"Jazbaat ko lafzon mein baandhna mushkil hota hai."
It's hard to trap emotions inside words. — Aryan Sen
Aryan Sen stood at the edge of the train platform in Tokyo, headphones in, but no music playing.
He wasn't listening. He was just trying to block out the world.
He had just arrived in Japan — alone.
The air was different here. Clean, but cold. Fast, but silent.
The crowd moved like a wave — disciplined, disconnected.
And he was floating in it, unsure of where to anchor himself.
He clutched the small black diary in his jacket — the one that still had a photo of his mother, smiling gently, holding his tiny hand near a field of marigolds. India felt like another lifetime.
His father hadn't even picked him up at the airport.
"Check the key in the mailbox. Flat's yours," the text said.
That was it.
No welcome. No hug. Not even a "how are you?"
The apartment in Shibuya was clean, too clean. Like no one had ever lived here.
Aryan dropped his bag on the floor and sat down cross-legged, staring at the white walls.
His mother would've painted them yellow.
His father didn't even hang a clock.
He walked around the city that night. The neon signs, the vending machines, the smell of ramen and cold air.
He didn't understand a word.
Not the language. Not the people. Not even himself anymore.
In his pocket, he took out a note he had written on the plane:
"Don't break. Don't speak. Don't feel."
That had been his survival rule in India.
But here?
Here, even silence felt foreign.
He didn't know it yet…
But this country would break all three rules.
And it would start with her.
[End of Episode 1]
📝 Next: "Cherry Blossom Eyes" – The first silent meeting. The girl who would teach him how to feel again.