— a quiet spark, a fleeting chance, a heartbeat remembered
It was a typical sunny Friday afternoon. I was nestled in my usual corner at a café, immersed in research for my thesis on environmental studies. My fingers were racing across the keyboard when the doorbell above the café chimed. I instinctively looked up—and froze.
He hadn’t changed a bit.
Black hair. That same effortless walk. The confidence. Even with the addition of glasses—if anything, they made him more… refined.
He ordered a cappuccino, and as he turned, his gaze landed on me. A second passed. Recognition flickered. Then, a smile.
He remembers me.
Before I could compose myself, he was at my table.
“Hi! Long time, uhh. Mind if I sit with you?”
His voice. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed hearing it. I nodded, gesturing to the seat across.
We talked. About where life had taken us since college. I mentioned my thesis. He spoke about his work as a freelance photographer. His eyes gleamed when he spoke about capturing moments—his passion hadn’t faded one bit.
His presence. That smile.
It all came flooding back—those feelings I thought I had buried. The butterflies I had forced into silence during our college days were suddenly dancing again. He had always been the senior, the one I silently adored, admired from afar. I never had the courage to confess.
Did he ever know? Maybe. Maybe not.
We talked for over an hour. About books. Travel. Music. The silence between us—comfortable now—spoke volumes more than it ever did before.
But just as our conversation started to feel familiar, safe even, my phone buzzed. A message from my mentor. I had to leave.
He looked disappointed. But smiled anyway.
“Nikhil, it was nice bumping into you today. Can we exchange numbers?”
I smiled back.
Numbers were exchanged. Promises made. Hopes—quiet, half-formed—began to bloom.
⏳ Then silence.
Days passed. Weeks.
No calls. No texts. Just silence.
Were we both waiting for the other to reach out?
Today, months later, I found myself at the same café. Same table. Same memories. And a storm of questions.
Should I text him?
I opened our chat. Typed: “Hi, how are you doing?”
Paused. Breathed. Pressed send.
What if he doesn’t reply?
Minutes dragged. An hour crawled by. I was ready to toss my phone. Disappointment weighed heavy.
Then—ding.
A message. From him.
“Hey there, what’s up…”
And just like that, a tiny spark flickered to life.
A half-held hope.
Maybe this isn’t over yet.
Image Courtesy: @emre via pexels
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– Swati Mohandas
About the Author:
Swati Mohandas is a Philosophy graduate and a certified computer professional from Mumbai, based in Pune with her family for the last two decades. Literature has always fascinated her. She writes short stories, blogs, poems, and has ventured into freelance content writing. She has published an award-winning book of collected poems titled Myriad Whispers, available on Amazon. When she’s not writing, she enjoys listening to music, exploring the outdoors, and scanning local bookstores.
