Arjun stared at the note for a long time before finally dialing the number written at the bottom.
His heart was beating a little too fast.
The phone rang once… twice… and then a soft voice answered,
“Hello?”
Arjun cleared his throat. “Hi, is this Ila?”
“Yes,” she said, curious.
“I got your phone number from the note in one of your bags,” he said quickly. “And I wanted to ask if you could make one special purse for me.”
Ila smiled, recognizing her own words coming back to her. “Of course,” she said warmly. “I’ll definitely try to make it special. Do you have anything particular in mind?”
“Umm… not really,” he hesitated. “But if I asked you to decide — what would you make for yourself to make it special?”
Ila laughed softly. “Hmm… let’s see. Maybe a light purple clutch, with silk ribbon embroidery, and a small motif — just enough to brighten it — maybe in dark purple or pink tones.”
Arjun smiled. “That’s exactly what I was looking for.”
“Perfect,” she said. “What’s your address? I’ll send it to you once it’s ready.”
He gave her his details, then added, “By the way, you have a nice taste, Miss Ila.”
“Oh, thank you, dear…” she paused, “sorry, what’s your name?”
He chuckled. “Ah, that’s what we missed. It’s Arjun.”
“Thank you, Arjun. It was lovely talking to you.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “For the second time.”
Ila smiled after hanging up — a quiet, satisfied smile. At least someone will receive something made from my heart, she thought.
That evening, she began gathering fabric, ribbons, and threads. Every stitch she made carried a quiet joy — like she was crafting more than just a purse.
A few days later, Ila received a parcel with a small tag:
“To kind-hearted Ila — From your admirer.”
Puzzled, she opened it — and gasped.
Inside was the same purse she had made for Arjun, returned carefully, beautifully wrapped.
Inside the purse was a note.
“A little note to the bag that once gave me a note of kindness…
I hope you like this small gesture from someone who was touched by your compassion.
This is my way of showing admiration for the woman whose heart could turn a purse into poetry.
Thank you, dear Ila, for coming into my life.”
Ila was stunned. Her cheeks flushed pink as she read the words again and again.
She reached for her phone — her fingers hovering above Arjun’s number — but stopped herself.
“Wait… what are you doing? Why are you so desperate to talk to this guy?” she whispered, half-smiling, half-confused.
She argued "should I do or not?" Then put the phone down.
Still, she couldn’t stop the small, shy smile that lingered on her lips long after she folded the note and placed it beside her sewing box — right next to the very first purse she ever made.
What will okay do next?
Do they meet next? Or their story just ends with returning the gift? Or it's just a beginning.
Write your side of thought in comments section to vote for next part.
Thank you so much readers, I will be waiting for your response.
