering for just a moment. "I don’t know, Vihaan… but I know if I, as Divya, confess to him... he’ll laugh. He won’t take me seriously." She sounded conflicted, as if torn between her feelings and the fear of how Darsh might react. "I don’t want him to see me as some joke."

Vihaan leaned against the doorframe, thinking for a moment before responding. "Toh kya karogi? Aise dhokhe mein rehne dogi usse? Kabhi na kabhi toh milna padega." His words were a little sharp, but he was only trying to get through to her. "You can’t keep running away from this. He deserves to know."

Divya shook her head, looking thoughtful. "Haan, but I want him to know that I’m serious, you know? He will understand the depth of my feelings... when the time is right." There was a subtle but strong determination in her voice, as if she was slowly making peace with her own emotions.

Vihaan let out a frustrated sigh. "Hey bhagwan! Likhna toh mereko padta hai sare letters!" He threw his hands up in the air. "I try my best to write in a different handwriting every time, but what if he finds out? What will he think about me then?" He sat down with a dramatic flair, acting as though the weight of the task was too much for him.

Divya couldn’t contain her laughter as she watched Vihaan's over-the-top reaction. She knew Darsh would recognize her handwriting in an instant, and that was the last thing she wanted.

“Bhai nahi hai? Itna toh kar hi sakta hai!" She urged playfully.

Vihaan groaned dramatically. "Galti ho gayi dono se, friendship kar li!" He shook his head with a half-smile

******************************************

After dinner, Shashwat sat silently on the edge of his bed, the room dark save for the soft light streaming in through the window, casting long shadows on the walls. He had barely spoken a word since dinner, his mind a swirling mess of thoughts, emotions, and memories. As the Malhotras had returned, he’d done his best to maintain his composure, forcing a smile where there should have been none, holding onto a sense of normalcy that seemed more and more like a distant illusion.

The memories of the past three years, the months, the days, the moments spent apart from her, pressed on him like a weight he couldn’t escape. It was as if a part of him had been locked away, buried deep within, unable to move on. Every single day without her felt like an eternity, yet the memories of their time together, the moments they shared, were still so vivid in his mind.

Shashwat leaned forward, resting his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his forehead as if trying to push away the pain. But it wouldn’t leave. It never had.

His heart ached in ways that words could never describe. The tears he had been holding back for so long were finally threatening to spill over, pooling in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Not now. Not when the walls felt like they were closing in on him.

After a few moments, he pushed himself up, his body moving on autopilot, as if it knew what he needed before his mind did. He walked over to his desk, his eyes flicking to the corner of the room where his bag sat. He hadn’t touched it in days, not since he had arrived, but tonight felt different. He could feel the weight of something unspoken calling to him.

With a sense of urgency, Shashwat reached into his bag and pulled out a worn sketchbook. It had always been there for him, a quiet companion during the loneliest of times. He flipped it open carefully, almost reverently, as if afraid of disturbing something precious. The first page was filled with her—his first memory of her from all those years ago, her radiant smile as she stood on stage during her first-ever performance after completing her degree in Bangalore which he watched online.

There was a depth in her eyes, something more, something beyond the stage. He had captured not just her movement, but her emotion, the silent pain she had carried, the way she held herself together despite everything.

He kept turning the pages slowly, each sketch a testament to the time they had spent apart, each drawing an echo of the performances he had watched from afar, her face always a little more distant, a little more unreachable, but no less beautiful. From the first performance after completing her degree to the last one he had seen online, he had captured each moment as if he could hold onto them forever.

Every page held a story—stories of a woman he admired, loved from afar, and could never fully claim. Each sketch was a reminder