Chapter 2: Chaiwalas and Close Calls

After hanging up the video call, my brother sent me a PayTM transfer of one lakh as hush money!

He texted: "Don’t tell Mummy and Papa!"

I accepted the money in silence!

Sent him an OK sticker!

He told me to add Kabir’s contact and send him my location!

I added him and sent it over!

Kabir replied, super concise:

Just one word: [Okay.]

After sending my location, I stared into the humid Mumbai night. The air smelled faintly of rain on hot concrete, and the yellow streetlights flickered above. Nearby, an old uncle selling chai yawned behind his glass counter, the steam from his kettle curling up as his radio played a scratchy Kishore Kumar tune. A young couple argued in rapid-fire Marathi about who forgot the umbrella; their voices faded as they walked away.

For some reason, I actually didn’t want Kabir to come pick me up!

But there was no escape now!

Bored from waiting, I squatted on the rough curb and started playing Candy Crush on my phone. Every few minutes, I’d glance up—sometimes at the chaiwala, sometimes at the arrivals gate, pretending not to listen to the couple’s drama.

After more than half an hour—

"Ananya."

A white Audi pulled up in front of me, headlights slicing through the sticky dark. The car’s chrome flashed, making everything look a little dreamlike. A warm breeze lifted the edges of my kurta.

Kabir looked down at me from the lowered window, a smile playing at his lips.

My heart thumped. I smoothed my kurta nervously, then caught a glimpse of my face in the car window—hair frizzy, eyes tired. I quickly looked away, wishing I looked less travel-worn.

The last time I’d seen him was in school.

Now, I’d already graduated from college!

Watching him through the phone earlier hadn’t felt real.

Now, up close, Kabir’s face was even more stunning than I remembered. My mind flashed to that old school WhatsApp group post:

[No. 1 School’s campus heartthrob Kabir kills with his looks—so handsome it hurts!]

Years after graduation, his features were sharper, his presence even more magnetic. He adjusted his watch and flicked his hair back, a small gesture that somehow made him look even more put together.

Seeing me gawking, Kabir asked, "Are your legs numb?"

I jumped up!

Opened my mouth!

But no idea how to address him!

Call his name? Too direct!

Call him ‘bhaiya’? Too weird!

My face grew hot as I fumbled for words.

Kabir watched, amused, a twinkle in his eye.

He chuckled softly, then stepped out of the car. He was really tall, with a strong, athletic build that made me feel unexpectedly small. I took two steps back, suddenly shy.

He raised an eyebrow, "Don’t recognise me?"

I stammered, "I—I do!"

Kabir smiled and bent down to help with my luggage, his hand brushing against mine for a split second. My eyes darted to the back seat, mind racing with stray thoughts.

Just as I reached for the car door, Kabir opened the passenger side for me with a little flourish.

"Aayiye, madam," he said with playful formality.

The scent of fresh leather and a hint of sandalwood cologne filled the car. I slid in, heart fluttering in my chest.

Inside, I sat stiffly, too nervous to relax.

Kabir noticed and put on some old Bollywood songs—Arijit Singh’s voice softening the silence.

He started chatting, asking about my flight and joking about Mumbai’s traffic, even at 3 am. I nodded along, trying to sound casual.

While we were talking, his phone lit up with a girl’s name. He ignored it, then put the phone on silent when she called again. I glanced away, pretending not to notice, but the air felt heavier for a moment.

Just then, my best friend sent a barrage of voice notes!

I tried to transcribe them to text, but missed the button. Suddenly, my friend’s shrill voice blared out:

[Arrey yaar, how can there be useless men in this world!]

Startled, my hands shook. My phone slipped, clattering to the car floor. My face burned as the next voice message played—

"That cold, aloof guy I chased for so long turned out to be useless! Who can understand the pain of getting undressed halfway!"

"What’s the use of being tall and handsome—nice to look at but useless."

"Girl, you have to try with your hand first when you get a boyfriend, or you’ll end up like me!"

"I’m seriously about to cry, he’s just a pretty face! Three months of attitude, where does he get his confidence from!"

The words echoed in the car. My hands shook as I scrambled to pick up the phone, fumbling to mute it. My face burned and I sent a silent prayer to Ganpati, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

Kabir, ever the gentleman, kept his eyes on the road, but the faintest smirk played at the corner of his lips.

I shrank into the seat, curled up by the window, praying for invisibility.

At a red light, Kabir finally broke the silence:

"Is your boyfriend still that guy from school?"

I froze, then shook my head: "No! I don’t have a boyfriend."

Just hearing the word from him made my cheeks burn hotter.

Back in school, there was a guy who chased me everywhere. One day, he was dragging me across the quad—my brother spotted us from a distance.

My brother’s school tie was half undone, sweat glistening on his forehead as he stormed across the quad. He yanked the guy away, glaring: "Who are you?"

"I’m her boyfriend. Who are you? Ananya is mine—don’t even think about it!"

That attitude set my brother off. They started fighting, both shouting over each other. I tried to break them up, tugging at my brother’s arm, but he just got angrier, thinking I was taking the other guy’s side. He flung me away in frustration.

Kabir arrived a moment late, saw me about to fall, and caught me instinctively—steady, strong arms wrapping around me. My brother and that guy stopped fighting instantly, both yelling at Kabir: "Let her go!"

Those memories came flooding back, my face growing hot again. Why do all my most embarrassing moments involve Kabir?

For the rest of the ride, Kabir kept the conversation light, never mentioning my phone fiasco or anything that could embarrass me. When we finally reached home, I mumbled a rushed thank you, grabbed my bag, and all but sprinted inside before he could see how flustered I was.