The First Time I Loved Again - Part 2

Who is She????                                                  

 

There are some souls you don't meet; you feel them, even before they step into your life.

Sharvani was that feeling. Yeah, Sharvani that’s her name.

 

Chubby cheeks kissed by hidden dimples, warm hands that could heal even the heaviest days, which was Sharvani. Every time I looked at her, it felt impossible not to reach out, pull her close, and just gently tug her cheeks, whispering golu golu, teasing her, laughing with her. There was something about her — a softness that made you stay; a strength that made you believe.

 

Sometimes she wore specs, resting on the bridge of her nose like a quiet reminder of the endless stories she could read, explain, and dream. But even behind glasses or not, her smile, oh, her smile it could slice through any darkness and stitch up any broken day. It wasn’t just her lips curving; it was her entire soul lighting up at once, warm and inviting like a homecoming after a long winter.

 

She wasn’t just another girl walking down the street; she was a whole celebration wrapped in one human being. She was the kind of girl who would walk miles barefoot just to seek blessings at Kedarnath and other chaardhaam, who would climb rough hills and hidden treks just to bow down in gratitude, and then come back and dance the night away, laughing like the world was made of happiness alone. She balanced devotion and adventure like two sides of the same coin, living proof that you could chase the divine and still embrace the wildness of life.

 

Sharvani was desi to her bones; the kind who would light up the room in a simple kurta, carrying the fragrance of home and tradition. But when she chose to slip into a modern dress, she would steal everyone's breath away without even trying. It wasn’t about what she wore; it was the way she wore it effortless, graceful, as if she belonged everywhere and nowhere at once.

 

She had a wanderer's spirit. Her eyes carried maps of places explored and dreams of lands untouched. Give her a chance, and she would pack her bag, tie her shoes, and head out to breathe new skies, meet new winds, taste life at every turn. There was an ambition in her heart, a fire she rarely spoke of but burned fiercely within. She worked hard, not for fame or titles, but because she wanted to see the smiles on her parents' faces stretch a little wider, shine a little brighter. She carried their dreams like stars stitched into her palms. She understood people in ways no one else did. She knew the battles men fought, the silent responsibilities they carried in their chests. She understood without asking, comforted without speaking, taught without preaching. Her way of explaining life, emotions, and mistakes was simple, comforting, like someone wrapping a shawl around your cold shoulders, quietly, without a word.

 

At work, she was a storm wrapped in patience. Punctual, diligent, unstoppable. She would whisper complaints about her boss with the cutest twinkle in her eyes, but when it came to work, she gave nothing less than her best. She carried her responsibilities like medals no one could see but everyone could feel. Yet in her personal life, she was adorably lazy, pushing aside chores, curling up with a power nap or a cup of tea, losing hours to dreams and comfort.

 

Sharvani wasn’t a character in a story. She was the story. She was the scent of fresh rain, the laughter that echoes in empty halls, the comfort of old songs on tired nights. She was the girl who made you want to live softer, laugh louder, dream bigger.

 

Her presence didn’t just fill the room; it filled lives.

And even before she uttered a single word about love, she had already become mine.

 

Without knowing, without asking, without promising anything, Sharvani had already stolen my heart.

 

 Later that night.

 

"Mr. Kumar, do you realise that you propose to me?" she replied, with a little laughing emoji at the end.

 

I fired back, fingers moving fast:

"Yes. And I don’t care now. I don’t want to be late and live with the regret of thinking, 'mauka tha aur sirf dost ban ke reh gaya'.

Life’s too short. And you... you’re too special to stay a 'what if' in my story."

 

I threw in a few Bollywood dialogues, on purpose — the cheesier, the better.

Because if I was proposing, I was going full filmy hero.

 

Then — the dots.

The dreaded, blinking "typing..." dots.

 

One minute passed.

“Baba she’s typing. That’s good, right? I mean, if she were going to flat out reject me, it would've been instant. Maybe she’s thinking of the perfect response. Or maybe she’s writing a polite way to friendzone me. Oh god. Should I have quoted SRK instead of Salman?"

 

Two minutes.

The dots blinked. Disappeared. Blinked again.

"She’s thinking. Maybe she’s emotional. Maybe she’s re-reading my message, smiling like in those romcoms. Or maybe she’s sending screenshots to her best friend and saying, ‘Look at this idiot!’"

 

Three minutes.

"Patience, Romeo. Good things take time. She’s worth every second. Even if this ends in a crash landing, you did it. You were brave."

 

Four minutes.

"If she says yes, I swear I'll take her on the most ridiculous cheesy date, like those ferris wheel ones. If she says no... I'll just be the guy who loved without expecting."

 

Five minutes.

"Bro, she’s in a battle with herself. Half of her heart says yes. The other half is scared. Don't panic. Love isn’t about rushing."

 

And then, the message came.

"Akshay, I love every word you said... truly, from the bottom of my heart.

You have no idea how much it means to me that someone sees me the way you do, not just the version I show the world, but the messy, imperfect, real me.

Your words feel like something out of a dream I once had... the kind where you think, maybe, just maybe, good things can find you too."

 

"But... I can't rush into anything right now.

It’s not because I don’t trust you, or because I don’t feel something stirring inside me.

It’s because I’m scared, Akshay.

I’m scared of giving my heart away again and watching it shatter.

I’ve just come out of a place where love didn’t feel like love, it felt like surviving, proving, fighting for basic things that should have come naturally.

And when you survive something like that, you don't just walk away untouched... you carry pieces of it with you."

 

"Trust me when I say this:

It's not about you.

It's about me trying to heal, trying to believe again that love can be patient, kind, and safe.

Right now, I don't know how to give myself to anyone, not fully, not honestly.

It wouldn’t be fair to you, to everything beautiful you deserve, to ask you to wait for a version of me that's still piecing herself back together."

 

"So for now...

I can’t promise anything more than honesty, friendship, and gratitude.

But know this, your words tonight have planted something soft inside a heart that had almost forgotten softness exists.

And that... that is not something I’ll ever forget.”

 

I stared at her message for a long moment.

It wasn’t a "No, I don't like you."

It wasn’t a "No, you mean nothing to me."

It was a heart trying to protect itself.

 

"She’s not rejecting you. She’s scared. She’s healing. And maybe... she needs someone who can be patient with her, not push her." I smiled to myself, even though the small ache I felt, and replied:

 

"I understand.

No expectations. No pressure.

Whether it’s as a friend, a secret admirer, or just a quiet well-wisher — I’ll always be there.

Take all the time you need.

Your smile is enough reason for me to stay." I sent it.

And for the first time that night, I felt something stronger than nervousness:

Pride.

 

Because real love, I realized, isn't about getting a 'yes' instantly.

It’s about showing up, standing steady, and loving someone through their fears — even if it means waiting in silence.

 

I decided to be that man.

The understanding man.

The patient man.

The man who waits, hoping that somehow, patience would bloom into love.

 

In the beginning, it felt right; noble, even.

We talked often. Shared small moments, jokes, random stories about our day.

I stayed in my limits never crossing lines, never asking for more than what she was ready to give.

I convinced myself this was enough.

That someday, she'd wake up and realize... I was the safe place she was looking for.

 

But slowly, quietly, a different storm started brewing inside me.

 

"Why does this feel familiar?" I thought one night, staring at my phone, waiting for her reply that never came.

 

And then it hit me.

 

This waiting, this hoping, this silent desperation; it wasn't new.

It was the same hollow space I had lived in before...

Waiting for my ex to return.

Waiting for someone to choose me without having to be begged for it.

 

The realization stung like a wound reopening.

 

One evening, during one of our usual conversations, I found myself typing:

"How long do you think it will take... to know if something can happen between us?"

 

The second I sent it, regret washed over me.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t her fault.

She never promised anything beyond friendship.

 

But in that moment, my patience cracked.

Not because she did something wrong.

But because the little boy inside me, still tired from being abandoned once, was terrified of being left behind again.

 

"Akshay, you’re not being understanding right now. You’re being scared. You're trying to control the unknown because you're afraid of hurting again. You think waiting makes you noble, but waiting with hidden expectations only turns love into a transaction. She deserves better. YOU deserve better, a love that isn't rooted in fear, but in freedom."

 

She finally messaged back,

"I know you're trying so hard, Kumar. I see it. I feel it.

But please don't wait for me with hope that I'll change overnight.

If you stay, stay because you value our bond as it is today.

Not for the promise of what it could become tomorrow."

 

I sat there, reading her words under the warm yellow light under riverfront, feeling my heart soften and ache at the same time.

 

Because she was right.

 

And maybe, loving someone sometimes meant letting go of the urgency to make them yours.

It meant standing beside them, without timelines, without demands, without secretly tying your happiness to theirs.

 

It wasn’t easy.

God, it wasn't easy.

 

But I decided that night:

I would love her, not to complete me, not to heal me, but because she deserved to be loved patiently, quietly, gently.

 

And maybe, just maybe...

in learning to love her this way, I was learning to love myself too.

 

The silence between us stretched for a couple of days.

 

At first, I tried to stay calm, to tell myself, “She needs space, Akshay. You promised to be patient.”

But technology had its own plans.

Instagram, the ever-watchful, cruel friend, started throwing breakup quotes, sad songs, and “move on” reels at my face like confetti at a funeral.

 

And guess what?

It worked.

It broke me a little.

 

"I have to do something," I told myself that evening, lying on my bed, phone in hand, staring at our silent chat.

"Not desperate. Not pushy. Just... break the ice."

 

I scrolled for 30-40 minutes, diving deep into the chaotic world of memes, quotes, and reels, hunting for that perfect piece of content.

Something soft.

Something that would bring a smile without burdening her heart.

 

Finally, I found it, a reel about how everyone deserves a simple "Chai Date" with their special person.

No drama.

No labels.

Just two people, one cup of chai, and maybe, a new memory.

"This is it," I thought, feeling a tiny thud of hope in my chest.

I sent it to her.

 

An hour later, my phone buzzed.

From the top of my screen, I saw her reply:

“Oh, now you want to meet, iraada kya hai janab? Chat se nahi maan rahi to aur kuch plan kiya hai kya?”

 

I smiled, a real one, but didn’t open the chat immediately.

Because honestly, that thought, the wrong thought did cross my mind.

All I wanted was a simple meeting.

To see her smile without a screen in between.

 

“Reply calmly, Akshay," I told myself, trying to slow the sudden racing of my heart.

After a few minutes, I finally typed:

 

“Mann kar raha hai tumse milne, mil lo na... dono ko accha lagega. Bas waise hi — no heavy talks, no pressure. Tumse milne ka mann hai, bas.”

 

I hit send and waited.

 

A few seconds later, she replied, her tone lighter, softer:

 

“Sunday is my lazy day. My ‘be a panda and sleep all day’ ritual. So let’s plan for Tuesday instead? Okay bye for now, my Panda needs to sleep.”

 

I chuckled at my screen like an idiot.

Panda.

She called herself Panda.

 

A stupid nickname.

A tiny emoji.

But in that small, sleepy message, I found a universe of hope.

 

 

14/05/2025

 

Finally, You. Not Typing…

 

Helmet on. Bag strapped.

The bike engine murmurs to life as I pull out of Naroda. It’s one of those rare Ahmedabad mornings, crisp air, sun just right, and a playlist whispering sweet nothings into my ears. But today, the breeze feels different.

Because tonight…

Tonight is the day I meet her.

“Kya pehnegi woh? Normal kurti? Ya ek simple tee aur jeans? Aur main? Ugh.”

 

“Will she look the same as in her stories? Will she smile like she types? What if we just sit and smile and have nothing to say?”

The Airport Road stretches before me like a runway of thoughts. Planes fly overhead, their sound trailing like my overthinking. One moment I’m imagining us sipping chai under fairy lights, next minute I’m doubting, what if it gets cancels again?

My phone buzzes in the pocket.

I stop near a red signal close to the riverfront turn, pull it out sneakily.

Sharvani:

“Aaj milne se pehle kya tumhara HR-mode off rahega? Ya mujhe bhi leave application bharni padegi?

Smile, a full smile, the kind that turns heads inside helmets.

Me:

“HR mode sirf attendance le raha hoga... tumhari aankhon mein.”

She reacts with a heart and goes offline. That little spark is enough fuel for the next 5 km.

At a red light, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, No new message.

Fair. We had already spoken enough last night, sealing today with a “Let’s see how it goes.”

But my mind?

Oh, it had its own playlist playing.

Scenes on repeat, her walking toward me, her hair caught by the breeze, me trying not to look like a dork but still tripping over my own excitement.

I reached office.

Tried walking in like every other day.

Failed.

Even the chaiwala noticed my grin and asked, “Sir, kuch special hai aaj?”

I gave him a nod and a half-smile. He didn’t need to know I was about to meet my favourite notification in real life.

Logged into my laptop. Tried replying to some emails. Failed again.

My fingers hovered on the keyboard, but my head had already written a script for the evening.

“Will she notice my nervous fidgeting? Should I sit across from her or next to her? Will there be a pause too long or a laugh too loud?”

I phusphused with myself the entire day. Smiled at random things. Overthought my own overthinking.

And then, just like a love letter tucked inside a book, her message appeared:

Sharvani: “Don’t overthink, okay? Just be normal. Just be Akshay.”

“What if we both forget to talk and just keep smiling?”

I replied: “That sounds like the perfect disaster.”

By the time lunch hour passed, my stomach was empty but full, with nerves.

And all I could think of was, “It’s finally happening, Akshay. She’s not just a screen away anymore.”

“She’s out there, probably smiling too. Probably nervous. Probably wondering what your smile looks like in motion.”

As the sun bent low over the city, and the sounds around me faded into a soft hum, I knew…

No matter how the day ends, I will remember this,

The ride, the breeze, the unsent drafts, the nervous grins, the first meeting, not just of two people, but of all the moments that brought them here.

And it all starts… tonight.

I had told her I was at home. I even sent a casual "just wrapped up work" text with a sleepy emoji. But truth? I had logged out at 7:00 PM sharp and zoomed out on my bike with a heart that didn’t believe in clocks anymore.

I reached the Riverfront parking near Amul Café a good three hours earlier. Why? Because my glowing, grinning face had become suspiciously shiny at home, the kind of shiny my parents’ notices and immediately asks, “Entha mone (What happened, Son)??”

I couldn’t afford that conversation. Not today.

So I waited here. Three-Four hours. On a warm parking divider, burning my ass up that probably didn’t ask for this level of emotional load.

The river glimmered in gold. The breeze flirted with my collar. And I? I just stared at the Amul logo like it was going to give me courage and a Choco-bar or Chaas together.

Every time someone walked into that area, I’d straighten up like a meerkat on high alert.

"Is this her? No… too tall. Wait… what if she’s wearing something totally unexpected? What if she doesn’t like how I look? Should I smile showing teeth or just the mysterious close-lipped one?"

At 11:30 PM, I saw two figures approaching from the far end of the walkway. One of them, my heart just knew. That gentle walk. The slight lean forward. Her hair framing her face just like her Instagram story from last Diwali.

Sharvani.

She was wearing a soft mustard yellow kurta with silver jhumkas that caught the streetlight every time she moved her head. She didn’t see me yet. I, on the other hand, had already played our wedding slideshow in my head. My fav one, the entry of Arjun Kapoor and Alia Bhatt from 2 states at the climax, which Arjun Kapoor in a podcast revealed that it wasn’t an actual location it was set prepared somewhere in Mumbai.

But then I noticed something.

She wasn’t alone.

There was another woman beside her. Slightly taller. Confident steps. Similar smile. A little more mature, more composed. My mind started glitching.

“Wait, what? Did she bring a friend? Her cousin? What’s happening? Is this a pre-screening?”

My palms went sweaty. My thoughts went louder.

“Okay, be cool. Maybe she didn’t want to come alone. Safe choice. Respect that. But what if this turns formal? What if I say something dumb like ‘So, what are your KPIs in life?’”

They spotted me. Sharvani smiled first, not the LOL emoji smile, the real one. The soft kind that makes your anxiety tap out for a second.

I stood up, trying not to look like I’d already rehearsed this moment 10 times.

I waved. She waved back. I waved again.

Idiot.

She walked up and said, “Guess who’s here to keep me in check?”

Before I could even guess, the woman beside her said warmly, “Hi, I’m Amruta, her elder sister.”

Her. Sister.

My brain did the backflip my body never could.

For a solid two seconds, I froze in a smile that didn’t know how to update itself.

“Sister. So not an HR-level test. Not a trap. Not a cousin sent to scan my vibes. It’s her sister.”

I let out a small laugh, maybe a little too relieved. “Thank God. I was already halfway through my background check script.”

Sharvani laughed. “Of course you were. That’s why I brought her. To see how panicked you’d get.”

We all chuckled. But my heart, oh, it was still locked on her.

The way she stood, halfway turned to me, eyes flickering with amusement. I didn’t even notice the crowd anymore.

As we stand by our vehicle neither of us cared much about, I knew this wasn’t just a date. It was the beginning of a real chapter.

Because I had waited hour here, hidden from my parents, burnt in evening sun, stared at street dogs for emotional support, just to see that smile.

And now?

Now she was standing across from me.

Still smiling.

And this time… no screen between us.

As I stood there, trying to act cool but clearly failing at it. But there was someone alongside us. A taller girl composed and elegant, her elder sister, as I would discover much later. In that moment, my smile froze. I was rehearsing lines in my head, practicing how not to look so happy or too stupid. But all of it came crashing when I had to greet two people instead of one.

Her sister smiled, observing me like a scientist looking at a particularly nervous specimen under a microscope. She definitely sensed the awkwardness, the classic signs: fidgety fingers, stiff smile, overly formal ‘hi’, and the way I kept shifting weight from one leg to the other like I was standing on hot coals.

She smirked slightly and said, “Let me finish a call, you two continue… I’ll join you in a moment.”

That’s when I breathed out, the deepest, most genuine sigh of relief I’d taken in the last 72 hours. The kind that makes your shoulders drop and your soul say finally.

But before I could even turn to look at Sharvani properly and start the conversation, I’d waited months for…

THUD!

A firm slap landed on my arm. “What was that?” she asked with her famous narrowed eyes and slight smirk.

I blinked. “What what was?”

“That greeting. That awkward boy-boy hi! You looked like you were meeting some manager, not me!”

I grinned like a caught schoolchild. “You brought your sister! I thought I was being evaluated by a panel.”

 

She laughed. That laugh — it broke the tension like sunshine on a foggy morning. Just like that, I wasn’t nervous anymore.

 

“You were glowing,” she teased, nudging me. “Not even trying to hide it.”

 

I chuckled. “And you were pretending you didn’t know.”

 

We started walking, her dupatta fluttering with the breeze, her steps easy, my heartbeat matching her pace. I couldn’t believe we were finally here, together. After weeks of chats, typing… deleting… typing again. Overthinking. Daydreaming. Holding back.

 

And now here we were, two people who had tiptoed through vulnerability finally meeting halfway. Or, in my case, four hours early.

 

We sat on someone’s vehicle near the railing, facing the calm river. The city lights shimmered in the water like a silent spectator to our first meeting. I sipped from my bottle, stealing glances at her. She wasn’t making much eye contact. That’s when I knew, she had come here with something to say.

After a few seconds of silence, she finally spoke.

“Akshay, I want to say something… something you probably already know.”

 

I looked at her, my face calm but my chest heavy.

 

She continued, “You’re a great guy. Really. Anyone can see that. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again — the way you talk, care, the way you dream… it’s rare.”

 

I smiled slightly, not knowing where it was going, though deep down, I did.

 

“But I’m not in a place right now where I can think of a relationship.”

 

She paused and looked away at the water, as if searching for answers there.

“I just got out of something messy. Emotionally, it drained me. It broke a few things in me. And since then, I’ve been rebuilding — carefully, slowly. And part of that rebuilding means not jumping into something again, even if it feels nice.”

 

I stayed silent. Not because I didn’t want to say anything. But because her voice needed space more than mine right now.

 

She went on, “There’s another layer to it too, Akshay. One that’s not just emotional. It’s practical. My parents… they won’t be okay with this.”

 

I frowned. “With what?”

 

“With someone from another caste. They’ve never said it like that out loud. But you know how these things work in families like ours. It’s there, unspoken but heavy.”

 

She sighed, taking a deep breath before continuing.

 

“Both my parents are retired. They already get blamed in our community for letting us work. My sister… she’s divorced, and that itself created enough waves in the circle we grew up in. We’re the ones earning, running the house, and in between all this, there’s a pressure. Not from them, but from the world around them.”

 

She turned toward me now.

 

“If I ever do get married, they want the guy to be someone safe — government job, or a business owner. You know, that socially ‘secure’ checkbox kind. You’re in corporate; you’re chasing dreams… there’s no stability they can explain to society.”

 

I nodded slowly, the knot in my chest tightening. I understood. Not agreed but understood.

 

She smiled faintly. “And honestly, it’s not about you. It’s not. You’ve done so much already. The way you speak about your work, your people, the spark you carry… Akshay, you’ll go far. But you shouldn’t wait for me. Or anyone.”

 

I opened my mouth, but she raised a hand softly, like a stop sign without harshness.

“You deserve someone who doesn’t have to think twice. Someone who isn’t trying to protect their scars or juggle guilt and dreams.”

 

I chuckled faintly, mostly out of pain. “So what do I do with all this that I feel?”

 

“Keep it. But don’t freeze your life for it,” she said, her voice tender. “Go with the flow. Don’t build a dam just because I can’t jump in.”

 

I turned to the river, letting that silence sit between us again. This time it didn’t hurt — it healed.

 

Inside, I whispered to myself: Maybe some love stories don’t need a 'forever' to be beautiful. Maybe a chapter is enough.

 

 

I let a moment pass, watching the gentle ripples in the river before turning to her. She was still looking away, fingers nervously playing with the edge of her Kurti.

 

I took a breath. Not a shaky one. A full one. Because what I was about to say wasn’t just a reply, it was a piece of me.

 

“Sharvani… I won’t say I don’t understand you. I do. More than you probably realise. But I want you to know this, I’ve had a past too.”

 

Her eyes met mine, gently.

“My relationship didn’t end badly. It ended… without an ending. No answers. No closure. Just silence. I don’t know when it truly ended, why it ended, or even how. And that’s the hardest part, not knowing.”

 

My voice slowed, softer now.

 

“I waited. I really did. I gave it time, space, chances… but there was not even a flicker of hope. And when I finally decided to move forward, it wasn’t because I healed, it was because I saw you. And in ways I can’t explain, it’s been just you since then.”

 

She blinked slowly, something shifting in her expression.

 

“Yes, I understand the family part too. I come from a conservative space as well. My parents have their own dreams and boxes they’d want to tick for me. I don’t know how they’ll react either, what they’ll say, how we should even begin that conversation… but I know this, if you are ready, I will get everyone on our side. I’ll talk, fight, convince, everything.”

 

I leaned forward slightly.

“Struggles exist everywhere, Sharvani, not just in inter-caste love or when someone doesn’t have a government job. Even businesspeople have struggles. Even the most ‘eligible’ people are carrying silent battles. That’s not what defines stability. What does… is standing beside someone, even when the floor shakes.”

 

She looked down for a second, and I gently continued.

“Yes, you’re right… there’s always a chance that someone ‘better’ could come along, for both of us. That’s the easiest way to escape anything, right? To keep hoping for something better. But love… love is a choice. And I’ve made mine. In the now, and even in what’s coming, it’s you. That’s the choice I’ve made.”

 

I could feel my words land somewhere deep between us, like quiet stones dropped into water.

“And one more thing you’re missing, before parents, society, and the world, there’s just us. You and me. We haven’t even truly lived that yet. We need to know each other… fall in love with each other… and then stand up together for each other.”

She looked at me. Eyes softer now. No resistance, just silence, listening.

 

“We can’t just sit here, waiting for fate to draw the map. We need to make the first step. We need to fight for what we want. For us. Only then can we ask anyone else to believe in it.”

I smiled. “So, if there’s even a little part of you that wants to walk that road — I’m already here, one step in. Just hold my hand when you’re ready.”

 

She took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the slow-moving Sabarmati in front of us, like she was searching for an answer in the way the water curved and flowed.

 

Then, with a gentle exhale, she turned toward me and said, “Okay, Mr. Kumar…”

 

A pause.

“…Let’s not hurry into anything.”

 

I was about to speak, instinctively, the way you do when your heart wants to make sure it’s heard, but something in her eyes… those wide, clear eyes… told me to stop. Not in anger. But with a firmness that said “Let me finish. Please.”

 

“And do note,” she said slowly, “I’m not sure.”

 

My brows furrowed slightly, but I stayed silent.

“Let’s leave it to fate,” she added, and I gently shifted forward, trying to interrupt with a quiet

 

“Sharva, but”

 

She gave me a look. Wide-eyed, not out of irritation, but the kind that freezes you with love and authority at once. A look that didn’t need sound to say, “Let me speak.”

“…Let’s see what happens,” she continued.

 

Her voice was calm now, like she’d made peace with a storm inside her.

“And whatever happens between us… if my parents don’t happily bless me, then we won’t. That would be the end. No drama. No fight. No ‘we’ll convince them later’.”

 

That hit different. Like the truth we never want to hear but always know is lurking in the wings.

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. Not because I gave up, but because I respected her honesty. Her boundaries. Her reality.

 

She looked at me again — softer now.

“To start with… let’s just be friends,” she said.

 

There was something oddly beautiful in the way she said friends not as a step back, but like an open gate. A fresh start. One that wasn’t dipped in pressure or projections, but something simple… and real.

 

“Let’s get to know each other. Like truly know,” she added, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “No expectations. No big decisions. Just us, learning.”

 

I nodded slowly, half-smiling. Not because it was exactly what I wanted to hear — but because I realized, sometimes, the best journeys don’t start with answers. They start with space — and two people willing to walk, even with doubts.

 

I looked at her. Still holding so many things I didn’t say.

 

And then I replied, quietly, “Okay, Ms. Sharvani. Let’s start with friendship… but don’t blame me if I end up falling harder with every passing day.”

 

She chuckled. The air between us softened again. And for that moment, nothing else mattered, not the past, not the community, not even the ‘what ifs.

Just the calm breeze, the echo of her laughter, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, fate was quietly smiling somewhere nearby.

 

Just when I thought the conversation had reached its peak, full of unspoken hopes, hesitant dreams, and carefully placed boundaries, I saw a silhouette approaching us from the corner of my eye.

 

Amruta.

 

She was walking with her signature confidence, hair tied up messily, and that notorious smirk on her face. I instantly knew, trouble incoming.

 

She reached us, looked at both our faces like she’d just caught a scene from a movie she wasn’t invited to, and with that absolutely dramatic tone of hers, said,

 

“Ho Gayi Shaadi ki planning? Bhag Ke ya ghar walon se baat karke? Mujhe bata dena, toh main apni script ready karu!”

 

I blinked.

 

Completely thrown off.

 

I turned my head toward her like someone caught stealing glances, and then stared at Sharvani who, instead of reacting, had buried her face in her palms and was half-laughing, half-sighing.

 

“Ammi, tu…” I began, completely at a loss for words.

 

But she wasn’t done.

She raised an eyebrow and leaned in slightly, eyes full of teasing curiosity.

“Kya boli yeh?” she asked, motioning toward Sharvani.

 

Then, without waiting for an answer, she added with a grin,

“She was dying to meet you tonight, and I thought 'haan' hi bolegi? Don’t tell me you fumbled!”

 

I looked at Sharvani again.

 

She was giving Amruta that “I’ll kill you later” look but with a soft, blushing smile that she tried to hide behind her dupatta. Her eyes were twinkling though — a sparkle of mischief, embarrassment, and something warm.

 

I felt like a character in a movie I hadn’t read the script for.

 

“Amruta, tu ek kaam kar,” I said, half-laughing now, “aaja, tu hi mujhe bata de main kya karun. Tere hisaab se toh sab kuch decided hai already.”

 

“Obviously,” she said with mock pride. “Main toh tum dono ke wedding hashtag tak soch chuki hoon.”

 

Sharvani gave her a gentle nudge, finally speaking, “Bas kar ab, pagal. Itni bhi filmy na ho.”

But Amruta grinned wide. “Tum logon ne mujhe bulaya hi kyu? Emotional scene ka climax toh hona hi tha na!”

 

We all laughed.

 

And just like that, the air, which was heavy with ‘what next’ a few minutes ago, suddenly felt lighter. Maybe that’s what friends like Amruta do. They crash into serious moments, flip them upside down, and remind us that no matter how complicated love gets, laughter still has a place at the table. And in that moment, even as things stood undefined between me and Sharvani… I realized something:

Hope sometimes walks in not with promises, but with teasing, chaos, and a friend who jokes about weddings before you’ve even gone on your first official date.

 

We had just settled into our seats, the three of us, under the dim yellow lights, where the air smelled of chai, pizza, dust, and river breeze. I had just begun to believe things would go back to being normal… casual, as they say.

 

But Amruta had other plans.

 

She leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes squinted like she was solving a mystery and said:

"Tell me one thing, tujhe isme pasand kya aaya? EXACTLY. Aur mujhe woh filmy, complement-type ya diplomatic answer mat dena. Seedha point pe aa."

 

I opened my mouth, half-ready with something half-serious and half-safe, when Sharvani jumped in, shaking her head with mock disappointment.

"Haan! Main bhi puch chuki hoon. Aur ab tak jawaab nahi mila. Mujhe lagta hai isko IMS ke office mein bulana padega."

 

Amruta burst into laughter, clearly enjoying where this was headed.

 

Sharvani continued, eyes wide in mock challenge,

"Let him just spend ten minutes there, properly look around at what actual hot girls look like. And tab dekhna, kaise mujhe bhool jaata hai. He clearly needs an upgrade in perspective."

 

I stared at her, slightly offended, completely smitten.

“Wow,” I said, throwing my hands up in surrender.

“Tum dono ne toh full confidence ka postmortem hi kar diya.”

 

Amruta laughed harder.

“Ab bol na,” she insisted, “tell us the truth, Akshay Kumar. Kya dekh ke laga, haan yeh wali toh alag hai?”

 

I looked at Sharvani, who now folded her arms and tilted her head like a strict professor awaiting an honest viva answer.

 

I exhaled, looked between the two of them and said,

"The day I first saw her Facebook profile… she wasn’t trying to stand out, but she did. She had that look like she didn’t care if people noticed her or not, and that’s when I noticed. And the more she spoke, the more I realized, this one's not trying to impress anyone — and somehow, I just wanted to be around that."

 

Sharvani blinked. That smile, the one she tries to hide when she doesn’t know how to react, it returned.

Amruta, for once, didn’t interrupt.

I shrugged, trying to play it off, “Bas, itna hi. No filmy lines. No drama.”

 

Sharvani looked away briefly, probably trying not to smile too much. “Hmph. Still feels like a little drama. But… passable.”

 

Amruta grinned, nodding in approval. “Not bad, Akshay. You may live another day.”

The three of us laughed.

 

Just as the laughter from my last confession started to settle, I leaned back, looked at both of them with that "ek aur bomb girane wala hoon" expression and said:

 

"You know what, I’ve been there already."

 

Sharvani raised an eyebrow, puzzled. Amruta paused mid-sip.

"This might be the first time we’re meeting, but this ain’t the first time I’ve seen you."

Sharvani’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

 

I smirked, loving the moment a little too much.

"I’ve seen your dozens of times… post-dinner walks with your mandli near the back gate. Laughing loudest, hair always untied after a long day, pretending to be on a call but clearly gossiping…"

 

Her jaw dropped. “What?!”

 

Amruta leaned in like an investigative journalist. “Wait, what? Kab se?!”

 

“You joined two years ago, right? Initially WFH… then slowly started showing up here and there… I noticed.”

 

Sharvani stared at me in half-disbelief, half-blush.

"Akshay… are you stalking her?" Amruta asked with a scandalised tone but a smirk she couldn’t hide.

 

I shrugged like a proud schoolchild showing off a perfectly done assignment.

“Homework bolte hai isko.”

 

They both laughed, partly at me, partly at the fact that I said it with such sincerity.

 

Sharvani folded her arms, trying to act serious but failing.

“Acha, toh Mr. Kumar, you researched me before applying?”

 

I nodded, overly confident.

 

“Background check mandatory hota hai na HR ke liye… ab toh meri HR tum ho, toh double sure hona pada.”

 

She turned pink at that, probably cursing me for being this unapologetically honest.

Amruta, enjoying the scene too much, clapped her hands.

“Bas bas, ab mujhe lag raha hai tum logon ko kuch time akela chhodna padega. But bhai, I’m impressed. That’s some Ranbir Kapoor meets Sherlock Holmes energy right there.”

 

I grinned.

 

But beneath the teasing and jokes, I knew one thing, I had noticed her long before this day. And every small moment that led to this first “official” meet was already stitched into my memory like a quiet prologue.

And tonight, finally, chapter one had begun.

 

I knew what I said wasn’t even the full truth. Because it wasn’t one thing, I liked it was the chaos she brought into my calm, the silence that became worth breaking, the teasing that made my walls crumble one smile at a time.

 

But that… was for another day.

 

We parted with smiles that held more than just politeness, they were woven with unspoken possibilities. Our goodbye wasn’t dramatic, but it lingered. It wasn’t just “see you”, it was “let’s see where this goes”.

 

A promise to meet again.

A promise to start as friends.

To know, to feel, to understand.

To maybe, possibly, hopefully — love.

 

The walk back to my bike that evening had an unfamiliar lightness. No questions this time, no stress, just a strange peace. Like something had finally started breathing inside me.

 

From the very next day, our worlds began to slowly, softly, intertwine.

Not in grand gestures — but in random, beautiful pixels.

 

I’d see a reel, something silly, something aesthetic, or absurdly romantic, and think, “She’ll laugh at this”. Sent.

 

She’d respond with a heart. Or a deadpan emoji. Or a reel back that screamed “same energy”.

 

Soon, our Instagram DMs became more active than our Gmail inboxes. Random checks on stories, typing... deleting... typing again.

 

Snapchat saw us more often than our mirrors did.

“Office pahuncha.”

“Lunch time!”

“Look at the sunset from my floor.”

“Guess who spilled coffee today…”

 

There were no labels — just an unsaid rhythm we started dancing to.

No pressure to define, but a strong pull to discover.

Somewhere between 'good morning' snaps and 'sleep well, idiot' texts, a thread was building.

And while we called it “just getting to know each other”, my heart knew.

I wasn’t just getting to know her.

I was slowly… naturally… falling.

Not into a fantasy, but into something real.

In bits and reels.

In snaps and smiles.

In words and silences.

In her.

And maybe, just maybe, she was falling too.

 

 

Oct 12, 2024

Months rolled by like pages of a novel we never titled.

 

From those nervous first smiles to comfortably sitting on the edge of the riverfront, sharing fries, laughter, and sometimes silence — we had unknowingly built something. It wasn’t love with grand confessions or sweeping promises, but something quieter — built on presence. I started understanding what her silences meant, and she began decoding my restlessness.

 

Our routine became its own little world.

Me, sometimes waiting outside her office during her dinner breaks, handing her a coffee before she even asked.

She, showing up without notice on my office lane, dragging me for an impromptu walk or to see a dog she liked.

Chats, gossips, me slipping in my feelings, not directly, but in ways she’d smile at and then look away, pretending not to understand.

 

And she always clung to her “fate” line.

“Let’s not think too far, Akshay.”

“Let’s just go with the flow.”

I nodded, every single time, hoping the flow would eventually reach a shore.

But by the time we hit Navratri and Diwali — nearly six months in — that flow began to drown me.

 

I was still chasing for clarity, for her hand, her words, her heart — anything that would finally put this wait to rest. And maybe, just maybe, I chased too hard.

 

Because one evening, outside her office again — a scene we’d lived a hundred times — she stopped walking, turned to me, and with a breaking voice said:

“Milna milna, nai hota yaar mujhse. Do din milte hain, aur undo dino mein bhi subah-shaam dimaag kharab kar dete ho.”

She paused; her breath uneven.

“Mujhe samajh nahi aa raha… tum pasand ho, sach mein. Par darr bhi hai. Ki agar aage kuch bigad gaya… toh main tumhe bhi tod doongi, aur khud ko bhi.”

 

That shook me. Because all this while, I thought she was holding back.

But maybe she was holding on to something she wasn’t ready to face.

And then… I cracked.

I stood still for a moment, letting her words ring in my ears like echoes bouncing off a mountain I’d kept climbing blindly.

 

“Okay.” I spoke.

 

“Let’s clear it all then. Tell me. Because I can’t keep floating in this ‘maybe’ forever.”

“I wanted to settle, Sharvani. I wanted you. I waited for years for someone to return… someone who never did. And I can't risk standing still again, only to watch you walk away one day. Tell me now if I should let you go… or hold on.”

 

There was a moment.

 

She wanted to say something… anything.

But she didn’t.

 

And sometimes, silence is an answer.

 

No more promises.

No more fate.

No more chasing.

Just two people… who had something beautiful, but not enough to last.

 

We parted ways.

No drama.

No tears.

Just a quiet end to a loud journey.

A soft goodbye… to what almost was.

 

It had been months, an aching, haunting silence since we parted ways.

No texts.

No calls.

No riverfront evenings.

Just the occasional echo of a memory, her laughter, her teasing, the way she always played with the sleeve of her kurti when she was nervous.

 

Then, one random evening while scrolling through my Instagram notifications, I saw it,

“Follow request from Amruta.”

 

I paused.

Felt a strange twist in my chest.

Clicked on her profile picture.

Same bright eyes, mischievous grin.

 

I accepted.

But said nothing.

Did nothing.

Left it there like a book reopened but not read.

 

A Few Days Later

I posted a casual story, a chai cup with the caption: “Some habits die harder than you think.”

 

Ping.

Message from Amruta.

 

Amruta:

“So… coffee and drama still your thing?”

 

I smiled. It had been a while since a message made me sit up.

 

Me:

“Still better than coffee and silence.”

 

Amruta:

“Touché. Btw, thanks for accepting. I wasn’t sure you would.”

Me:

“Wasn’t sure I wouldn’t either. But I guess… not everything needs to be cut off.”

 

My fingers paused mid-type.

 

Amruta:

“A lot happened after you two… stopped talking. For both of us. I disappeared for a while too. Had a heart attack. Minor. But real. They were going to put a stent… meds worked in time.”

 

My heart sank. I stared at the message, reread it twice.

 

Me:

“What the hell, Amruta… Are you okay now?”

Amruta:

“Yeah. Better. But it was a shock, physically and mentally. I’ve been off work, socials, everything. Just trying to live slowly now.”

 

I took a deep breath, then asked the question that had been rising in me ever since I read her message.

 

Me:

“And… Sharvani?”

There was a pause before she typed.

 

Amruta:

“Working. More than she should. She didn’t take leave. Didn’t speak up. She’s always been the silent struggler, Akshay. She just carries everything… even the things she doesn’t have to.”

 

I felt a pinch in my gut.

She was never good at asking for help, not even when she needed it the most.

 

Me:

“She never lets anyone in… even when she’s breaking.”

Amruta:

“She let you in, you know. Maybe not the way you wanted. But you were the only person she allowed herself to think beyond reality with.”

 

I didn’t reply for a while.

I just looked at that message — those few words stitching open wounds.

 

Me:

“I was always more worried about her than myself.”

Amruta:

“That’s why I messaged. I just thought you should know… some stories don’t end. They pause.”

We didn’t plan to meet after that conversation.

We didn’t rush into nostalgia.

But that night, I sat with my chai and remembered…

Not the pain.

Not the goodbye.

But the quiet love that existed in between.

 

 

The Return I Didn’t Expect

 

28^th December 2024 – Midnight

 

It was past midnight, a cold December night. I held my phone, debating for the hundredth time whether I should send her a birthday message. I typed it slowly, a message that meant everything and yet, gave away nothing.

 

“If the message delivers… Happy Birthday. Wish you the best in the world and your world. Stay blessed and happy.”

 

Sent.

 

I stared at the screen for a few seconds. And just when I was about to lock it and walk away, it buzzed.

 

“Thank you, Akshay Kumar. You’re unblocked from everywhere.”

 

I chuckled. Typical Sharvani. Mixing formality with casual warmth. I replied, simply:

 

“Thanks and good to know.”

 

 

29^th December 2024

 

I sent another message — something calm, mature. No expectations.

 

“Hope you had a great time with your family and friends. Wish you an abundance of happiness ahead throughout your life. Always believe in yourself. Mahadev is watching you and your world.”

 

No reply to this time. And I didn't push.

 

My own life was buzzing, school friends’ marriage and entire group visiting, twin brother around, hopping between wedding get-togethers and an intense internal cricket league in the office. A celebration hangover, constant chatter, and responsibilities, all blending into each other.

 

24^th January 2025

 

Out of Nowhere, Sharvani: “Akshay.”

 

I blinked. That name from her, after all this time, it wasn’t just a ping. It was thunder.

 

Me: “Jii”

 

Sharvani: “Kaise ho?”

 

Me: “Surviving… And congratulations on your award — Employee of the Year.”

 

Sharvani: “Oh, thanks.”

 

Me: “Welcome.”

 

Sharvani: “Suno…”

 

Me: “Ji… Thik ho na aap?”

 

Sharvani: “Ni.”

 

Me: “Aau milne? Kya hua h? You wanna talk?”

 

Sharvani: “Leave it.”

 

Me: “I’m coming. How much time till you reach the usual spot?”

 

No reply.

 

I waited… drifted into sleep. Had to be up early. Cricket tournament at the office ground in the morning. Haldi in the afternoon.

 

25th January

Morning

 

Me: “Good morning. Sorry I slept.”

 

Sharvani: “Good morning. No worries.”

 

Me: “Kya plan hai aaj ke?”

 

Sharvani: “Marriage in family, so shopping and tailor. You?”

 

Me: “One haldi function. A school friend is getting married.”

 

Sharvani: “Okay. Shaam ko free?”

 

Me: “I wanted to meet.”

 

Me: “When?”

 

Sharvani: “Evening?”

 

Me: “Time? Do one thing, call me when you’re free.”

 

Sharvani: “Haanji.”

 

Evening

 

Sharvani: “Niklu main?”

 

Me: “Call?”

 

The call came. I answered casually, maybe too casually.

 

Me: “Why are we meeting?”

 

Sharvani: “Oh hello! What is this behavior? No hi, hello? Straight up fire?”

 

I laughed.

 

Me: “Okay sorry… Hi Sharvani, how are you? Where have you been? All good?”

 

Sharvani: “Better. Needed to talk. I’m going shopping at Shahibaug, will hop off in between. Let’s meet at the riverfront?”

 

Me: “Okay… Wait — Ammu allowed to go out?”

 

Sharvani: “Ammu nai, Mummy aa rahi hai.”

 

That changed everything.

 

Me: “Wait. Can you please elaborate what’s going on?”

 

I stepped away from the crowd. My gut started twisting in all directions.

 

Sharvani: “Nothing yaar, just felt like meeting. Bohot time ho gaya.”

 

Her voice had that sincerity I always recognized. Something was definitely up.

 

I rushed home after haldi, bathed, changed, and just as I was about to leave.

 

Dad: “Evideka? Valla botham undo? Randu diwasam aayi mariaaiki urangikitt. (If you want to go in the evening, sleep now.)”

 

I argued, but… Indian dad logic + concern = Final verdict.

 

My phone buzzed again.

 

Sharvani: “We’re leaving in 10-15 mins.”

 

I read. I didn’t reply. I was trapped.

 

I dialled Amruta.

 

Me: “Need help. Can you please go instead of your mom?”

 

Amruta: “Kya Hua?”

 

I explained the chaos no sleep cycle, parental intervention, emotional overload.

 

Amruta: “Let me try something.”

 

Ten minutes later:

 

Amruta: “I can join… but mummy will be there.”

 

Me: “Why?? You’re Sharvani’s shopping partner. Why is your mom joining?”

 

Amruta: “Shopping? What are you talking about?”

 

I froze.

 

Amruta (calling): “Akshay… listen. Yesterday we had a discussion about you with our family. Mom wants to meet you. I thought Sharvani told you everything.”

 

I didn’t say a word.

 

I just smiled, a helpless, teary, stunned smile. My throat choked up. For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

 

A storm of thoughts crashed against me.

 

She talked about me to her family.

Her mom wants to meet me.

Was this… the beginning of something we both waited for?

 

Or was this too late?