In the bustling city of Mumbai, Vihaan Malhotra, a charismatic rockstar known for his soulful music and rebellious spirit, captivates audiences with his performances.
Meanwhile, in the serene landscapes of Jaipur, Dr. Arpita Virani, a compassionate...
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The restaurant lived up to its name—walls adorned with modern art in muted tones, candlelight flickering gently in carved glass holders, soft instrumental music weaving through the clinking of cutlery and quiet conversation. There was a warmth here, not just in the decor but in the atmosphere. A place designed for pauses and stories, not just meals.
Vihaan stood near the entrance, hands in his pockets, exuding a calm that didn't quite reach his heart. The moment he saw her walking in—simple yet radiant in a soft indigo kurta—his breath caught slightly. Not from nerves, but from that quiet awe she always seemed to inspire in him.
Vihaan: "Hey, Arpita. I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner tomorrow. I found this quaint little place—Abstract restaurant, warm ambiance. I promise you'll love it."
He called her the night before and held his breath longer than he'd admit, waiting for her reply.
Arpita: "That sounds lovely, Vihaan. I'd be delighted."
Even listening to her response, something in him had softened. Now, watching her smile as she joined him at the table, he felt that warmth deepen.
The evening unfolded gently. Laughter threaded through shared starters, eyes lingered longer than usual over steaming mains. They talked about everything and nothing—his first disastrous open mic night, her childhood obsession with constellations, the quiet sacrifices medicine demands, the art music makes out of silence.
Vihaan swirled the last of his drink, leaning slightly closer.
Vihaan (grinning): "You know, I'm a proud foodie. This thali was my way of luring you into another evening with me."
Arpita (smiling knowingly): "Well, if that was your plan... it worked."
The ease between them was rare. Not forced. Not rushed. Just two people slowly unfolding in front of each other.
Later, they stepped out into the cool night air. The street was hushed, the world outside Abstract moving at a different pace. Above them, stars sparkled faintly—scattered like whispers waiting to be heard. A nearby flowering tree, heavy with jasmine, perfumed the air with its subtle sweetness.
They strolled in silence for a few moments, not out of awkwardness, but reverence for the stillness.
Then—
Vihaan (voice lower, serious): "Arpita... I know we've just begun getting to know each other, but I feel a connection with you. Strong. Real."
He didn't look away. There was no script, no poetic flourish. Just truth.
She didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
If anything, her eyes softened, her shoulders relaxed. Her gaze held his, steady and open.
Arpita: "I feel it too, Vihaan. It's unexpected... but undeniable."
They stopped beneath the overhanging branches of the jasmine tree. The blossoms above caught the moonlight like tiny paper lanterns. The scent hung between them—dreamlike, delicate.
Neither moved to touch, and yet, the space between them buzzed with something tender and electric. A kind of closeness that didn't demand physicality to feel tangible.
Vihaan (internal): I didn't expect this. I wasn't looking for this.But here she is—someone who sees through the noise and into the silence of who I am. She listens between the lines. She notices what I try not to show. And somehow, it doesn't scare her. And I don't want to let that go.
The moment lingered, timeless and fragile. Not the beginning of a grand romance, but the acknowledgment of something quietly profound.
A step forward. A seed planted. A connection that didn't need labels—just honesty.
And as the stars shimmered above and jasmine perfumed the air around them, they simply stood there.
