Thursday | 8:12 AM | Jaipur
The morning sunlight crept through the cracks of Devansh's blinds, brushing softly against his unshaven jaw as he lay half-buried under a beige blanket. The alarm on his phone had already snoozed twice, but something else pulled him awake today—an odd warmth in his chest, like an echo of a calm moment that lingered longer than expected.
His fingers instinctively reached for his phone on the bedside table. Notifications. Slack messages. One missed call from a colleague. And there, tucked in between all the noise, a quiet message.
Riya: "Good morning. Hope you have a good day ahead :)"
A smile cracked onto his face before he even read the full sentence.
He didn't know what surprised him more—that she messaged first or that he had waited for it.
He replied quickly.
Devansh: "Good morning, future teacher. I hope you slept well and don't forget to eat something before class. That rebel energy needs fuel."
He hit send, then sat up and stretched. His body was tired, but his mind wasn't running through code or client calls—it was still somewhere in the softness of last night's conversation.
He got up, brushed, showered quickly, and made a strong black coffee while toasting a slice of bread he probably should've thrown out two days ago. The same routine. But everything felt lighter today. Music played from his Bluetooth speaker—an old indie Hindi track, poetic and slow, just the way he liked it.
As he sat down at his desk, laptop open and coffee in hand, he caught himself checking his phone again. No reply yet. He shook his head and chuckled.
"You're not that guy, Devansh. Relax."
But he was—at least this morning.
Work began. His focus returned—emails, debugging scripts, replying to a junior developer's query. Still, in the back of his mind, the thought lingered:
Who was she, really?So gentle, so open… yet holding back, like a book someone's afraid to finish.
He wasn't looking for a story. But if there was one starting to write itself, he wasn't planning to put the pen down.
10:23 AM
Ping.
Riya: "Haha I had aloo paratha and tea, thank you. What about you, working already?"
Devansh: "Of course. Work waits for no man. Especially not one with burnt toast and cold coffee. 😄"
Riya: "Burnt toast? That's sad. You need someone to save you."
Devansh: "You volunteering, ma'am?"
He added a wink emoji. She didn't reply for two minutes.
Then—
Riya: "Only if you help me sneak snacks into the hostel 😄"
And just like that, the thread of their conversation stitched itself through the day.
By noon, their chats had turned into a back-and-forth rhythm. Little glimpses of each other's lives.
He sent her a picture of his messy desk.She replied with a snapshot of her half-written notebook.He teased her handwriting.She called his handwriting "an engineer's crime against language."
She didn't know it, but Devansh kept going back to her messages between work breaks. It felt like oxygen between codes.
7:05 PM
The day's work ended. Devansh sat on his balcony with a second cup of coffee and opened Instagram. Riya had posted a story—a sunset picture from her hostel terrace.
"Today's sky feels… forgiving."
He replied instantly.
Devansh: "It does. Or maybe you're just in a forgiving mood."
Riya: "Not really. But I'm trying to learn."
There was something there. A small opening. Not pain… not exactly. But a hesitation she carried deep. He didn't ask further.
Instead, he typed:
Devansh: "One day at a time, Riya."
And for the first time since he moved into this flat, the evening didn't feel so silent.
Thursday | 9:17 PM | Hostel, Uttar Pradesh
The fan in her room made a dull rattling noise as Riya sat cross-legged on her bed, textbooks open but unread. Her roommate, Nidhi, was on the phone with her boyfriend—again—whispering sweet nothings into her pillow. Riya tried not to roll her eyes.
But her heart wasn't heavy tonight.
Instead, her mind kept wandering to the chat on her phone.
Devansh.
There was something different about him.
He didn't try to impress her. Didn't overdo the compliments. His messages were light, thoughtful, warm. He noticed things—not just her photos, but the words behind them.
He remembered her dream. Her sister. Even reminded her to eat.
Why do I feel safe talking to him?That thought scared her. But also comforted her.
Riya wasn't the kind of girl who trusted quickly. Her past had taught her better. She had once opened up to someone who used her kindness like a weakness—left her doubting herself, questioning her worth. Since then, her guards were always up.
But Devansh didn't demand her trust. He respected her silences. Laughed at her weird hostel stories. Called her a "rebel" for sneaking snacks and made it sound like a compliment.
She looked at their chat again.
"One day at a time, Riya."
Maybe, she thought, I can let my guard down. Just a little.
10:04 PM
She stood on the terrace of the hostel. The sky had darkened, but the stars were unusually visible tonight. She sent a photo to Devansh without thinking twice.
"This sky feels forgiving."
His reply was gentle. Comforting.
"Maybe you're just in a forgiving mood."
She paused for a second, then typed honestly.
"Not really. But I'm trying to learn."
Her heart beat a little louder as she pressed send. That was more than she usually revealed.
And then came his reply.
"One day at a time, Riya."
A simple sentence. But it sat with her like a friend.
That night, as she lay in bed with her earphones in, soft music playing, and the world around her settling into sleep, Riya did something she hadn't done in a long time.
She smiled, without a reason.