In the dazzling chaos of stardom, Scripted Touch unfolds the hauntingly tender and intensely passionate tale of Abir Sen — a powerful film icon with a shattered past — and Maholi, a sweet, grounded, aspiring writer who unknowingly carries the last thread of a buried truth.

When Maholi stumbles into the film industry, fate ties her to Abir through a mysterious necklace and a forgotten promise made by a dying mother. As Maholi navigates the ruthless world of fame, manipulation, and secrets, she finds herself drawn to the enigmatic star who hides more than just a broken heart.

What begins as silent chemistry ignites into a storm of unspoken desires, stolen touches, and late-night whispers. But every moment of passion is shadowed by a dark conspiracy that links their families — a murder, a cover-up, and a boy who saw too much.

With powerful enemies like the charmingly vicious Ruchika and the elegant yet deadly stepmother Sulekha circling them, Maholi and Abir must face the fire of the past to claim a future. Through betrayal, heartbreak, and explosive revelations, Scripted Touch explores what happens when love is both a sanctuary and a battleground.

A tale of lust, loyalty, buried truths, and rising from the ashes — Scripted Touch is where romance meets revenge in the boldest way.

Scripted Touch

They left the city behind at dawn.

No headlines. No calls. No shadows.

Just a handwritten note left with the housekeeper — "Don't tell anyone. We're off to breathe."

A hidden homestay nestled deep in the hills, where lavender fields kissed the sky and the air smelled like earth and healing. The cottage was small — stone walls, wood floors, warm yellow lamps that flickered like fireflies.

Maholi stood at the window their first morning, wrapped in Abir's oversized tee, her hair messy, her feet bare. The hills were bathed in fog. Silence hummed like a song.

"I could stay here forever," she whispered.

Abir padded over behind her, arms circling her waist, his lips brushing her shoulder.

"Forever sounds good," he murmured. "Especially if it starts like this."

She turned to face him — sleepy-eyed, glowing, beautiful in a way only love can make someone.

Lips soft. Warm. A question and an answer at once.

He lifted her up — she laughed, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her back to the bed.

There, beneath white sheets and lazy sunlight, they began to explore each other again — not in a rush, but in rhythm. No pain, no guilt. Just skin meeting skin, breath against breath.

"Say something filthy," she teased, biting her lower lip.

He grinned, eyes darkening. "You're playing with fire, Maholi."

His hands traced poetry along her curves, his mouth painting warmth on her navel, her thighs, her fluttering pulse. She gasped, moaned, whispered things she never knew she could say aloud.

He kissed her until her laughter turned into whimpers, until her hands clutched his hair and her body arched like a tide rising. He whispered her name like it was holy and then filthy, then holy again.

They made love like it was their first time all over again.

Afterward, they lay tangled in warm sheets, the window open, birds singing somewhere nearby.

"You keep looking at me like I'm a miracle," she said, nose brushing his cheek.

"You are," he whispered. "You're my freedom in human form."

They didn't leave the bed until sunset.

And even then, only to walk barefoot through the lavender, fingers entwined, whispering dreams about a small writing cabin by the hills, a puppy named Snowdrop, and maybe — one day — a child with Maholi's eyes and Abir's stubborn smile.

Later that night, wrapped in a soft blanket under the stars, Maholi rested her head on his chest and whispered:

"Do you think we've earned our peace?"

He kissed her forehead. "We earned this kiss. This moment. And we'll keep earning every tomorrow — together."

Chapter 31: Lavender Mornings & Moonlit Skin