No texts. No calls.
Shweta noticed it first thing the next morning. Checked her phone. Nothing. Not even a missed call.
A part of her thought about texting him. Like she always did. But something about today made her stop. Made her hesitate. Maybe she was overstepping now. Maybe last night had changed something.
But guilt had settled in. That sinking, suffocating kind. Her outburst had been unnecessary. He hadn't deserved it. Sampark was always careful with his words. Never said anything wrong. Never pushed too hard. Always polite. Always a gentleman.
He didn't deserve to be ignored.
By evening, she made up her mind. She would call him after work.
The moment her shift ended; she picked up her phone. Dialed his number. Waited.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then -
"Hello," Sampark said. His voice was calm. Controlled. Neutral.
She swallowed. "Hi, Sampark." Soft, careful. A tone that carried guilt but also a concern. The voice of someone who knew they had messed up. Someone who wanted to make things right.
A beat of silence.
"Are you free right now?" she asked. "Can we meet?"
Another pause.
Then -
"Yes. Sure."
Hesitation, just for a fraction of a second. He wasn't eager. Wasn't in a rush to see her.
Shweta could tell he was weighing his options. Saying no would be awkward. Too final. And later, Tanmay and Astha might ask if they had spoken. If things were okay. That would make things worse.
Better to meet now. Get it over with. But how?
Shweta sensed it. The conflict in his voice. She needed to clear the air. Apologize again if she had to. Explain herself.
"Could you pick me up?" she asked. "We can go to Irani Restaurant for tea?"
His favorite place. A small, strategic move. Sometimes, the little details mattered. The right setting could shift the mood, smooth over the rough edges. She was counting on it.
A slight pause. Then -
"Yes. Sure."
Twenty minutes later, Sampark pulled up outside her building.
She was already waiting. White kurti, delicate pink embroidery running across the fabric. Loose-fit jeans. Brown juttis. Effortless. A quiet kind of elegance.
She saw his eyes flicker as he took her in. Just for a second. He covered it well. Kept his face composed, unreadable. But she noticed it. The smallest shift at the corner of his expression.
She allowed herself a small, barely-there smile. Not too much.
He handed her the pillion helmet. A wordless exchange. She took it. Slipped it on. Got on Sampark's Royal Enfield Hunter 350 Rebel Blue. They made it through the busy evening traffic of Delhi. Neither of them spoke the whole time. The thirty-minute ride was silent.
The Irani Restaurant stood glowing in red neon. Established 1954. A place with history. A place where time stood still. The same chairs. The same wooden tables. The same legendary tea.
It had seen politicians, film stars, history-makers. Pt. Jawaharlal Nehru, Atal Bihari Vajpayee, Amitabh Bachchan, Shah Rukh Khan to name a few. They had all been here once. Their pictures lined the faded walls.
The taste of the tea never changed. Passed down through generations.
They walked in. Found a spot - second row, near the crimson wall. Quiet enough to talk, but close enough to the street for a view of the evening crowd. Sampark pulled out a chair for her. Gestured for her to sit. She did.
A waiter appeared. Expected. Two teas. Cake.
Now they were here. Sitting across from each other.
The silence stretched. A careful kind of silence. Then -
"It's nice here," she said. Light, casual. An easy start.
"Yes," he replied.
"How was your day?"
"The usual. Work. You?"
"Fine." A pause. Then she moved in. Smoothly. "So? you, okay? About yesterday?"
A flicker in his eyes. A shift in his posture. "Yeah. I'm fine."
Too quick. Too easy. Too rehearsed.
"You're not," she said. Direct. "I can tell."
No denial. No argument. He just held her gaze.
"I wanted to explain," she continued. "Didn't want this to stay between us. That's why I asked to meet."
He exhaled. Slow. "It's fine. I understand."
Said it like it didn't matter. Like it wasn't a big deal.
But she knew better.
"It's not fine," she said. "You've been distant. More than usual. And I deserve to explain. Yesterday, you knew something was wrong. You gave me space. You were being nice. But I wanted you to ask. And you didn't."
She let the words settle between them.
The tea arrived. The scent of cardamom and milk filled the air.
Now it was his move.
Sampark didn't react. Didn't move. Didn't say a word.
He was analyzing. Running it through. Weighing his options. Years of experience had taught him - only speak when you have the right words. Even if it's just a few.
A second passed. Then another.
Then he spoke.
"I mean, you're not wrong," he said finally. Calm. Measured. "I noticed something was off yesterday. You seemed? distracted. I didn't want to pry. Thought maybe giving you space was the right call. But I guess I was wrong."
His tone was polite. Even. No edge to it. Just the truth.
Shweta exhaled. Thought about that.
"Hmm." A beat. "Well, to be honest, I was occupied with something else. Something personal. And I guess I took it out on you. That was wrong."
A pause. Then -
"May I ask what it was?" Sampark asked. His voice was steady. Not demanding. Just open.
Shweta hesitated. Not out of fear. Just awareness.
She was about to share something private. A part of her personal life. With someone, she had known for only a few months.
But then again, Sampark wasn't just anyone. He was understanding. Patient. He listened. That much, she knew.
"Yes," she said finally. "My parents are planning to visit me. Here in Delhi. That's why I asked you about the travel agent."
A nod from Sampark. A simple acknowledgment. But his eyes stayed on her, waiting.
"And?" he asked.
She took another breath.
"Well, it had nothing to do with my outburst," she admitted. "That? was something else."
Sampark leaned in slightly. Just enough to show he was paying attention.
"What was it?" he asked. Curiosity in his voice. Not pressure.
Shweta looked down for a second. Then back at him.
"I was in a relationship," she said. "We were together for a little less than a year." She paused. Then, "Day before yesterday, he texted me."
Sampark's expression didn't change. But she could tell he was processing it.
"The first time he texted me since we broke up," she continued. "It wasn't anything serious. Just a casual text." She let out a short breath. "But things? ended badly. For me, at least. And seeing his message - it got to me."
Sampark didn't interrupt. Let her keep going.
"I was mad," she admitted. "At him. At the text. At everything. I thought I was past it, but the second I saw his name pop up, everything came rushing back. Like a train. Too fast to stop."
She tapped the table lightly with her fingers. Restless energy.
"I tried to distract myself," she said. "Tried to push it away. But it didn't work. It stayed. And the more I fought it, the worse it got." She shook her head. "That's why I was on edge yesterday. That's why I snapped."
Silence.
Sampark let it sit for a moment. Let her words settle.
Then he reached for his tea. Took a sip. Placed the cup back down.
And spoke.
"I see," Sampark said. His voice was calm. Steady. "We can talk about it, if you want. Might help. Let the tension go. You don't have to worry about anything. It's okay."
Sympathetic. But not overbearing. Just enough to let her know - she had the space to speak. No pressure. No judgment.
Shweta stayed quiet for a moment. Processing.
Her past.
Everything that had happened. Everything she had buried.
Now, here she was. Sitting across from someone who actually cared. Someone who wasn't rushing her. Someone who was willing to listen.
She inhaled. Then exhaled. Looked at him.
"We dated for a while," she began. Her voice was even, but there was weight behind the words. "Met at the office. I was new then. Fresh start. He was one of the first people I connected with."
Sampark gave a slight nod. Encouraging her to continue.
"Initially, he was good to me," she went on. "We talked a lot. Hung out. Spent time together outside of work." A pause. Then - "And then, after a couple of months, he? I mean?"
She hesitated. Swallowed.
"He wanted to take it to another level."
Sampark didn't move. Didn't react. Just listened.
"I wasn't ready at first," she admitted. "Told him that. But he convinced me. Took some time, but eventually, I gave in." She exhaled. "I thought I was in love with him. Thought he felt the same."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"But things changed after that."
She glanced away for a second. Then back at Sampark.
"He started pulling away," she said. "Stopped calling as much. Stopped texting. The little things - the things that used to be natural, effortless - just? faded."
She tapped the edge of the table lightly.
"And it messed with my head," she admitted. "Took a toll on me. I kept telling myself I was imagining things. That he was just busy. That maybe I was overthinking."
Sampark stayed quiet. Letting her speak.
"Then one day, I finally confronted him," she continued. "Asked him what was going on. Told him I could feel it - how different things had become."
She let out a short, humorless laugh.
"You know what he said?" she asked.
Sampark just looked at her.
"He said he didn't want anything serious."
The words came out flat like she had repeated them in her head a thousand times before.
"It broke me," she admitted. "Not just the breakup. Not just losing him. But realizing that I had spent all that time believing something that wasn't real."
A silence stretched between them.
"It took me a while," she said finally. "But I got over it."
Another deep breath. A long exhale.
Then she reached for her tea. Took a slow sip.
Sampark didn't say anything right away. He let it settle. Let her have that moment.
Then, finally -
"I'm sorry," he said. Simple. Sincere. No unnecessary words.
She looked at him.
And for the first time since she started speaking - she felt lighter.
