pooja rani

Hello, Benjamin from Brothers Campfire here. Pooja asked me to tell her stories again. I met Pooja here on Brother’s Campfire. She pointed out that I do not look like a brother,nor am I on fire, but reminiscent of a fat, balding uncle. She was spot on, and we bantered truths back and forth for […]

Pooja Rani asked me to write.

Nice 👍

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“Threads of Obsession”

Plot: In a quiet town, Aisha meets Rohan, an enigmatic tailor known for crafting garments that seem to read the soul of their wearer. Drawn by his charm and artistry, she commissions him to make a dress, unaware that every stitch is tied to a dark secret of his past.

Rohan harbors an unusual obsession: he collects strands of hair from those he finds beautiful and uses them as thread in his designs. Unbeknownst to Aisha, her dress is to be his masterpiece. As their relationship grows, strange things begin to happen. The dress, once beautiful and light, starts to feel heavy, almost alive. It whispers to her at night, revealing truths about Rohan’s former lovers

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Title: Tera Naam

Verse 1
Gallan teriyan, rang laike aaiyan,
Dil mera chann, bas tere layi chhaya.
Chhad ke duniya, tere piche aavan,
Tera hi naam, har shaam dohraavan.

Chorus
Oh dil da tukda, tu ban gayi jaan,
Main raahavaan tera, tu meri pehchaan.
Tera naam, tera naam, dil te likheya,
Tera pyaar, mera khwaab, rab ton mangeya.

Verse 2
Tere husn di duniya vich khoya,
Zindagi nu tere naal hi joeya.
Ik pal v tu door na ho,
Mera saah vi tere sang roeya.

Chorus
Oh dil da tukda, tu ban gayi jaan,
Main raahavaan tera, tu meri pehchaan.
Tera naam, tera naam, dil te likheya,
Tera pyaar, mera khwaab, rab ton mangeya.

Outro
Ho chand taare vi sajde tere,
Tu meri duniya, tu mere savere.
Tera naam likhiya har dil di deewaar,
Teri yaad ban gayi jeene da sahaara.

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Crossroads Under the Banyan

After reconciling with the photography group, Aarav found himself spending more time with Priya again. Their evening conversations under the banyan tree returned to being the comforting constant they had always been. But something felt different now—an unspoken tension that neither addressed but both noticed.

One evening, Priya arrived later than usual, her sketchpad tucked under her arm. Aarav was already there, camera in hand, capturing the golden hues of the setting sun.

“Late today?” he teased.

“Busy day,” Priya replied, sitting beside him. “I’ve been working on something, and I need your opinion.”

She opened her sketchpad, revealing a detailed drawing of a new mural design. It was intricate and full of life, with a large banyan tree at the center. Around it were depictions of people—smiling, laughing, connecting. Aarav immediately recognized many familiar faces: members of their photography group, children from the park, even himself holding a camera.

“This is incredible,” Aarav said, awe in his voice. “It’s the group, isn’t it?”

Priya nodded. “The city council approved a mural project for the park. I want this to represent what the banyan tree means to us—a place for connection, growth, and belonging.”

Aarav smiled. “It’s perfect. But… why am I holding a camera? I thought this was about your art.”

Priya hesitated, her expression softening. “Because this mural isn’t just about me. It’s about all of us—especially you. Aarav, you’re the reason so many of us found a place here. This project wouldn’t exist without you.”

For a moment, Aarav was speechless. He hadn’t realized how much of an impact he’d had.

“So… you’re saying I’m part of your masterpiece?” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Priya laughed. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

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The Bigger Picture

In the weeks that followed, Priya worked tirelessly on the mural, and Aarav became her unofficial assistant. He documented the progress with his camera, capturing each brushstroke and every volunteer who stopped by to help. Their evenings under the banyan tree transformed into late nights filled with paint, laughter, and quiet moments of reflection.

But as the mural neared completion, Aarav began to feel a shift in their friendship. He noticed the way Priya’s eyes lit up when she talked about her art, how she seemed to glow with confidence and purpose. And in the quiet moments, when their laughter faded, he wondered if his feelings for her had grown beyond friendship.

One night, as they packed up their supplies, Aarav turned to Priya. “You know, this mural isn’t just about connection. It’s about you, too. Your vision brought all of us together.”

Priya looked at him, her expression unreadable. “And you’re the one who keeps us together. Don’t forget that.”

For a moment, their eyes met, and Aarav felt the words bubbling up inside him—the ones he’d been too afraid to say. But then Priya broke the gaze, smiling softly. “Come on, let’s call it a night.”

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A Question Left Unasked

The mural was unveiled on a crisp autumn morning, with the banyan tree standing tall beside it. The park was filled with people—friends, families, and strangers—all admiring Priya’s work. Aarav watched as Priya stood in front of the mural, her face radiant as she spoke about the inspiration behind it.

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?” a voice said beside him.

Aarav turned to see Rishi, smiling knowingly.

“Yeah,” Aarav admitted, his voice quieter.

“You should tell her,” Rishi said, clapping Aarav on the shoulder. “Whatever it is you’re holding back, just say it. You never know what might happen.”

Aarav looked back at Priya, standing under the banyan tree surrounded by the people she had brought together. He knew Rishi was right, but as the moment stretched on, Aarav hesitated.

Some feelings, he thought, were like the banyan tree—rooted deeply, growing steadily, and waiting for the right time to fully bloom.

For now, he would let them grow.

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On a misty morning in the quiet town of Clearwater, Anya found a rusty old key lying near the riverbank. Its intricate design made her pause—it looked like it belonged to another era, or perhaps another world. Without a second thought, she slipped it into her pocket and went about her day, but the key stayed on her mind.

Anya’s curiosity grew as the day went on. By evening, her imagination had conjured up all kinds of stories. What did the key unlock? A treasure chest buried in a forgotten basement? A mysterious diary? She decided to find out.

Clearwater was dotted with old buildings, and the key felt like it belonged in one of them. Her instincts led her to the abandoned mansion on Willow Street, a place shrouded in rumors. The gate groaned as she pushed it open, and the faint glow of her flashlight revealed the once-grand house, now crumbling under time’s weight.

Inside, she wandered the dusty halls, her flashlight beam catching glimpses of faded wallpaper and broken furniture. She searched for a lock that the key might fit. At last, she noticed something peculiar: a small chest tucked under a collapsed staircase.

The key slid into the lock smoothly, and with a soft click, the chest creaked open. Anya’s heart raced as she peered inside, expecting treasure, a journal, or something magical. Instead, she found a bundle of old letters tied with a ribbon.

Curious, she opened one. The handwriting was delicate and elegant.

“To my dearest Evelyn,
If you’ve found this, then perhaps there’s hope after all. The war may have kept us apart, but my heart remains with you always.”

Anya froze. The letters weren’t just old—they were a part of someone’s story, a fragment of love and loss from a time long past. She read through them, each one painting a vivid picture of a romance interrupted by history.

Tucked at the bottom of the chest was a final letter, sealed with wax. This one was different. It read:

“To the finder of these letters,
You now hold a piece of our love. May it inspire you to treasure the bonds you have and to never let time or distance diminish them. Return this to Evelyn’s descendants if you can. Our love lives on in every word you’ve read.”

Anya left the mansion that night, the letters carefully tucked under her arm. The key had unlocked something far greater than a door—it had unlocked a connection to lives that once were and reminded her of the power of love, even across decades.


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In a quaint little town nestled between misty hills, there lived an old clockmaker named Elias. Known for his precision and mastery, Elias crafted clocks that not only told time but seemed to possess a magical aura. Every ticking second felt alive, as if the clocks themselves were whispering secrets of the universe.

One stormy evening, a young traveler named Lila stumbled into Elias’s shop, drenched from the rain. Her eyes wandered to a peculiar clock hanging on the wall. Unlike the others, its hands moved backward, yet it chimed with an oddly comforting melody.

“What’s wrong with that clock?” Lila asked.

Elias smiled, his eyes twinkling. “That’s not a clock, but a Timekeeper. It doesn’t just tell time—it rewinds it.”

Intrigued, Lila asked, “Can it take me back to a moment I wish to change?”

Elias hesitated before replying, “Yes, but be warned. Time is fragile. What you change could ripple into something far worse.”

Despite the warning, Lila begged to use it. She wished to save her younger brother, who had drowned years ago. Reluctantly, Elias set the Timekeeper in motion.

Suddenly, Lila found herself on the riverbank from years ago. She saw her younger self laughing with her brother. Without hesitation, she ran to pull him away from the water. As she did, the scene dissolved.

Back in the clock shop, everything had changed. The town outside was silent, eerie, and abandoned. Elias looked at her with sadness. “You saved your brother, but at the cost of this town’s future. It now exists in a time loop, forever lost.”

Lila’s heart sank. She realized the weight of her decision and the true cost of tampering with time.

From then on, the Timekeeper remained locked, a reminder that some moments, no matter how painful, are meant to stay untouched.

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