Love, Kolkata

Kolkata, with its vintage trams, yellow taxis, and the eternal scent of chai brewing at every street corner, was a city that thrived on contradictions. It was where old world charm met a vibrant, modern pulse—a reflection of life itself. And amidst the city’s bustling heart, where honking cars clashed with the sacred chime of temple bells, a quiet love story unfolded—a tender bond between two souls as different as night and day, a living echo of the city’s own harmonious contradictions.

The story of Ritu and Arjun.

Ritu was the kind of girl who was impossible to miss. She’d bounce from one street to another, chatting with strangers, making friends with shopkeepers, and calling out to kids playing cricket on the sidewalk. Her laughter echoed through the narrow lanes, often louder than the jingle of the phuchka vendor’s bell, and she had an uncanny ability to find joy in the simplest of things. A perfectly spiced phuchka, a plate of chowmein at Tiretta Bazaar’s Chinatown, or hot momos from the stall behind her favourite college café—these were her moments of bliss. For her, food wasn’t just sustenance, it was celebration!

And then there was Arjun. Serious, introverted, and careful with his words, he was the exact opposite of everything Ritu was. He preferred the quieter corners of Kolkata—reading books in old College Street, spending peaceful afternoons in the company of his thoughts, or sipping tea while gazing out at the endless expanse of the Hooghly River. It wasn’t that Arjun didn’t enjoy the small pleasures of life, he simply relished them in silence. While Ritu’s world was loud and colourful, his was one of calm contemplation.

They had met on a rainy afternoon, typical of Kolkata’s monsoons. Ritu had been impatiently tapping her foot at a bus stop, water dripping from her umbrella, when Arjun had walked up beside her, looking as though the rain didn’t bother him one bit. She had tried making conversation, but all she had gotten in return were a few polite nods and the occasional “hmm.”

She was undeterred.

Their mostly one-sided conversations grew as they bumped into each other regularly at the bus stop.

“I bet you don’t even like phuchkas,” she had teased one day, out of nowhere.

Arjun, caught off guard, had looked at her blankly. “They’re alright, I suppose.”

That was all it took. The next thing Arjun knew, Ritu had grabbed his arm, pulling him toward a roadside stall. “Come on, let’s fix that. No one just ‘supposes’ about phuchkas!”

And so began their unlikely friendship—one that revolved around food, long walks, and the city they both adored in their own unique ways. Ritu dragged Arjun to places he had never been: to Shiraz, to try the famous biryani (which they always debated over—Ritu loved it with aloo, and Arjun without), to little-known tea stalls where the chai was served extra sweet, and to quiet hideaways where the sunset over the Hooghly seemed to wash away the worries of the world.

For Arjun, it was a revelation. Ritu’s boundless energy breathed new life into his routine, and though he never said it out loud, he began to look forward to their weekend adventures. She made him try foods he’d never think to order—though he stood firm on his refusal of aloo in biryani—and took him on late-night tram rides just to experience the city’s glowing lights. Her joy was infectious, and though he remained as quiet as ever, his eyes always lit up in her presence.

For Ritu, Arjun was a calming force, a quiet harbour in her whirlwind of energy. He never told her to tone down her excitement or rush through life. He simply existed beside her, offering a quiet smile when her stories went on too long and patiently listening when she ranted about the world’s injustices. His stillness gave her a sense of peace she didn’t even know she needed.

Two years passed. They laughed together, argued over biryani, and explored every nook and cranny of Kolkata. Yet, for all the time they spent together, the words neither dared to say hovered between them, unspoken.

It was during the Durga Puja that things began to change. Kolkata was at its most magical, with pandals lit up in all their glory and the streets buzzing with life. Ritu, as always, was caught up in the excitement, pulling Arjun through the crowded streets, her eyes sparkling as she marvelled at the decorations. Arjun trailed behind, quieter than usual, his thoughts elsewhere.

That night, after a long day of pandal-hopping and sampling sweets, they found themselves sitting by the Hooghly River, the cool breeze ruffling their hair. The city hummed around them, but it felt like they were in their own little bubble.

“Arjun,” Ritu said softly, breaking the comfortable silence between them. “Do you ever wonder… if this is enough?”

He turned to her, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean us,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically unsure. “We’ve been doing this—whatever this is—for two years now. And I wonder… is it enough? Or are we just going to keep going like this, never telling each other what we really feel?”

Arjun was silent for a long moment, staring out at the dark water. He had always been content with the way things were, but now he realised that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t enough.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve always thought… if we just kept going, we wouldn’t need to say anything. That you’d know.”

Ritu let out a small laugh, but there was sadness in it. “You of all people should know that silence isn’t always enough.”

Arjun turned to her then, really seeing her for the first time. The laughter was still there, but beneath it, there was something else—something fragile and fleeting. He realised, with a sudden clarity, that he didn’t want this love of theirs, as unspoken as it was, to fade into the background noise of the city.

“I don’t want this to end in silence,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ritu looked at him, her heart pounding. “Then don’t let it.”

And just like that, amidst the hum of Kolkata’s streets and the gentle flow of the Hooghly, their love story found its voice. Quiet, unhurried, and sweet—just like them.

The city of joy had given them two years of shared laughter, food, and memories. Now, it was time for them to give each other their hearts.

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