Dhruve didn't plan to see Riya again so soon.But two days later, he found himself standing outside her café anyway — not for coffee, not for comfort, but because something in him refused to stay home.
The doorbell chimed when he entered. The smell of roasted beans and sugar hit him like warmth after a storm. Riya was at the counter, hair tied up, scribbling on a pad.
She looked up, smiled — that same smile that wasn't polished or polite, just real."Back again, stranger?"
Dhruve shrugged. "Couldn't find better coffee."
"Liar," she said, smirking. "You came for the company."
He didn't deny it. Didn't need to.
When her shift ended, they sat outside — the evening soft and slow. The city moved around them, but it felt like it existed somewhere far away.
Riya took a sip of her drink and said, "You know, most people talk about their dreams when they get comfortable. You talk about silence."
Dhruve stared at the streetlights flickering across the puddles. "Silence is safer."
"Safer from what?"
"Memories."
Riya tilted her head. "Bad ones?"
He smiled faintly. "Aren't they all bad when they come uninvited?"
She laughed quietly, then said, "You always sound like you're halfway between giving up and holding on."
He didn't answer at first. His eyes softened, and for the first time, his voice dropped low enough that she had to lean in to hear.
"Maybe I am."
He didn't mean to talk about her — his ex-wife. But grief has its own timing.
"She used to call me predictable," he said suddenly, surprising even himself. "Said I made life boring. I didn't realize back then how much peace boredom gave me."
Riya's smile faded. She didn't interrupt.
Dhruve's voice grew quieter. "Then she changed. Or maybe she was always like that, and I just refused to see. Either way… one day I woke up, and it was like the whole world had rearranged itself, and I was the last to notice."
He looked at his hands, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "You ever feel like your heart is still standing somewhere your life already left?"
Riya watched him for a long moment before answering."Yeah," she said softly. "That's exactly what grief feels like."
Something in him loosened. Not healed, not yet — but loosened.
The air between them wasn't heavy anymore; it was human. Like two people sharing the same wound from different lifetimes.
Riya leaned back and smiled faintly. "You know, I think people like us don't really want to be fixed."
Dhruve looked at her, curious.
She continued, "We just want to be understood. For a minute. Without being told to move on."
He nodded slowly. "Yeah… that sounds about right."
Later, as the café lights dimmed, they walked together again. No destination, no plan. Just walking.
Riya spoke about her old apartment — the one that leaked when it rained. About how she used to sing to keep herself company. Dhruve told her about the nights he couldn't sleep, how he'd drive aimlessly until sunrise just to escape his own head.
It was quiet confession disguised as small talk.
When they stopped under the streetlight near her building, the silence between them was thick but calm.
Riya smiled faintly. "You ever think maybe broken people find each other for a reason?"
Dhruve's voice was low. "Maybe. Or maybe we just recognize the cracks."
She hesitated, then stepped closer, just enough that he could feel her breath."Do you ever get tired of pretending you don't care?"
He looked at her — really looked. And for the first time in a long time, his walls felt thin. Fragile. Almost see-through.
"Every damn day," he whispered.
Riya reached up and brushed a drop of rain from his cheek — maybe it was rain, maybe not.Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to.
The city moved around them, but for a few seconds, time stopped.It wasn't love. It wasn't even desire.It was understanding — rare, painful, and real.
And when she finally stepped back, Dhruve didn't try to stop her.
That night, lying awake, he stared at the ceiling for a long time.Something had shifted. Not healed, not broken — just shifted.
For the first time, he didn't feel entirely alone in his ruin.