The old chaiwala at Mandi House noticed them first.
It had been exactly one year since Aanya stood here alone, with a storm in her chest and a cup in her hand. And now — she stood again, but with Vihaan beside her.
Same cup.
Same street.
Same softness in her eyes.
The chaiwala grinned.
"Ek saal ho gaya, beta," he said as he poured the tea.
("It's been a year, child.")
Vihaan nodded. "Pata hai. Roz yaad rehta hai."
("I know. I remember every day.")
They sat on the narrow bench beside the stall. Not talking much. They didn't have to.
Sometimes love isn't loud.
It's sitting beside someone while the world rushes past, knowing neither of you wants to be anywhere else.
Aanya had finished her mural.
The stars shone brighter now — not because they were perfect, but because she had stopped being afraid to mess them up.
Vihaan had written a song called "Roz". It never trended. But every time Aanya heard it, she smiled like it was number one.
That evening, as they walked past their old metro spot, she pulled him to a stop.
"Ek sawaal poochun?"
("Can I ask you something?")
"Hmm?"
She looked up at him, mischief in her eyes.
"Agar us din main nahi aati… toh?"
("If I hadn't come that day… then?")
Vihaan thought for a moment, then said softly:
"Main phir bhi roz aata."
("I'd still come. Every day.")
She grinned.
Held his hand tighter.
And as the traffic light turned green, they crossed the road — together this time.
The End.