It had been almost three weeks since Dhruve started visiting the café regularly. The staff had begun to recognize him, but only Riya talked to him beyond the usual small talk.
Some mornings, she'd tease him about how serious he looked. Other times, she'd just bring his coffee without a word and sit opposite him during her short break. They didn't talk much. But somehow, the quiet between them didn't feel awkward.
It was the kind of silence that carried meaning — like both of them knew words weren't always necessary.
That morning, she asked suddenly, "You ever been in love?"
Dhruve froze for half a second. The question hit him like a cold splash of water.
He took a sip of coffee to buy time. "Once."
She leaned forward, curious. "What happened?"
He smirked faintly, eyes on his cup. "I lost."
Her brows furrowed. "Lost? Like, she left you?"
He chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. "Let's just say… love and I had a bad deal. It wasn't fair, but life rarely is."
Riya tilted her head. "You still love her?"
He didn't answer immediately. He thought about Priya — the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her hugs, the way her betrayal had burned everything that came before.
Finally, he said quietly, "Some feelings don't die. They just… stop growing."
Riya nodded slowly. "That's heavy."
"Yeah," Dhruve said. "So's life."
She smiled faintly, but her eyes softened. "You talk like you've lived a hundred lives already."
He looked at her — really looked — and for a moment, he almost said something true. But he stopped himself. Not yet.
Later that afternoon, the café was quieter than usual. Riya was restocking shelves behind the counter while Dhruve worked on his laptop, pretending to read.
Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets glistening. Sunlight reflected off the wet pavement, filling the room with a muted golden hue.
Riya hummed again — that same tune. It was simple but soothing.
Dhruve finally asked, "What song is that?"
She glanced up, surprised. "Oh… just something my mom used to sing. Makes the day feel lighter."
He nodded. "It works."
She laughed softly. "So you do notice things."
He smiled, almost shyly. "Sometimes."
Before leaving, he placed a folded napkin on the counter. Riya opened it after he left — inside, a single line written in neat handwriting:
"You make the noise in my head a little quieter."
She stared at it for a long moment, biting her lip, unsure whether to smile or feel sorry for him.
That night, Dhruve walked home slowly. The streets were alive again — people laughing, cars honking, life moving on.
He thought about how strange it was — how a simple human connection could start to stitch small cracks inside him without even trying.
He didn't know what this was — friendship, distraction, or something that might one day become more. But for the first time, he wasn't running from it.
At home, he poured himself a glass of water instead of whiskey.
As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind wasn't filled with memories of Priya.It was filled with the sound of Riya's laughter, the lightness of it.
It didn't hurt.Not yet.
And that, he thought, was a good start.