The train pulled out of the city station with a low hum, slicing through the soft veil of dusk. Ira leaned against the window seat, arms wrapped around her knees, watching the skyline slowly melt into open fields. Her headphones played music softly—something nostalgic and piano-heavy—and for the first time in months, her mind felt still.
She was headed home.
Back to the sleepy town where the streets knew her name, and her mother still scolded her for skipping meals. It had been nearly a year since her last visit. Work had kept piling up, and deep inside, she had avoided going because she feared her parents would notice how emotionally stretched thin she had become.
But this time, she couldn't say no. She needed the break. From work. From the city.
From the blurry feelings she couldn't sort out.
---
The week passed quickly.
Her parents welcomed her with warmth and fuss. Her mother was relentless in the kitchen, serving her food before Ira could even sit down properly. Dal, roti, sweets she hadn't tasted in years. Ira tried to protest—"Ma, I'm full"—but it was like yelling into a storm.
"You've gotten so skinny," her mother complained. "Look at those cheeks. Have you stopped eating?"
Ira gave up arguing after day two. She surrendered to the comfort of food, laughter, and the slower pace of home. At night, she lay under her old quilt, staring at the ceiling fan, smiling faintly at the ceiling as her mind wandered to one particular face.
Daniel.
His crooked smile.
His calm voice.
The way he looked at her like she was more than just a librarian with a sarcastic streak.
They messaged every now and then—nothing intense. Just updates, jokes, the occasional photo of a strange snack her mother had insisted she try. But each message made her smile longer than she'd admit. And when a day passed without hearing from him, she felt a hollow space open inside her.
She was missing him.
And maybe… she always had.
---
Back in the city, Daniel's days returned to their familiar beat—but something was off.
He'd wake up early, still brew his coffee, still complete his morning run and knock out work with focus. But there was an emptiness in the silence now. He hadn't realized how much Ira had become a part of his everyday life. Not in loud ways. Just… subtly.
In the jokes that hung between them.
In the comfort of her presence at the library desk.
In the memory of her childlike laughter when tipsy.
He found himself staring at his phone often, waiting for a message.
Sometimes she'd text. Sometimes she wouldn't.
And every time she didn't, he would scroll up and reread their past chats. It felt foolish. Teenager-like. But he didn't stop himself. He didn't want to.
One evening, as he sat alone on his balcony with a drink in hand, Daniel realized the truth he had been tiptoeing around.
He was in love with Ira.
It wasn't infatuation. It wasn't rebound.
It was the slow, quiet kind of love that grew from familiarity, laughter, honesty—and the way she saw him even when he barely saw himself.
And now, he missed her terribly.
---
Ira returned two weeks later, her suitcase bursting and her cheeks a little rounder than before. She stood in front of her mirror, poking at her belly and groaning.
"Oh my god, I look like a paratha," she muttered, pulling at the fabric of her top. "Thanks, Ma."
Her mother had loved feeding her every chance she got—muttered blessings with every spoonful. And Ira had let herself be cared for. It felt nice, being the child again. But now, standing in her apartment, she felt exposed again. Anxious.
What would Daniel think?
Would he notice the weight? Would he… care?
Or worse, would he care too much?
She didn't want him to see her like this. She wanted to be perfect when she saw him again. Not puffed up from ghee and nostalgia.
So, she made a decision—just a few days. A strict diet. Some running. Then she'd call him.
She texted:
"Back in the city! Will call you soon <3"
Then put her phone down and opened a workout app.
---
The universe, however, had no patience for such plans.
On her very first day back at the library—hair tied in a loose braid, her most flattering black top stretched slightly tighter than before—she walked in early, ready to avoid him.
And there he was.
Daniel stood by the bookshelf near her desk, scanning the titles, head tilted in thought.
Time slowed for a second.
He looked up. Their eyes met.
And he smiled.
"Ira," he said, as if her name had been sitting on his tongue the whole time.
She froze, mouth parting slightly. "H-hi," she stammered, gripping her bag tightly. "You're here early."
He chuckled. "Couldn't help it."
There was no judgment in his eyes. No smirk. Just the same warmth that had made her fall for him all those years ago.
All her plans of hiding vanished in a puff of air.
"So much for losing the extra weight," she muttered under her breath.
But Daniel only tilted his head and said, "You look… well."
She blinked. "You're not going to say I look different?"
"You do," he said softly. "You look happy."
And just like that, she forgot every worry.