The next morning, Dhruve woke up to the sound of rain again. He lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, his mind still half in yesterday's silence with Riya. The smell of coffee and wet streets, her voice asking if he'd ever start over — it all lingered like a ghost.
He laughed softly to himself. Shit. This is how it starts, isn't it?
He'd promised himself he wouldn't get attached again — not after what happened with Priya. Love had turned him inside out once; he wasn't planning on giving it another chance to wreck him.
But Riya wasn't like Priya. She didn't demand, didn't perform affection. She didn't wear masks. She was real, flawed, open. The kind of person who didn't know how much light she carried just by existing.
And that, somehow, made her dangerous.
When Dhruve entered the café that day, Riya smiled the moment she saw him. Not a customer-service smile — a real one. Warm, surprised, like she hadn't expected him to show up but was glad he did.
"You again," she said, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Addicted," he said.
"To coffee or me?"
He smirked. "You tell me."
She rolled her eyes, laughing. "Damn, you're getting bold now."
"Side effect of caffeine."
"Sure."
They both grinned, and the air felt light again.
Later, when the café quieted, Dhruve sat at his usual corner. Riya joined him during her break, her elbows resting on the table, chin propped on her hands.
"You look different today," she said.
"How so?"
"Less tired. Or maybe you're just pretending better."
He chuckled. "I'm learning from the best."
She threw a sugar packet at him. He dodged it easily.
Then, her voice softened. "I'm glad you came."
He met her eyes — steady, unreadable. "Yeah. Me too."
As the day went on, they talked more than usual. About stupid things — the smell of rain, weird customers, old songs. But between those small conversations, Dhruve felt something shifting inside him.
He'd laugh, then go quiet for no reason. He'd watch her tuck her hair behind her ear and feel something unfamiliar — not desire exactly, but the kind of warmth that scared him because he didn't control it.
At one point, she noticed his silence. "Hey," she said softly. "Where did you go?"
He blinked, smiled faintly. "Nowhere."
She studied him. "You're lying."
"Maybe."
"Wanna tell me?"
He looked down at his coffee, the faint steam rising like a secret he didn't want to share. "You ever feel like… you're starting to breathe again, but you're afraid you'll drown if you exhale?"
She frowned slightly, confused but listening.
He continued, voice low. "Like you've been underwater too long, and now that you're finally coming up for air, it feels wrong — like you don't deserve it."
Riya's eyes softened. "You do, though."
He met her gaze — and for once, didn't look away.
When he got home that night, he didn't open his laptop or pour himself a drink. He just sat by the window, looking out at the lights below.
His mind felt heavy and calm at the same time.
What the hell are you doing, Dhruve? he thought.
He wasn't supposed to care. This wasn't supposed to happen again.
But as he leaned back in his chair, he realized something undeniable — Riya was becoming part of the rhythm of his days. Her laughter, her voice, her presence.
And for the first time since his world fell apart, he didn't feel entirely alone.