While We Wait

The café was half-empty, basking in golden afternoon light and soft strains of indie music. It had that cozy kind of modern charm: distressed wood tables, dangling plants, the hiss of espresso machines punctuating lazy JJ conversations. 

Mahi stepped in, the bell above the door announcing her arrival with a delicate tinkle. She paused at the entrance, scanning the room. No one matched the photo her mom had sent—clean-shaven, banker hair, Harvard smile.

She sighed, her phone already lighting up.

MOM: He should be there by now. Be nice. Smile!

She rolled her eyes and lowered the phone, trying not to look as annoyed as she felt. The only table with a free seat had a guy already occupying the window side, his fingers wrapped around a cappuccino cup, lost in the world outside.

She approached anyway.

“Anyone sitting here?” she asked, pointing at the empty chair.

The man looked up. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Smart-casual, with thoughtful eyes and the kind of smile that looked both used to waiting and unbothered by it.

“Just heartbreak and a cappuccino,” he replied. “You’re welcome to join.”

A laugh slipped out before she could stop it. She slid into the seat opposite him.

“I’m technically waiting for someone.”

“So am I,” he said, setting his cup down.

“Blind date?”

“Girlfriend. Very late. You?”

“Arranged meeting. Parent-approved. Might ghost me. That’d be a blessing.”

He smiled, a little wry. “Wow. Look at us—two casualties of the modern and the ancient systems of love.”

She picked up her spoon and clinked it gently on her mug. “To love, wherever the hell it is.”

He raised his cup. “And to its unreliable messengers.”

They clinked cups like wine glasses. The moment felt strangely comfortable. 

“So,” he asked, leaning forward, “what’s this guy supposed to be like? Tall, dark, rich, emotionally unavailable?”

She smirked. “Banker. Harvard grad. Probably talks in bullet points. You?”

“She’s a dancer. Classically trained. Likes sunsets and pretending I have emotional range.”

“Do you?”

“Only when I’m starving or watching Pixar movies.”

They laughed. The kind of laugh that erased awkwardness and planted something warmer in its place.

By the time their cups were empty and a half-eaten croissant lay between them, the sun outside had dipped a little lower, turning the café honey-coloured.

Mahi leaned back. “Okay, serious question. What’s one thing you’ve never told anyone?”

Sameer blinked. “Jumping in fast, huh?”

“Time is limited. Let’s skip the weather talk.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Alright. I once applied for a reality show on a dare. India’s Next Mastermind.”

“No!” she gasped.

“Got rejected in the first round. I choked on the word photosynthesis.”

She burst out laughing. “You poor genius.”

“Your turn.”

“I used to write erotic fan fiction about mythological characters.”

He choked on his coffee. “Excuse me?”

“Karna and Draupadi had so much unresolved tension, okay?”

“You’re… something else.”

Their eyes met, laughter fading into silence. The air between them transformed to something deeper, more electric. 

The world outside the café had turned golden. Through the glass, shadows stretched long down the street.

Sameer checked his phone. Frowned.

Mahi did the same. Her face mirrored his.

“Still no girlfriend?” she asked.

“Nope. You?”

“No sign of Mr. Banker. I think we’ve been stood up.”

“Or saved.”

She smiled. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

They sat in silence. This silence was different—gentler yet heavier. Charged with the awareness of something unexpected and yet waiting to happen. 

“I’m glad I sat here,” he said softly.

“I’m glad you let me,” she replied.

He gestured toward the last few bites of cake between them. “Wanna split another one? I’m convinced chocolate makes heartbreak go down easier.”

“Or up the stakes.”

A waiter dropped the bill. They both reached for it.

“Split?” she offered.

“Absolutely not. I’ve been raised right. First date’s on me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is this a first date?”

He shrugged, that slow smile returning. “It could be.”

“What about the girlfriend?”

“What about the guy with the bullet points?”

She paused. Then nodded. “Touché.”

They stood, gathered their things. He held the door open for her.

“Walk with me?” she asked.

“Only if you promise not to bring up photosynthesis again.”

Their laughter followed them out.

Outside, dusk painted the street in soft oranges and deepening shadows. They walked side by side, an easy rhythm forming without thought. Familiarity in the unfamiliar.

Their phones buzzed at the same time.

They stopped, almost in sync. Glanced at each other before reading.

Mahi looked up first. “It’s him. Finally landed. Wants to meet tomorrow.”

Sameer held up his screen. “And mine… says she’s sorry. Got held up. Wants to make it up tonight.”

A long silence fell between them. Not uncomfortable—just… full.  Filled with choices.

“So… what happens now?” he asked.

“We could both leave. Go back to what we came for.”

“Or?”

She looked down the road, then back at him.

“We keep walking. See where the road goes.”

He studied her, then smiled.

“Let’s walk.”

They turned down a quieter street, the city folding around them in soft, glowing layers. As they disappeared into the evening, something unspoken passed between them—simple, uncertain, and full of possibility

Some meetings are written. Some are rewritten.

Copyright (c) Pratik Majumdar, 2025. Any article, story, write-up cannot be reproduced in its entirety or in part, without permission. URL links can be used