Saturday | 8:03 AM | Jaipur
Devansh wasn't a man of impulse. Everything in his life had structure. Order. He planned things weeks ahead—whether it was a weekend trip home to Ajmer or a surprise birthday cake for his colleague. But that morning, something felt different.
He woke up early, even without his alarm. The sun hadn't yet broken through the sky, but a text had already made its way to his screen.
Riya: "Good morning, poet. I hope your toast survives today."
He chuckled.
Devansh: "It did. Barely. But I made peace with bitter coffee now."
Riya: "I feel like that's a line from one of your poems."
Devansh: "If it is, I'll dedicate it to you."
He paused, fingers hovering above the keyboard.
Then, he typed:
Devansh: "Would you be comfortable with a voice call sometime?"
The message hung there. Sent. Delivered. Read.
He didn't expect nerves, but they came. A weird flutter in his chest. Was he pushing the boundary? Was it too early?
Riya was… guarded. Not because she didn't like talking—but because she had lived through enough to question every step.
She didn't reply for five minutes. Devansh tried to distract himself—he opened his work Slack, read through a script, checked a notification from a tech forum. But none of it registered.
Finally—
Riya: "Today? Evening? After 9? I'll be on the terrace."
Devansh: "Perfect. I'll be free by then. Looking forward to it."
He read that message again. Then once more.
Looking forward to it.
When was the last time I said that and meant it?
9:21 PM
He was ready.
Laptop closed. Headphones charged. Coffee in hand—not because he needed caffeine, but because the ritual comforted him. He sat on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, staring at her contact.
The wind rustled against the open window. Jaipur had its own quiet charm at night.
With a deep breath, he dialed.
Ringing.
Once.Twice.Three times.
Connected.
"Hello?" she said. Her voice was soft—clear, slightly cautious.
"Hi," he replied. "So you do sound real after all."
She laughed. It was light, genuine. And in that laugh, Devansh heard everything he'd hoped for.
What followed wasn't a perfect, scripted call. It was real. Beautifully awkward at moments.
She teased him for his "overprofessional English."He teased her for her hostel's weird water supply hours.They talked about everything and nothing.
The sound of her voice filled the spaces between his thoughts. She wasn't dramatic or loud—she was calm, thoughtful, with a trace of nervous energy he found deeply endearing.
There were pauses. Moments when neither said anything.
But they weren't empty.
They were full.
10:14 PM
"I'm not good at talking like this," she admitted, voice quieter now. "Calls make me nervous."
"I know," he said softly. "And yet, you answered. That means something."
Silence.
Then, her voice again—warmer.
"It does."
That was enough for him.
Saturday | 10:32 PM | Hostel Terrace, Uttar Pradesh
The terrace was unusually empty tonight. That helped. She didn't want her roommates giggling behind her or her hostel warden yelling up at the girls to come down. She needed this moment to breathe—to let something new in.
She had said yes to the call before her mind could second-guess it. But now that it had ended, she sat down on the cold cement floor with her knees tucked to her chest, heart still thudding.
His voice.Deep, steady, laced with gentleness. A voice that made her feel like she wasn't being judged.
He didn't ask too many questions. Didn't poke at her past. Didn't compliment her in ways that felt forced. He just talked. And listened.
Really listened.
She told him about how she hated politics in group projects. About how her little sister cried last night over a broken toy. About how she sometimes stared at the mirror for too long and felt like a stranger.
He didn't interrupt. Didn't try to fix her.
He just… stayed.
And that, for someone like Riya, meant the world.
Back in her room, she lay on her bed in the dark, earphones still in.
She replayed the moment he said:
"I know. And yet, you answered. That means something."
Her fingers hovered over their chat.
Riya: "Thanks for the call. I haven't felt this... okay, in a while."
He replied immediately.
Devansh: "I haven't felt this seen in a while either."
She smiled into the darkness.
She didn't know what this was.Not love.Not yet.
But something had begun. A seed had been planted—quiet, small, real.