Everyone called her a romantic girl, but Meera never told anyone why.
She believed love lived in small moments—in waiting, in noticing, in choosing someone gently. While others searched for excitement, Meera searched for meaning. She liked sunsets more than parties, old songs more than trending ones, and conversations that felt safe.
Every evening, she visited the same café near the bus stop, carrying a book she rarely read. She went there to feel close to her thoughts.
That was where she noticed him.
Arjun sat two tables away, always calm, always polite, never trying to stand out. Some days he smiled at the waiter, some days he stared at the street like he was listening to life pass by. They never spoke at first, but something invisible grew between shared glances and quiet smiles.
One rainy evening, the café lost power.
In the soft darkness, Meera laughed nervously. Arjun spoke first.
"Funny how silence makes things clearer," he said.
Meera nodded. "And braver."
They talked—about dreams, fears, and how love today feels rushed and fragile. Meera confessed she was scared that her romantic heart would never be understood.
Arjun listened.
"I don't want loud love," he said softly. "I want the kind that stays."
That was enough.
No dramatic proposal. No promises written in the stars.
Just two people choosing to walk together, slowly.
As the lights returned, Meera realized something beautiful:
Romance was never about finding someone perfect.
It was about finding someone who feels like home.
And for the first time, the romantic girl closed her book—because her story had finally begun.
The End