It was strange, Dhruve thought, how one small decision — a simple "let's grab a drink" — could feel like crossing into a new life.
He'd spent years drowning in silence, in half-empty bottles, in the echo of his own bitterness. And now here he was — standing outside a dimly lit bar on a Thursday night, waiting for Riya.
He checked his watch. He wasn't nervous, not exactly. Just… unsettled.He hadn't done this in a long time — meeting someone without a reason, without a mask.
When Riya arrived, she was dressed casually — jeans, a black shirt, hair slightly damp from the drizzle. Simple, but something about her presence made the street seem warmer.
"Hey," she said, smiling. "Didn't think you'd actually come."
Dhruve smirked. "You invited me. Would've been rude to refuse."
"Or maybe you're just curious."
"Maybe," he said. "Maybe I'm bored."
"Same thing," she teased, brushing her hair back.
Inside, the bar was half-empty — soft music, faint lights, quiet enough to talk. They found a corner booth, and for a few minutes, they just sat there, pretending to study the menu like it mattered.
Riya was the first to break the silence. "You really don't go out much, do you?"
Dhruve shrugged. "Used to. Then life happened."
"That's a very poetic way of saying you gave up," she said, raising an eyebrow.
He chuckled. "Maybe I did."
"Then tonight," she said, lifting her glass, "let's call it un-giving up."
He smiled faintly, clinking his glass with hers. "Cheers to that."
They talked — about small things at first. Music, movies, weird customers, how she hated Mondays.But slowly, the talk drifted deeper — unplanned, honest.
Riya told him about her mother — the one who used to sing when it rained. About how she'd lost her last relationship because she "felt too much and too fast."
Dhruve listened quietly, watching her expression. "You say that like it's a bad thing," he said.
"It is when you fall for people who don't know how to hold feelings," she said with a half-smile.
"Yeah," he murmured. "That I understand."
A quiet pause followed. Riya looked at him then — really looked.Her gaze lingered on the faint tiredness under his eyes, the small scar on his jaw, the way he always seemed half somewhere else.
"You know," she said softly, "you're not as unreadable as you think."
He raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"No. You act like you're over something, but you're not. You still carry it — right here." She tapped her chest lightly. "And it makes you heavy."
He leaned back, staring at his drink. "You're observant. Dangerous combination."
She smiled. "So are you."
They stayed longer than they meant to. Two drinks turned into three, laughter into soft silences. The lights outside blurred into streaks of gold.
At one point, Riya leaned her head against the wall, eyes half-closed. "It's weird," she said. "You don't talk much, but when you do, it feels like you mean every word."
Dhruve looked at her — tired, beautiful, alive. He wanted to say something — maybe you make the noise stop for a while, but he didn't.
Instead, he said quietly, "That's because I only talk when it matters."
She smiled, eyes still closed. "Then… keep talking."
Later, when they stepped outside, the city air was cool and damp. Riya shivered slightly, and Dhruve handed her his jacket without a word.
She looked at him, surprised. "Thanks."
He shrugged. "You'll catch a cold."
She grinned. "You're a lot softer than you pretend."
He smirked. "Don't spread rumors."
They walked side by side down the empty street, their steps matching naturally. No confessions, no promises — just quiet understanding.
When they reached her building, she turned to him. "Tonight was nice," she said softly.
"Yeah," he replied. "It was."
Riya hesitated, then smiled. "See you tomorrow, stranger."
Dhruve watched her go inside before turning away. The night felt lighter somehow — not because his pain was gone, but because, for once, it didn't own him.
That night, lying in bed, he realized something simple yet terrifying:He was starting to want again.To feel, to connect, to risk.
And that was both the most human and the most dangerous thing he'd done in years.