In every page I found you.

In Every Page I Found You

Subtitle:Peace,with a name



Some stories don’t scream.

They whisper — like a wind passing through old diary pages.

Like a name you never expected to say again, but still do… in your mind, in your memories.







It began somewhere around August 15th, when she was just a girl who thought she knew love. And then he appeared — not with roses or grand gestures, but with a strange charm, calling her “madam” while unknowingly tearing down every wall she had built. He was annoying. He was late. He was unreadable. But somehow… he was home.



Their world wasn’t loud. It was made of:



-stolen glances across the road



-voice notes that never made it to the end



-birthday surprises, annual day memories, and hidden tears



- coffee dates, long drives, evening walks, and homely visits.



-diary entries that said "Please, don’t leave."



-and eyes that kept saying "I’m still here."





She wrote poems. He gave silence.



He showed up. Then faded. Then showed up again.



No promises, no declarations, just... presence.



But love has strange timings. And people have complicated hearts.

This isn’t a fantasy where everything works out — this is real.

Messy. Poetic. Raw.

This is a story of falling in love with someone who was never officially yours… but never really anyone else’s either.



If you’ve ever:



kept screenshots to remember how it felt



waited for one “good morning”



smiled at a voice message you replayed a hundred times



or written a diary entry hoping someone would magically read it…





This story is for you.







~ Author’s Note



Hello readers!

I don’t know how you found this book — maybe through a recommendation, maybe by accident. But maybe that’s exactly how the story begins too. Accidentally. Silently. But meaningfully.



This book isn’t just fiction. It’s memory. It’s emotion.

It’s for the girl who held back her tears and smiled anyway.

It’s for the boy who loved but couldn’t say it out loud.

It’s for you, if you’ve ever paused at 2 a.m. with a diary on your lap, wondering “Did they ever feel the same?”



I poured every raw emotion into this. No filters. No edits. Just honesty.

So if you feel something while reading — even a little —

let me know. Add this to your collection. Leave a comment. Share it with that one friend who’ll understand.



Because sometimes, stories are all we have when people forget.



Thank you for not leaving the pages.



With love,

Charu