Two weeks into dating Abhi, things were… fine.
He was exactly what he had always been - safe, familiar. I didn't have to decode his silences or second-guess his intentions. We slipped into the rhythm of being together like it had been pre-written, but maybe that was the problem. Comfort left no room for surprise.
Kanika is still not happy with my decision and even though I understand her dislike for Abhi, I think this is the best for me. I don't appreciate that she's just being distant, though it probably wasn't a great idea to invite her for lunch with my new editing team - Aliyah, Harsh, and Shlok. And guess who she invited with her? Ryan.
She didn't even glance at me, choosing instead to laugh and chat with everyone else at the table.
Why is she hell-bent on making my life difficult?
Still, she let me fill her glass with half cold, half room temperature water. She didn't stop me from picking the coriander out of her rice - she loathed coriander.
But not one word. By this time, everyone must've noticed something was off, because -
"So how did you two become friends?" Aliyah asks, eyebrows bouncing like she's landed a real scoop. She's looking between me and Kanika like we're an unlikely Netflix pairing.
"You guys are so different," she adds, almost fondly. "But somehow… you fit."
I stab my paneer with unnecessary force. "Yeah, I wonder that too."
Kanika rolls her eyes at me - first reaction of the day. "You'd have preferred not being friends with me, I guess." She looked at me for the first time.
I decided to respond to Aliyah "She was the party animal," I say, keeping my tone light. "Popular girl. Glitter and heels and weekly selfies. I was the nerdy, invisible one. Preferred footnotes over friendships."
Kanika scoffs. "You were not invisible. I saw you. Read your college magazine pieces religiously." She pauses for dramatic flair. "I was your secret fan."
I blink. "You never told me that."
She shrugs. "Didn't want you getting smug."
I ignore her comment "Anyway... She dated a friend of mine. That's how we met."
Kanika raises both hands, mock-offended. "Please. Don't tarnish my standards. We went out for two weeks."
Then she looks at me, eyes locking, like she's sending a reminder wrapped in eye contact. "Two. Weeks."
I hear it - the undertone. Not bitterness. Not regret. Just that sharp, practiced clarity people develop after they've outgrown something.
"It can't even be considered dating," she continues, turning back to the table. "Pretty sure he's the reason I lost interest in dating guys altogether. If we'd gone out longer, he might've turned me fully gay. The only good thing that came out of that whole mess…" - she points a finger straight at me - "…was this one."
She said it with a huff, but it still made me stupidly happy.
"He had some flaws," I muttered, "but he's grown now." I decided to defend him or rather myself.
"Of course, you'd know that - thanks to your little trial run with him…"
She bit her lip the moment it slipped out, eyes widening as silence dropped over the table.
Harsh blinked like he missed a plot twist. "Wait - you're dating the same guy?"
Ryan looked stunned. "You're dating?"
Aliyah had the kind of grin that should be illegal in professional settings.
Shlok sat silently, a distant look on his otherwise unreadable face. A slight frown crept between his eyebrows as he played with his fork, his eyes fixed on the table like it held secrets he didn't want to know.
I looked at Kanika.
She mouthed: oops.
If she weren't my friend, I would've dumped the black pepper shaker onto her rice without a shred of remorse.
But the thing about friends is - they get to say things no one else can. Things that sit in your chest and echo, even after the laughter has moved on.
Two weeks.
I knew exactly what she was trying to remind me of.
How could I forget? But like her, I was also glad Abhi did one right thing - he introduced us.
Although, he introduced us like he was doing both of us a favor.
It was some college event I didn't want to be at - noise, lights, too many people trying too hard to be seen.
And Abhi.
Abhi always trying to be seen.
He walked up, flanked by confidence and cologne, dragging Kanika behind him like a shiny accessory he'd won.
"Navyaaa!" Abhi said, arms thrown wide like a host on a reality show. "How come you two never talk? You've been in the same class for what, a whole semester?"
Kanika and I both blinked, equally unimpressed.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Anyway, Navya - meet Kanika, my beautiful girlfriend. Don't we make a great pair?"
I barely had time to react before he added, with a grin: "And Kanika, meet Navya - my fun-hating, bookworm of a childhood friend. She's got the emotional range of a spreadsheet, but hey, she means well."
He laughed like it was charming.
Kanika didn't.
She gave him a look. Not a fight-starting one. Just… quiet disappointment. Then she turned to me with a softness that didn't match the sharpness of her eyeliner.
"Nice to finally meet you," she said. I believed her.
And just like that, the noise dimmed.
Later that evening, she found me again. "You looked like you wanted to slap him."
"I always do," I replied.
We weren't friends instantly - no. It took late-night assignment discussions. Shared rants about group projects. One day she helped me find my lost USB; another day I found her crying in the girls' bathroom and sat beside her until no tears were left.
Somewhere in those quiet in-betweens, we became… permanent.
And when she broke up with Abhi - two weeks later, citing narcissism and "a deeply concerning attachment to his own reflection" - I was the one she messaged first.
Nika: He's charming, sure. But I like people who remember the punchline isn't always them.
We never talked about him much after that.
It wasn't about him anyway.
Until now.
My reverie broke with the buzz of my phone. Abhi: I'll be in the area. Let's meet for coffee at 5, yeah.
I stared at the message for a second longer than necessary.
Not because I had anything to say. Just because the full stop at the end felt too confident. Too final.
Let's meet for coffee at 5, yeah.
There was no question mark in how Abhi functioned. He didn't ask. He assumed.
And me? I was tired of correcting people's assumptions.
Still, I replied with a thumbs up. Because saying "no" felt like a discussion, and I didn't have the energy for one.
The only problem? Five in the evening was the worst time to meet.
That was when the entire office spilled into the cafe - content teams, design interns, sleepy editors refueling on caffeine. The baristas knew everyone's orders by heart, and every corner buzzed with overlapping chatter.
I had wanted low-profile. What I got was peak visibility.
But I showed up.
He was already there. Of course he was. Abhi had a thing about being early, just enough to make you feel like you were late.
He stood when he saw me, arms wide in that familiar way that used to feel charming and now just felt... rehearsed.
"You came," he said, like I'd passed some unspoken test.
"I was promised caffeine. And judgment-free conversation."
He laughed, motioned toward the chair opposite his. "You'll get the first. The second's a stretch."
I sat, smoothing imaginary creases off my kurta. I didn't look around, but I could feel the room. Loud enough to drown whispers, but small enough that familiar eyes lingered.
Of course someone would see.
Then I saw them.
Aliyah was the first to notice us, her expression lighting up like she'd just stumbled onto a plot twist.
"Oh my God, are you two on a date?" she asked, already halfway across the cafe.
I barely had time to breathe before she reached the table, voice louder than I needed it to be. "Look at you both! You actually make such a cute couple!"
Abhi grinned, pleased as ever. I, meanwhile, wanted the floor to swallow me and offer a second cup of coffee while it was at it.
Behind her came Kanika, Ryan, Harsh, and Shlok - like a whole scene assembling itself, uninvited.
Kanika's expression was hard to read. Not angry. Just... annoyed in that quiet way where one eyebrow tells a whole story.
Ryan's eyes flicked between me and Abhi. His shoulders stiffened slightly. He gave a brief, polite smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Harsh, looked positively thrilled or clueless, I couldn't tell. "Oh damn, you're the guy Navya mentioned!"
I hadn't.
Aliyah looped her arm through mine like we were co-leads in a rom-com no one asked to shoot. "We just have to do a group table, this is perfect timing!"
I opened my mouth to object, but the momentum had already shifted. Chairs scraped, seats were taken, and suddenly my very private, very misguided coffee date had an audience.
Shlok sat last. Quietly. Sleeves pushed up to his elbows, one hand on the table, the other wrapped around his half full cup of Tea. Not waiting, not watching - just there, part of the furniture, but somehow the sharpest thing in the room. His eyes flickered on my face for a second like he was solving a puzzle no one had given him permission to touch.
He didn't say anything. Not to me. Not to anyone.
And for the first time since Abhi texted me, I wished I'd said no.
****
Kanika left early today because I had a deadline to chase. A new story that absolutely refused to be written. After an hour of banging my head against the keyboard - and the desk, metaphorically - I gave up.
Maybe I just needed sugar.
I considered coffee, then ruled it out. Too late. My stomach wouldn't forgive me.
What I really wanted was a strawberry cheesecake milkshake. Cold, creamy, unnaturally pink. But Kanika would murder me. One of the many disadvantages of being best friends with a fitness freak: dessert guilt, always on call.
So I settled for low-fat vanilla milk from the vending machine. It tasted like disappointment, but fine, whatever. I just needed fresh air. Some sky. Silence.
The rooftop was usually empty at this hour. That was the plan.
But apparently, the universe had other plans.
Two figures were already there - perched on the bench near the far end. One of them was Aliyah. She looked like she'd been crying. The other, of course, was Shlok.
Seriously?
Why were they here? Weren't the new editors explicitly told the rooftop was off-limits? My secret peace corner, hijacked.
I would've turned around and sulked elsewhere, but just then, Aliyah stood up and headed toward the door. She spotted me, eyes a little puffy, and gave a small, polite smile.
I returned it with matching awkwardness and stepped aside to let her pass.
That left me with Shlok, now standing at the railing, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets like he was contemplating the mysteries of the universe - or maybe just the lack of decent coffee in the vending machine.
I walked over anyway. Quietly. Took a sip of my sad vanilla milk.
"What was that about?" I asked, pretending to care more about the stars than the answer.
He shrugged. "Nothing."
Ah. One of those nothings.
Got it. Topic closed.
I leaned against the railing, arms crossed. "Do you come here to smoke?"
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Do I look like a chimney to you?"
"Honestly? A little."
He chuckled. "I'm quitting."
"That so?" I raised an eyebrow. "What happened? Sudden enlightenment?"
"I just figured," he said, staring ahead, "I should start caring about my lungs. Preservation and all that."
I nodded slowly. "A noble cause."
"Besides," he added, "if I destroy my voice, what will the fangirls cry about?"
I rolled my eyes. "So humble."
"I try."
The air settled between us again. A little less awkward now.
He glanced sideways. "And what brings you here? Late-night craving for processed milk?"
I lifted the sad bottle. "Desperation tastes like vanilla."
He laughed again, a soft breath of amusement in the quiet. He tapped the railing lightly. "Vanilla's underrated."
I gave him a look. "That's what people say when they're trying to defend boring choices."
"Or," he said, half-smiling, "it's what people say when they've finally learned to appreciate things that don't scream for attention."
I blinked at him. That felt like a strangely loaded statement.
He didn't elaborate.
Instead, he asked, "So. You're not into music, but Ateek said you asked for my performance link?"
Damn it, Ateek.
I cleared my throat. "I asked about it once. I didn't exactly beg."
"Still," Shlok said, leaning a little closer, voice casual, "I'm curious. What did you like about it?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Because," he said, tilting his head, "You said music becomes noise after a point, you wouldn't listen to noise"
I stayed quiet.
He waited.
Finally, I admitted, "It didn't feel like noise."
He blinked. "That's... not the worst compliment I've ever received."
I shrugged. "Don't get used to it."
"Yeah, you've been spoiling me," he said dryly. "First the musical insults, now casual charm. I might start to think you like me." He added sarcastically.
I rolled my eyes and decided to humor him. "Delusion is a powerful drug."
"So is denial," he said, but the tone changed; it became a bit serious, striking a chord of discomfort in me.