Reyaan considered the café OneCuppa his sanctuary. Tucked away on a quiet lane just a few blocks from his office, it was the perfect spot to unwind after a hectic day — coding, creating programs, dealing with clients, fighting deadlines. A strong cup of coffee was all he needed to reset before heading home.
The gentle clink of ceramic cups, the mellow hum of conversation, the warm, comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee — it all wrapped around him like a soft blanket. Here, amidst this gentle chaos, Reyaan did his favourite things: reading his beloved novels, listening to his golden-era 70s playlist, or if nothing else, just scrolling through reels in blissful solitude.
That evening, he’d ordered his usual — a strong Americano and an almond croissant — and was settling in when two voices, distinct and close, cut through the background noise.
One was a woman’s — bright, melodic, punctuated by bursts of laughter that struck a chord of familiarity. The other, a man’s — deeper, calmer. Reyaan was waiting for his Bluetooth to connect as he browsed his playlist when a single phrase snagged his attention, pulling him from the digital world back into the real one.
“…and honestly, Agastya, he’s just... oblivious!”
Reyaan’s fingers paused mid-air over his phone. Oblivious? The word lingered in the air — oddly pointed. He knew that voice. He glanced up subtly from behind the partition between café tables. The voices were coming from a small, wicker-furnished alcove at a distance, where two people sat with their backs to him.
“Suhaani, you can’t say that,” the man chuckled, though his tone carried an edge of resignation. “He’s a good guy.”
Suhaani. The name dropped into place like a puzzle piece clicking in. Suhaani Desai — the bright, chaotic, brilliant content writer in his office. The one who made noise wherever she went, who tripped over cables, dropped files, left Post-its on his desk with Don’t forget to eat! scrawled in her big loopy handwriting.
His internal alarm bells — usually so reliable — clanged to life. He tried to tune them out, focusing on his croissant, but it was no use. The train of conversation had already left the station, and Reyaan was, unwillingly, a passenger.
“Oh, he’s a good guy, alright,” Suhaani’s voice continued, now tinged with exasperated fondness. “Too good sometimes. And too clueless. He’s so dense.”
Dense? Reyaan’s brow furrowed. Was she talking about… him? No, surely not, it cant be him, He wasn’t dense. He was analytical, logical, maybe a little socially awkward, but dense? He could solve a Rubik’s Cube blindfolded, for crying out loud.
“He just doesn’t see it, Agastya, I swear,” Suhaani sighed, her tone carrying a weight of unspoken frustrations. “He’s so sweet it hurts. I bet he doesn’t even know I exist outside work.”
Agastya chuckled. “He definitely knows you exist, Su. You’ve been working together for what, two years? You’re practically his shadow.”
Suhaani groaned, slumping forward dramatically. “Nope. He’s so… polite. Like a monk. I keep bringing him his favourite coffee, I even saved that extra cookie last week — did he notice? No! I wish I could stand on my desk and just scream ‘Reyaan, I like you!’ Maybe then he’d get it.”
Reyaan nearly choked on his Americano. He clamped a hand over his mouth, masking his splutter as a discreet cough. He could practically picture her — wild hair falling into her face, wide eyes shining as she spoke. And here he was, the oblivious idiot. The dense one. The guy who missed all the signals, despite being a professional problem-solver.
He racked his brain. There had been moments. Her lingering at his desk for no real reason. The too-many “accidental” collisions near the coffee machine. The extra cookie. He’d always just thought she was being her — warm, friendly, chatty with everyone.
Just last week, during a late night at the office, she’d brought him a black coffee. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep on your keyboard, Reyaan,” she’d said, eyes crinkling. He’d mumbled a thank you, grateful for the caffeine boost — and missed the warmth behind her grin.
“Maybe he’s just not interested, Suhaani,” Agastya offered gently.
“No!” she exclaimed, her voice a little too loud for a discreet café chat. “That’s what I keep telling myself. But then he does something sweet — like remember my ridiculously specific coffee order after hearing it once, or he’ll compliment my designs with this sincere look — and I’m back to square one!”
Reyaan felt heat crawl up his neck. He did remember her exact coffee order: double shot espresso, a splash of chocolate syrup, one pump of vanilla, ceramic mug only. And he did love her design ideas — they were always fresh, vibrant, so… her. Was that flirting? He’d just thought he was appreciating good work.
He heard the scrape of chairs. Probably time to leave, but he stayed frozen, her words still echoing: Reyaan, I like you.
His mind — usually so neat and organized — now buzzed with a chaotic, unfamiliar warmth. Suhaani liked him. Not as a colleague, or a friend — but as something more. He replayed her laugh in his head, the way she glowed when she spoke about an idea, her colourful kurtis that brightened up the greyest Mondays.
When she and Agastya left the café, Suhaani, true to form, dropped her phone with a clatter. He pictured her cursing under her breath, laughing it off, pushing her hair behind her ear.
Reyaan sat back, heart thudding against his ribs. The oblivious fool, it turned out, wasn’t so oblivious anymore.
++++
Something shifted after that. At work the next morning, her bright “Good morning!” made his throat go dry. When she dropped a pack of homemade chocolate cookies on his desk, he didn’t open it right away — just stared at the wrapping like it was a love letter.
He began to see the pattern she thought he’d never notice. How she’d linger by the pantry till he finished filling his cup, just to “coincidentally” walk back with him.
How she’d poke her head into his cubicle, mumbling about a stapler, then somehow always ask, “Had lunch yet?”
How she’d laugh too hard at his dry jokes, cheeks pink from trying to hide it.
He told himself he’d say something. He’d find the right time.
But days slipped into weeks, and Suhaani kept dropping hints, but never her full confession. Maybe she was waiting for a sign. Maybe he needed to give her one.
Then Mumbai’s monsoon intervened.
One evening, as Reyaan packed up to leave, Suhaani came rushing over, radiant in a sunny yellow kurti that made her look like she’d bottled sunshine for herself. She almost tripped — of course — and landed with both palms on his desk.
“Reyaan!” she half-gasped, half-laughed. “Parking basement’s flooded. Maintenance says we’re stuck here for a while.”
Reyaan blinked. “How long is ‘a while’?”
She shrugged dramatically. “An hour? Two? Depends on how brave the housekeeping staff is with the pumps.”
Minutes later, the entire team was gathered in the conference room. Someone had scavenged samosas from the cafeteria. Someone else pulled up old Bollywood hits on their phone. They ate, laughed, complained about Mumbai’s endless rains.
Suhaani perched on the big oval table, swinging her feet, humming along to Pehla Nasha. Her hair frizzed into curls around her cheeks. She looked like the first day of spring after a long winter.
Reyaan couldn’t stop staring — at her grin, the way she laughed at someone’s silly joke, the way she balanced her coffee mug dangerously close to her knee.
And suddenly, he knew. He couldn’t wait anymore.
++++
Out of nowhere, Reyaan called out, loud enough to silence the chatter: “Suhaani.”
She turned, blinking. “Haan?”
He crossed his arms, trying to hide how his palms were sweating. He kept his voice soft — but just clear enough for everyone to hear.
“You once said you’d stand on your desk and scream if you had to. So… if you stand on this table now, I’ll say yes.”
Silence. Someone dropped a samosa. Suhaani’s mouth fell open. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers.
“You — what?”
He stepped closer, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I heard you at OneCuppa.”
Her cheeks went crimson. Agastya — leaning against the door — whooped. “Do it, Su! Come on!”
She covered her face for a second, squeaked into her palms, then threw her hands in the air. “Fine!”
Before she could overthink, Suhaani — the girl who tripped daily on flat ground — climbed up, planting one foot, then the other, on the big wooden table.
She threw her arms wide, hair a wild halo.
“REYAAN SHARMA, I LIKE YOU!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.
The room erupted — cheers, claps, a dramatic wolf whistle from Agastya. Reyaan couldn’t help it — he laughed. He stepped forward, tugged her gently down by the wrist.
She landed — gracelessly — right into his chest.
He steadied her, his voice low so only she could hear: “I like you too.”
She looked up, eyes shining. He laughed, pressing his forehead to hers. “Next time you want to confess anything, just stand on the floor & say it directly, I will not be Dense anymore.”
Suhaani giggled, curling her fingers into his shirt. “Deal. But where’s the fun in that?”
Reyaan cudnt help but agree, it had been fun, he had actually stumbled into a romance he never saw coming, all thanks to an overheard conversation.
±+++++The End++++++
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