Days turned into conversations. Conversations turned into comfort. Aarav and Elina began meeting often—sometimes planned, sometimes accidental, or at least pretending to be. The café became their place, their pause from life.
Elina spoke with honesty that felt rare. She talked about moving cities, losing people, and learning how to be strong alone. Aarav listened—not just with ears, but with patience. He told her about his fear of settling, his habit of running before things grew deep.
They laughed a lot. Silences didn't scare them. They shared music through earphones, fingers brushing, hearts pretending not to notice.
One evening, while walking beside a quiet river, Elina stopped suddenly.
"Do you believe in timing?" she asked.
Aarav thought for a moment. "I believe in moments that refuse to wait."
She smiled, but her eyes carried questions.
Something was growing between them—something gentle, something dangerous. Aarav felt it in the way he searched for her messages, in the way her absence felt louder than noise. Elina felt it too, but she was afraid. She had loved before and learned how fragile promises could be.
One night, she texted him: "What are we becoming?"
Aarav stared at the screen for a long time before replying:
"Something honest. If we let it."
Elina closed her eyes when she read that. For the first time in a long while, she wanted to believe.