All Night | Saari Raat Call | Ap Dillon | Shinda Kehlon | 2022 Album | Audio Version | May 2026

"Exactly. It’s 2022, Shreya. Who actually stays on a call all night anymore?" "We do," she whispered.

They talked about everything and nothing—the way the moon looked from her balcony, the dreams they were too scared to chase during the daylight, and the melody that seemed to loop perfectly with the hum of the engine.

By the time the sky began to turn a bruised purple, signaling the dawn, the audio version of the track had played a dozen times. Kabir pulled into his driveway, but he didn't turn off the engine. He didn't want the music to stop, because as long as the song was playing and the line was open, the night didn't have to end. "You still there?" he asked. "Saari raat," she promised. "Exactly

His phone vibrated in the cup holder. The name on the screen made his heart skip.

"The AP Dhillon one?" she laughed gently. "The one where they talk about staying on the phone saari raat ?" They talked about everything and nothing—the way the

He tapped the screen, and the familiar rhythm of began to pulse through the speakers. It was the heart of AP Dhillon’s Two Hearts Never Break the Same album, a track that felt less like music and more like a confession.

"Still awake?" Shreya’s voice came through, soft and slightly raspy from sleep—or the lack of it. He didn't want the music to stop, because

"Just driving," Kabir replied, leaning back. "And listening to our song."