Sarthak’s POV

The evening sun was dipping low when I stopped the car outside Simran’s house in Karnal.

The lane was quiet, the kind of quiet that carried the hum of routine, a scooter passing by, a dog barking somewhere down the street, faint laughter from a nearby terrace.

I sat there for a moment, adjusting my sleeves, feeling strangely aware of how my heartbeat had picked up. It wasn’t the first time I’d come here - I’d been here during the engagement talk but tonight felt different. This time, it wasn’t about families. It will be just… us.

When I rang the bell, the door opened almost instantly.

“Arre Sarthak beta, andar aao,” Aunty said, her voice soft and familiar.

I folded my hands slightly. “Namaste, aunty.”

“Namaste, Sarthak beta. Simran taiyaar ho rahi hai, bas do minute.” She smiled and motioned for me to come inside. “Tum baitho, main paani le aati hoon.”

{“Sarthak beta. Simran is getting ready, just two minutes.”}

{“You sit, I will bring water.”}

The living room smelled faintly of sandalwood and fresh flowers warm, home-like. I sat on the edge of the sofa, trying not to look like someone who was waiting too eagerly.

A moment later, her younger brother, Aarav, walked in. “Arre Sarthak bhai! You came right on time,” he grinned, settling into the chair opposite me.

{“Hey Sarthak Bhai! You came at the right time,”}

I smiled. “Traffic wasn’t too bad today.”

He leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So… coffee date with didi, haan?”

I chuckled. “You can say that.”

“Aur haan, careful rehna bhai, she orders coffee like it’s a full paragraph,” he said, smirking. “One spoon sugar, more milk, less foam, medium roast...”

{“And yes, be careful bhai, she orders coffee like it’s a full paragraph,”}

{“One spoon sugar, more milk, less foam, medium roast...”}

Before he could finish, his mother called out from the kitchen, “Aarav! Bas kar, zyada mat chidha.”

{“Aarav! Stop it, don't tease him too much.”}

He laughed. “Arre maa, mazaak hi toh kar raha hoon.”

{“Hey mom, I am just joking.”}

I shook my head, smiling. The whole exchange felt… easy. Like I’d known them longer than I had.

Aarav leaned forward, lowering his voice a little. “Didi thoda time leti hai, par jab ready hoti hai na…” he paused dramatically, “…sabko chup kar deti hai.”

{“Didi takes some time, but when she is ready...”}

{“She…makes everyone quiet.”}

His mother reappeared just then with a glass of water and gave him that look. “Bas, ab jaa. Simran ko bula le.”

{"That's it, go now. Call Simran."}

He darted off, still grinning, muttering, “Bula hi toh raha hoon.”

{“I am calling.”}

I took a sip of water, trying not to smile too much. My palms had gone slightly cold, a strange mix of calm and anticipation.

Then I heard her mother’s voice echo gently up the stairs, “Simran beta, Sarthak has come.”

Footsteps followed slow, unhurried.

And then I saw her.

When she appeared at the top of the stairs, everything around me just… paused for a second.

She was wearing a cream-colored suit simple, elegant, but somehow, it felt like she’d stepped out of a different kind of quiet. The dupatta was draped neatly, silver embroidery catching the light just enough to make it look almost soft.

I wasn’t staring, but it was hard not to look.

She walked down slowly, one hand lightly holding her dupatta, the other brushing against the railing. Her hair was open, straight with a little curve at the ends, and when she finally looked up, our eyes met and just for a second I had to remind myself to breathe normally.

“Ready?” her mother asked with a smile.

Simran nodded, looking my way briefly before glancing back at her mother. “Haan, maa.”

{“Yes, mom.”}

“Late mat hona,” her mother said, giving me a kind smile that was half trust, half warning the kind of every mother gives when she’s letting her daughter step out with someone.

{“Don’t be late,”}

“Bilkul nahi, aunty,” I assured her.

{“Not at all, Auntie,”}

Aarav appeared again, grinning like he’d been waiting for the perfect cue. “Enjoy, and didi don’t scare him away.”

“Stop it,”Simran muttered, lightly swatting his arm before walking past him.

Her mother chuckled.“ The kids of today.”

I smiled politely, and followed Simran out.

---

The car ride started quiet.

Its just that new kind of silence where both people are figuring out what feels normal.

After a few minutes, I asked, “Comfortable?”

She nodded, looking out the window. “Hmm… thoda traffic kam hota toh perfect hota.”

{“Hmm… it would have been perfect if there was a little less traffic.”}

I smiled. “Karnal traffic is its own mood.”

She laughed.. that soft, short laugh that sounds more like an exhale. “Exactly.”

We drove for a while like that short comments, quiet roads, the evening light slowly turning golden.

I noticed how she kept adjusting her dupatta even though it didn’t need fixing. Maybe she was nervous too.

A few minutes later, I glanced sideways. She was looking out the window again, hair moving a little with the wind.

My hand was resting near the gearshift not far from where hers was placed on her lap. For a moment, an impulse thought crossed my mind to just reach out, lightly, nothing more.

But I stopped myself.

Instead, I gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and looked ahead.

There was something strangely grounding about this restraint like respecting the distance was another way of caring.

Simran broke the silence after a while. “You’re quiet more than usual.”

I smiled. “And you’re trying to make me talk more.”

She looked at me with that small, teasing smile. “I think I’m succeeding a little.”

“Maybe,” I said, glancing at her for a second before focusing back on the road.

---

The cafe was a small one on the edge of town open-air, strings of warm lights, and the faint sound of old Hindi songs playing in the background. The kind of place that didn’t try too hard to be fancy but felt easy to be in.

When we walked in, she chose a table near the corner a little away from everyone.

“Safe distance from people who might know us,” I joked.

She smiled. “Exactly. Karnal mein koi bhi mil jaata hai har jagah.”

{“Exactly. In Karnal, anyone can find one everywhere.”}

We ordered coffee hers with too many details, mine plain and simple. She caught my look when I said, “Just black coffee,” and she shook her head.

“You really drink that?”

“Why, too serious for you?”

She laughed. “Itna kadva kaise peete ho?”

{“How do you drink something so bitter?”}

“Habit,” I said, shrugging. “Work ki wajah se.”

{“Yes, Because of work.”}

She nodded thoughtfully, then smiled again. “Main sochti hoon, hum dono ka coffee choice bata raha hai kitne alag hain.”

{“I think our coffee choices show how different we are.”}

“Alag, haan,” I said, “but maybe that’s not a bad thing.”

{“Different, yes but maybe that's not a bad thing.”}

---

Her eyes met mine for a second, and this time, neither of us looked away too quickly.

The light from the hanging bulb above flickered softly between us, and for that moment, I felt something shift small, but certain.

I didn’t know what label to give it yet, but I knew I wanted to see where it would go.

We sat there for over an hour, though it didn’t feel that long.

The waiter brought our coffee, and for a while, the only sound was the clink of cups and the faint music playing in the background.

Simran stirred her cup slowly. “You know,” she said, “I didn’t expect we’d be sitting like this so comfortably.”

“Uncomfortable hona tha?” I asked.

{“Was it supposed to be uncomfortable?”}

She smiled. “Maybe a little. Arranged marriage meetings usually feel like interviews.”

I nodded. “True. But I think we already passed that stage.”

She looked at me for a second. “You think so?”

“I do,” I said. “It doesn’t feel like we’re forcing this.”

That made her smile, the kind of genuine smile that reaches the eyes before the lips. She looked down at her coffee, then back up. “You talk less but say the right things, Sarthak.”

“Maybe I just choose my words carefully,” I said. “Par kaafi cheezein kehne se zyada mehsoos karne wali hoti hain.”

{“But some things are more felt than said.”}

She went quiet for a moment, absorbing that. “That’s true,” she said softly. “Sometimes silence says enough.”

We talked about work next my projects in Jodhpur, her plans for managing the new home setup after marriage. She was thoughtful, funny in a natural way. Every few minutes, she’d tuck her hair behind her ear unconsciously, and I’d catch myself noticing small details, her hands, her expressions, the way her eyes softened when she laughed.

There were pauses between our sentences, but none of them were empty.

At one point, she asked, “Do you think three months is enough time to get to know each other?”

I thought for a second. “Maybe not completely,” I said, “but maybe enough to understand what kind of person someone is.”

“And what kind of person do you think I am?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

That caught me off guard. I looked at her for a moment, trying to put it into words. “You’re… grounded,” I said finally. “You think before you speak. And you make a place feel lighter without even trying.”

Her expression softened, almost surprised. “That’s… nice to hear.”

“It’s true,” I said quietly.

She took a sip of coffee and smiled again. “I think you notice more than you say.”

“Maybe,” I admitted. “And you talk more than you realize.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “So we balance each other out?”

“Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to work,” I said.

---

When we left the café, the sky had already turned dusky purple. The road back was calm, the kind where every few seconds, headlights of passing vehicles flickered across the windshield and faded again.

The car was mostly quiet, but it wasn’t awkward. There was something unspoken between us

At one red light, I glanced sideways. She was looking out the window again, hair moving gently with the air from the half-open glass.

I wanted, for a split second, to reach across and take her hand again. Not out of impulse, more like reassurance. But I stopped myself.

She didn’t need reassurance; she just needed time.

So I kept my hands where they were and let the moment pass.

When the light turned green, she spoke softly, almost as if she knew what I was thinking. “You really are patient, Sarthak.”

I smiled faintly. “Sometimes that’s the only way to not ruin something good.”

She didn’t reply, but her smile stayed small, calm, and somehow more meaningful than words.

---

When we reached her house, the porch light was on. Aarav was standing outside, pretending to check his phone but clearly waiting to tease her again.

Simran looked at him, half laughing, half embarrassed. “Aarav, andar jao.”

{“Aarav, go inside”}

He grinned. “Bas dekh raha tha ki safe drop mil gaya ya nahi.”

{“I was just checking if you got a safe drop.”}

“Very funny,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Before getting out, she turned slightly toward me. “Thanks… for today.”

“It was nice,” I said simply. “Let’s do this again sometime, maybe without traffic next time.”

She smiled. “Done.”

And then she was gone, walking through the gate, greeting her mother at the door, the warm yellow light of the house wrapping around her like it belonged.

I waited a moment before driving away, watching in the rearview mirror until the house lights faded behind me.

For the first time in a long while, I realized I was smiling for no reason.