It was already a month since Krishanu and Jaanvi Kashyap became friends.
It began with nervous hellos and casual conversations out of their houses, gradually transitioning into something more profound.
They started studying together after school — cross-legged on the veranda, books in hand, half the time giggling over instead of solving. Weekends saw them play badminton or run after each other's shadows in the late sun.
Bit by bit, he got closer to her.
For someone like Krishanu — once the "golden boy" known for calm and focus — this new side of him was something I'd never seen. He smiled more now, dressed better, even hummed songs he didn't know the lyrics to.
And every time he talked about her, there was that small light in his eyes that didn't exist before.
---
One day, while we hung about outside the school gate, ice creams melting in our hands faster than we could consume them, he glared at me and asked,
"Should I… take her out somewhere?"
I blinked. "Out? Like… where?"
"There's this new café by the park. It's really good, they say."
I teased him. "Oh, *that* kind of out."
He ignored the mocking, his face suddenly serious. "What if she says no?"
"Then you'll still have your samosa gang," I told him, gesturing towards us.
He moaned. "You're of no use."
---
Later that evening, he messaged her. He sat in front of the screen for close to five minutes, typing and deleting the same message repeatedly.
At last, he mustered up the courage to deliver it face-to-face the next day.
"Hi," he said, speaking low. "Do you… want to go to that place by the park? They have the best pastries."
There was a silence.
Jaanvi cocked her head, her eyes shining with amusement. Then she smiled.
"What's with the big build-up before asking me out to eat?"
Krishanu went rigid. "I–I just—uh—"
He couldn't get the words out. His voice stumbled over itself as his face flushed bright red.
She laughed. "Okay, okay, I was kidding. Of course, I'll come."
And it was settled.
The way he later described it to me, I'm sure even his heartbeat had memorized the moment.
---
The next night, he appeared outside the café — and for once, he didn't appear like our Krishanu.
Neat shirt, well-combed hair, new shoes, and that seldom-seen nervous smile.
He even smelled like deodorant — something new.
When Jaanvi came in, she blinked in shock.
"Whoa," she laughed. "Who are you and what did you do with Krishanu?"
He rubbed his neck, self-conscious. "I, uh… figured I should dress up today."
She smiled. "Well, mission accomplished."
For a moment, he simply stood there, not sure what to do with his hands. Then, in barely above a whisper, he said, "You look… really nice too."
"Thank you," she whispered.
---
Within the café, time stood still.
They sat by the window, the sun setting through the glass. The air was filled with coffee and gentle laughter from the other tables.
They discussed everything — school, hobbies, goofy memories — and even when the conversation lapsed, it didn't feel awkward.
Krishanu informed me later that she laughed a lot that day.
She leaned forward at one point, joking, "So, Mr. Shy, was this a date?"
He flustered. "W–what? No! I mean—maybe?"
She laughed out loud, and he couldn't help but join in.
---
It was the perfect moment for him — little, unassuming, and unforgettable.
A day with no fireworks or confessions, yet meaning everything.
When he returned home walking that day, the world felt lighter. He couldn't help but smile, couldn't help but relive every moment in his head.
Even we, his friends, couldn't help but notice.
"Someone's glowing," I ventured.
He attempted to play cool, but a grin betrayed him. "It was. nice."
And that was all he said. But in one word, he contained all his happiness, his excitement, his bewilderment, and perhaps, his very first love.
---
Hindsight is that the day now seems like a snapshot — the sort of memory that remains golden even as everything else turns silver.
Krishanu had no idea then, but that café wasn't merely the beginning of something delicious… it was the understated start to an entirely larger book of his life.
The one where hearts begin to flutter — and where the boy we knew would start to transform once again.
---
To be continued.
---