A love Story
The Café at the Corner
On one of those Saturdays, he noticed someone new. A tall man, lean but broad-shouldered, entered with an energy that immediately shifted the room. He wore a denim jacket over a white T-shirt, and his messy hair gave him a casual, boyish charm. But it wasn’t his appearance that caught Arjun—it was the way he smiled at the barista, a smile that seemed warm enough to thaw the edges of winter.
Arjun tried to return to his notebook, but his eyes betrayed him, flicking upward every few seconds. The stranger ordered a black coffee, looked around, and, to Arjun’s quiet horror and excitement, chose the seat across from him.
“Mind if I sit here?” the man asked, his voice smooth, carrying a hint of playfulness.
Arjun’s heart stumbled. “Uh, no, not at all.”
The man set his cup down and leaned back. “I’m Kabir,” he said, extending his hand.
“Arjun.” Their hands touched briefly, and Arjun felt a spark he didn’t want to name too quickly.
Kabir’s eyes fell on the notebook. “You a writer?”
“Not really. Just… scribbles.”
“I like scribbles,” Kabir said with a grin. “They’re honest. No pressure to be perfect.”
Something about that line made Arjun laugh softly. They slipped into conversation with a surprising ease. Kabir talked about his job as a photographer, his love for capturing unguarded moments. Arjun spoke of his work in an office, and how writing was his escape. Kabir teased him about being “a secret poet hiding in spreadsheets.”
When Kabir left that day, he placed a small paper napkin on Arjun’s table. On it was written a phone number, and beneath it, a note: For when you want company beyond your notebook.
They began to meet often after that. Sometimes at the café, sometimes in the park, sometimes in Kabir’s studio where walls were covered with photographs—people laughing, children playing, a stormy sky breaking into sunlight. Arjun admired how Kabir saw beauty in small details, the way he talked about shadows as if they were as important as light.
One evening, as they walked along the riverside, Kabir stopped suddenly. The city lights shimmered on the water, and there was a breeze that carried the smell of rain.
“You know,” Kabir said, looking at Arjun, “I’ve met a lot of people. But with you, it feels like I’ve found… a pause button. Everything slows down.”
Arjun’s throat tightened. He wasn’t used to someone speaking so directly. “I feel the same,” he admitted. “It’s like the world is less heavy when you’re around.”
Kabir stepped closer. Their shoulders brushed, then their hands found each other. It was a quiet gesture, but for Arjun, it felt like fireworks bursting silently inside his chest.
The weeks turned into months. They spent lazy Sundays cooking together—Kabir made a mess in the kitchen while Arjun pretended to scold him but secretly loved the chaos. They watched movies sprawled on the couch, sometimes paying more attention to each other than the screen. They shared their fears too—Arjun spoke of how he had hidden his true self for years, afraid of rejection. Kabir revealed how his parents had never fully accepted him, and how photography became his way of telling the world he still had a voice.
Through it all, their bond deepened.
But love is never without its storms.
One evening, Arjun’s parents visited unexpectedly while Kabir was at his apartment. When they saw Kabir’s jacket on the chair and two coffee mugs on the table, questions began. Arjun, still struggling with the weight of his truth, stammered through excuses. Later, Kabir, who had overheard part of the conversation, grew quiet.
“You’re not ready to tell them,” Kabir said softly.
Arjun’s silence was answer enough.
Kabir looked away, hurt flickering in his eyes. “I don’t blame you. I know it’s hard. But I don’t want to be your secret forever.”
That night, Arjun lay awake, torn between fear and love. He remembered the boy he once was—lonely, scribbling words in hidden notebooks, afraid of what the world might say. And then he thought of Kabir—the man who saw beauty in shadows, who gave warmth with his smile, who made life feel like sunlight after rain.
Arjun realized he didn’t want to lose that.
The next Saturday, Arjun returned to the café with Kabir. His hands trembled as he dialed his parents’ number. Kabir sat across from him, watching silently, a mixture of hope and caution in his eyes.
“Ma,” Arjun said when his mother picked up. His voice shook, but he didn’t stop. “There’s someone I want you to know about. His name is Kabir. He’s… he’s the man I love.”
The silence on the other end was long, heavy. Arjun felt his heart race, his palms damp. Finally, his mother’s voice came, quiet but not harsh. “Arjun… this is not easy for us. But if he makes you happy, then maybe we need to try to understand.”
Arjun exhaled shakily. When he looked up, Kabir was smiling—soft, proud, a little teary-eyed.
Months later, on a golden afternoon, they returned to the riverside where they had first held hands. Kabir carried his camera, but instead of photographing the view, he handed it to Arjun.
“Take one of us,” Kabir said, pulling him close.
Arjun fumbled with the buttons, laughing. They posed together, the river behind them, their arms around each other. Arjun clicked the shutter, capturing the moment—not just an image, but a memory carved in light.
As the sun dipped, Kabir whispered, “You know what I love most about us?”
“What?” Arjun asked.
“That we’re not afraid of the shadows anymore.”
Arjun squeezed his hand. “Because we have our own light.”
They stood there, the city alive around them, hearts steady, love blooming like the endless river—flowing forward, unafraid.
Comments
Post a Comment