Aakash's POV
The tiny café at the corner smelled of roasted beans and rain-soaked earth. I sat by the table near the window, trying hard not to glance at my reflection. My hands moved restlessly, rubbing against each other with a nervous urgency. Just a few minutes earlier, the waiter had approached me, but I dismissed him softly, saying that someone was yet to arrive, and then we would order. My heart pounded faster with every tick of the clock. My eyes kept diverting to the window, burning with anticipation and hope as I waited eagerly for her arrival.
I had asked Esha out for a coffee, a moment I dared to call a date — even if uncertain. Yet, doubt gnawed at me. What did she think about me now? Was she scared or uncomfortable? Had my sudden invitation unsettled her? These swirling thoughts raced through my mind like a fierce whirlwind, threatening to overwhelm my hope.
Minutes slipped by, each one stretching longer than the last. And then, from the periphery of my sight, a familiar figure appeared, walking toward the café with a graceful calm. She looked wonderful, radiating a quiet charm. Clad in a red kurti paired with flowing white palazzo pants, adorned with delicate jhumkis, bangles, and a subtle nose ring, she embodied the distinctive aura of a South Delhi girl. The sight lifted my spirits, sending me soaring to an emotional high. My heart finally found some peace, bathed in joy that she had accepted the invitation. Yet nervousness clung tightly — every time we met, the words between us stumbled and faltered, leaving a delicate silence neither dared break.
She stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on me. Even though she had not yet closed the distance, I could almost feel the electric tension crackling in the air between us. She walked toward my table, and I rose to greet her. The simple, swift 'Hi' we exchanged barely masked the undercurrent of nervousness binding us both. We sat, each nervously adjusting to the presence of the other, the silence feeling both comforting and heavy.
Her voice trembled slightly, hinting at her own unease. Time stretched in the gaps between our words. My gaze lingered on her, noting the subtle details — the way the light caught the strands of her hair, the nervous flicker in her eyes.
"Waise, jab mein ne coffee ke liye pucha tha, kya aap uncomfortable hui thi? Mera matlab achanak ke kiya tha isliye." Gathering courage, I asked a question that broke through the awkward quiet, albeit clumsily.
("When I asked you for coffee, were you uncomfortable? I mean, I messaged suddenly that's why.")
Esha's POV
When he asked the question, my mind went blank for a second. I was already flustered from rushing in, my pulse still racing from the fear of being late, and his question—so direct, yet soft—threw me completely off balance.
Did he think I wouldn't come? The thought made my stomach clench with a sudden, sharp guilt. I hadn't even considered that my lateness could be interpreted as hesitation.
"Nahi, woh traffic ke wajah se mujhe thoda late ho gaya tha." I tried to explain, but my voice came out a little breathless, unconvincing even to my own ears.
After my clumsy explanation, the silence that fell between us wasn't comfortable. It was heavy, thick, and buzzing with all the things we weren't saying. I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze for more than a fleeting second. Looking at him felt too direct, too revealing, as if he'd be able to see the nervous hurricane swirling inside me.
Instead, I let my eyes trace the details of his outfit, a safe way to look at him without looking at him. He wore a crisp blue shirt that made his shoulders look broad, paired with grey trousers and clean white sneakers. A classic, understated watch adorned his left hand. It was a simple look, but he wore it with an effortless confidence that I envied. He really does look good in every style.
("No, I was stuck in traffic, that's why I got late.")
"Umm...kuch order kare kya?" His voice, though slightly hesitant, broke the tension. He sounded almost as awkward as I felt, fumbling with his words. I managed a quick, jerky nod and a quiet "Ok."
He ordered a cappuccino, his voice low and certain. The waiter turned to me, and my brain short-circuited. I stared blankly at the menu. The words—lattes, mochas, espressos—swam together in a brown, caffeinated blur. In a mild panic, I just wanted the interaction to be over, so I blurted out, "A simple coffee, please."
I immediately regretted it. I don't even like coffee.
He must have noticed the indecision, the flash of panic, or the way I was now staring at my hands. His gaze was steady, and it made me feel pinned in place.
("Umm...let's order something?")
"All ok?" he asked, looking directly at me.
The urge to lie, to nod and say "yes," was strong. But as I opened my mouth, I couldn't. What was the point of being here if I was going to be fake? I shook my head, a small, jerky motion. He wasn't convinced; his brow just furrowed slightly.
Alas, I had to tell him. I felt my cheeks heat up.
"Woh, mein coffee nahi pete. Isliye decide nahi kar pa rahi hu ki kya lu?" I admitted, finally looking at him.
("Well, I don't drink coffee. So, I can't decide what to take.")
Aakash's POV
A small, involuntary smile tugged at my lips. Her confession was so simple, so endearingly honest. She'd rather sit there in awkward silence with a coffee she didn't want than say so. It was... innocent. And it made me realize how nervous she probably was. I felt a sudden wave of warmth, and the awkwardness began to ease.
"Oh, sorry mein ne aap se nahi pucha tha." I said, genuinely apologetic.
("Oh, sorry, I didn't ask you about this.")
"Don't say sorry, it was not your fault. You didn't know." Her voice was low. There was a comfortable silence. She recalled the waiter and ordered a normal coffee, sandwiches, and fries. Much better.
"Aapko coffee nahi pasand hai," I stated, leaning back slightly, "iska matlab hai aapko chai pasand hai." I decided to take a small leap. "Aur... aapko shayad meetha bohot pasand hai."
("You don't like coffee", "that means you like tea.", "And... You probably like sweets a lot.")
"Aapko kaisa pata chala ki mujhe chai pasand hain, mein ne toh aapko bola bhi nahi." She passed a small, confused smile, her head tilting.
("How did you know that I like coffee? I didn't even tell you.")
"Jahan tak mera observation hain, jyada tar log jo coffee nahi peete woh log sweet tooth hi hote hain." Her eyes widened slightly, and she looked at me with a flash of genuine impressiveness. I'd caught her attention.
("As far as my observation goes, most people who don't drink coffee have a sweet tooth.")
Our order arrived, and as we ate, the silence settled back in. But this time, I didn't mind it as much. Still, I wanted to talk to her. This was the part I always found difficult. My natural introversion felt like a lead weight, and I had to rack my brain for something, anything, to say.
"Aapne sketching karna kab se start kiya. Mein ne padha tha aapke Instagram bio mein ki aap sketching bhi karti hain."
("When did you start sketching? I read in your Instagram bio that you also sketch.")
Her face lit up. She told me all about how the pandemic had given her the time to rediscover her old passion. I listened, fascinated, not just by her words, but by her hands moving a little as she spoke, the way her eyes brightened.
When she finished, she surprised me by turning the question back.
"Aapke hobbies kya hain?" The question felt good.
("What are your hobbies? ")
"I mostly work. Jab ghar par hota hu toh mostly chess ya video games. Mein football bhi khelta that par kaam ke wajah se chod diya. Mujhe cooking bhi pasand hain." I admitted.
("I mostly work. When I'm home, it's mostly chess or video games. I used to play football too, but I quit because of work. I also like cooking.")
We chatted about random topics after that. The conversation, once so stilted, began to flow. I already knew the surface-level things about her from Instagram, but hearing her talk about her life, her art, I felt like I was discovering the person underneath.
When the waiter came with the bill, she immediately reached for it. A polite tug-of-war began. I insisted, and she refused. We were, I realized, literally arguing over the bill.
"Ab mein bill de dungi, agli baar aap de dijiyega." Her words hung in the air. Agli baar. Next time. Was it just a turn of phrase, or did she mean it?
("Now I will pay the bill, next time you pay it.")
"Do you think we will have an agli baar?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended. The effect was immediate. She choked on her coffee, her eyes wide. I quickly asked if she was okay. She nodded, clearing her throat, her face flushing.
("Do you think we will have next time?")
"Mera matlab hain, agar hum agli baar milenge toh aap pay kar lena." she tried to cover up, looking everywhere but at me.
("I mean, if there is a next time, then you pay.")
But I knew what she meant. Or at least, I knew what I hoped she meant. Her stares, those quick, unguarded glances she'd been stealing when she thought I wasn't looking, said more than her words ever could.
"I have got an idea, we can split the bill instead," I said, offering a truce.
We both agreed, and soon we were outside. The evening air was cool, and the sense of finality was heavy. She waved goodbye and started walking toward her car. A sudden panic hit me. I didn't want this to end. Not like this. Not yet.
An idea, sparked by her confession, popped into my mind.
"Aage ek chai ka dukaan hain. Wahan ki chai badiya hoti hain. Maa kabhi kabhi wahi se chai piti hain. Aap bura na mano toh hum waha chale?" I called out, my voice stopping her in her tracks.
("There's a tea stall up ahead. The tea there is excellent. Mom sometimes drinks tea there. Do you mind if we go there?")
She stopped, her back to me. For a long moment, she just stood there. I held my breath. Then, slowly, she turned and nodded.
We walked to the tea stall, side-by-side.
{As they walk, she is intensely aware of him. He's a solid presence beside her. She can't bring herself to look at him, so she focuses on the pavement, but she can feel his proximity. The silence isn't as awkward as the café; it's charged.}
"Waise, aap itna serious kyu rehete hain? Jab bhi mein aap se milti hu toh aap phone par hi busy rehete ho." She asked, breaking the silence. Her innocent question made me smile.
("By the way, why are you so serious? Whenever I meet you, you're always on the phone.")
"Mein serious unn logon ke liye hi reheat hu, jo mujhe nahi jaante. Mujhe logon se jyada baat karna utna pasand nahi." I answered.
("I'm serious to the ones who don't know me. I don't like talking to people that much.")
"Accha, toh aap ek introvert hain," she said, more as a statement than a question. She still wasn't looking directly at me, and I realized she was just as aware of the tension in our eye contact as I was.
("Ok, so you are an introvert.")
I just nodded. "Introvert" was a label many had given me, and I suppose it was true. I do enjoy my own company.
We reached the shop. It was small and nearly empty. I ordered two kulhads of chai and paid. She was sitting on a bench in the corner. I handed one of the steaming clay cups to her and sat at a comfortable distance. We drank our tea. This silence was different. It wasn't the strained, electric silence of the café. This was peaceful, warm, and shared. When we were done, we gave the kulhads back and started the walk to our cars.
"Maan na padega, chai badiya thi. Aap chai jyada nahi pete hain kya?" She asked.
("I must say, the tea was perfect. You don't drink tea often?")
"Kabhi kabar pee leta hoon jab Maa banati hain." I replied. We reached the area where her car was parked. The finality was back, heavier this time. She was opening the door. It was now or never.
("Sometimes I drink when Maa prepares.")
"Esha.."
She paused, her hand on the door handle, and looked up at me. I closed the distance between us. My heart was hammering against my ribs so hard I was sure she could hear it. I had no idea how to do this. But I had to.
"I guess I have to tell this to you," I started, my voice rougher than I intended. "I don't know how to tell this... but I really like you. And I meant what I said. I want a 'next time' too."
The silence that followed was absolute. It stretched for an eternity. We just stood there, locked in an intense eye contact. My pulse was roaring in my ears. I'd done it. I'd laid it all out, and now I was completely, terrifyingly vulnerable... scared for her reaction.
A long minute passed.
Then, slowly, she just smiled at me.
It wasn't a small, polite smile. It was a wide, radiant smile that lit up her entire face and reached her eyes, crinkling them at the corners.
And... words were not needed. Her smile said everything.
She sat in her car and bade me a soft "bye." After she was gone, I walked to my car, a smile of my own finally breaking free.
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Hey Folks!!
The chapter is finally out, which we have been waiting for a long time. What will happen next? For that, stay tuned!!
Hope you like this chapter. If yes, please like the chapter and comment on your favourite part.
Also, comment on the theories you think would happen next. Would love to read them.
Thanks for reading ❤️...