“Ravi, all your novels are damn thrilling. I specifically like them because they enlighten us about the shady and dark truths of the criminal world.”
“I’m tickled pink to hear that man! Thanks Shaurya.”
“Oh the pleasure is all mine. By the way genius, tell me one thing. After having 150 crime thrillers to your credit, do you still get new ideas? What’s the theme of your next story?”
Ravi Desai chuckled before replying,
“Not for a new book, but many times I think what if my characters and their circumstances become real and appear in front of me?”
Shaurya couldn’t stop himself and burst out laughing. “Ravi, now you’ve actually gone bonkers!”
Ravi Desai’s last crime thriller was well received with rare reviews and was highly acclaimed. Ravi too was extremely satisfied and pleased with his work. This morning while jogging he was lost deep in thoughts and his talks with Shaurya were at the forefront of his mind. It had gone on replay mode. Unaware of his physical surroundings, absentmindedly Ravi had come much ahead of his regular jogging route.
Out of the blue, his eyes fell on a stunning colossal bungalow. Ravi had come this way for the very first time, nevertheless the bungalow was a replica of how he had described in his last novel. Curiosity took over and his feet voluntarily took baby steps in that direction. After a lot of hesitation, he gathered courage and gently rang the bell. As soon as the door opened, Ravi was flabbergasted to see the person on the inside. As if the murderer of his cliffhanger was standing in front of him. Height, complexion, body built, so much so to the detailing of the colour of his green eyes were exactly like his imaginary character, Vikrant.
Completely traumatized, a whisper left his lips,
The owner of the bungalow replied softly,
“Yes, I’m Vikrant Bhatt. How can I help you?”