The Metro screeched back to life, crawling forward as though unsure it really wanted to move. The lights stayed on this time, flickering less like ghosts and more like reality returning.
Vihaan and Aanya stood side by side now — closer than two strangers ought to, but not close enough to feel wrong.
Mandi House arrived in less than two minutes.
Aanya turned to him. "You sure you're getting off? You might miss where you were headed."
He shrugged, smiling. "Kabhi kabhi galat station par utarna sahi hota hai."
("Sometimes getting off at the wrong station is the right thing to do.")
She raised an eyebrow. "Filmy line."
"Life's a bit of a film today," he replied, stepping out onto the platform with her.
The crowd around them rushed forward, but they walked slowly, deliberately, like the chaos wasn't theirs to participate in.
Outside, the drizzle had just begun again. Streetlights glowed through the mist like soft halos. Aanya opened her tiny folding umbrella and held it above both of them without asking.
"Chai?" she offered. "There's a tapri nearby. Best cutting chai in Delhi."
Vihaan looked amused. "Let me guess. You judge people based on their tea order."
She smirked. "Of course. Masala chai with less sugar? You're a decent human. Green tea? Definitely hiding secrets."
"And what about coffee?" he asked.
"Serial killer vibes."
He laughed, hands in pockets, letting her lead.
They reached the tiny tea stall tucked between two buildings, steam curling up like little ghosts. Aanya ordered two.
As they stood waiting, he said quietly, "You're not what I expected."
She glanced sideways. "Expected from what? A stranger in a metro?"
"From anyone. Most people don't say things like— 'falling for someone you just met'."
She didn't look away. "I meant it, you know."
Vihaan's smile dropped into something gentler. Real. He nodded.
"I know."
The chai arrived. She handed him the paper cup, the warmth seeping through their fingers. He took a sip.
"Okay… this is actually amazing."
"Told you."
A quiet pause followed. The kind that begged for a choice — to walk away or lean in.
And then he asked, half-joking, half-hopeful, "So, is this… like, a beginning or just a cute story we'll tell ourselves years later?"
Aanya didn't blink.
She looked at him, full of something brave and vulnerable all at once.
"Kal miloge?"
("Will you meet me tomorrow?")
He smiled, that slow, heart-tripping smile.
"Roz."
("Every day.")