Vivaan Kapoor never liked grocery shopping. He hated the fluorescent aisles, the mindless chatter of the billing queue, the squeaky trolley wheels. But when his mother decided to surprise him one weekend at his penthouse, she nearly fainted seeing his empty kitchen cabinets. After a long lecture about how even grown men needed stocked shelves, she handed him a grocery list long enough to feed an army.
So there he was, staring blankly at a shelf of twenty identical jars of peanut butter, when a trolley bumped his back. He turned, a polite smile forming out of habit — and froze.
The woman behind the cart froze too, her hands gripping the handle. For a moment, neither spoke — they just stared.
Vivaan blinked first. “Prisha?” He hadn’t said her name in almost eight years. But there she was — or at least, someone who looked like her.
She wore a pale blue kurti, hair pulled back into a loose bun.
The Prisha he remembered — the queen of college, crowned Fresher’s Queen, the unstoppable chatterbox who once single-handedly organised the entire college fest — stood right in front of him. This was the same girl who’d convinced him — the quiet psychology major — to dance in front of a thousand people for the closing night.
It had been eight years. And she looked… different. Smaller, somehow. Shadows pooled under her eyes. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her dupatta.
“Prisha?” he repeated. “God. Wow. It’s been—”
“Years,” she finished for him, a polite smile tugging at her lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “How are you? Dr Kapoor now, right?”
He chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah. Private practice. Counselling mostly.”
She nodded, her gaze darting to the floor, the shelves, anywhere but him. He wanted to hug her. He didn’t. Something about the way she was holding herself — shoulders drawn tight, knuckles white on the basket — made him hesitate. There was a slight bruise on her wrist, half-hidden under her sleeve.
They exchanged the usual questions. Work? Family? Where are you living now? Her answers were clipped. “Married. Kalyani Nagar. Just groceries.”
When he asked about her work, she just shrugged. “I… never took it up. After college. Life got busy.”
He wanted to ask more. But the checkout queue moved, and she excused herself — murmured nice seeing you — and vanished into the aisles.
That night, Vivaan lay awake. He couldn’t shake her face — the way her smile trembled at the corners, the ghost of the Prisha he remembered flickering behind guarded eyes.
Back in college, Prisha had been pure sunshine. Loud, impulsive, kind to a fault. She’d believed impossible things — that people were good, that love could fix anything, that the world was secretly waiting to surprise you.
What had happened to dull that light?
Something inside him — the psychologist who’d listened to hundreds of broken stories — knew this wasn’t just time changing people.
This was something else.
++++++
A week later, he saw her again.
This time at the tiny café near his clinic — Bean & Leaf, his secret refuge for solitary coffee. She was at a corner table, staring into a cold cappuccino, shopping bags piled beside her feet.
Prisha had always loved cafés — their warm hum, the aroma of brewing beans, the gentle promise of quiet corners. Not that she got to step into them much anymore — not since Sidharth had started checking where she went, who she spoke to, how long she took. But that day, he was abroad for a month-long trip. She’d told him she’d run errands, buy groceries — and slipped into this café instead. It even rented books — another guilty pleasure she hadn’t dared to bring home in years.
She wandered through the shelves like someone tasting freedom for the first time. She flipped pages of books she knew she’d never be allowed to buy — too silly, too romantic, too “useless,” in her husband’s words.
Vivaan almost turned away — it felt intrusive, unfair — but her eyes flicked up, met his, and something like relief crossed her face.
“Vivaan,” she said softly. He smiled, asked if he could sit, and she nodded. They spoke about nothing, it was just silence as they gazed outside—watching the weather, traffic, the annoying stray cat that always lurked by the café door. He sensed it, layers beneath silence — something knotted and heavy behind her polite nods. It struck him how Prisha — who once could chat for hours about anything under the sun — now needed so much coaxing for a normal conversation.
When he asked how she was doing — really doing — her shoulders stiffened. “Good. Fine. Busy at home. Sidharth travels a lot.” She forced a laugh.
But Vivaan was a psychologist. He saw the way her hands trembled when her phone buzzed, the panic flickering across her face before she turned the device face-down.
He didn’t push. Instead, he told her silly college memories — like the time she’d fallen off the stage during a dance and got up laughing, bowing like a queen. Slowly, a tiny smile cracked through her mask.
When they left, she thanked him. For what, he didn’t know. But when he paid for her coffee, she didn’t argue — just tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, murmured, Thank you, Vivaan, like it was a lifeline.
++
It became a ritual. Every Friday, just before closing time, he’d find her there. Sometimes she’d flip through an old magazine. Sometimes she’d pretend to be busy on her phone. He never asked how she knew he’d come — or if she came hoping he would.
They talked about books, old professors, embarrassing college memories. She laughed more, though her eyes still darted to the café door every few minutes, half-expecting someone to appear and snatch it all away.
One evening, he asked gently, “Are you happy, Prisha?” She froze. Her fingers drummed on the table. “I should be.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
She looked away, eyes shining in the café’s warm light. “I chose this. I chose him. I chose… this life.”
Her voice cracked on chose. Vivaan didn’t push. He just nodded, offering her his silence — a space she didn’t need to fill with excuses.
++
Weeks passed, and each time, Prisha spoke a little more. One rainy afternoon, Vivaan found her already waiting, staring blankly out the window.
“He… wasn’t always like this,” she whispered. Vivaan stayed quiet.
“Sid… he was perfect in the beginning, little immature, but Funny, Supportive. My parents hated him, but I thought they were wrong and just hated him as he was in a good position & didn’t earned enough. Ignoring them, I married him. Against everyone’s wishes.” She swallowed hard.
“And slowly… he changed. Controlling. Angry. He checks my phone. Tells me what to wear. Who I can speak to. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
Vivaan listened, his heart breaking. “Why don’t you leave?” he asked softly. “Just say yes. Abhishek — you remember from our batch? His wife’s a lawyer. She’ll help.”
Prisha looked down. “I… can’t. I chose this. I have nowhere to go. My family won’t take me back. I don’t even have a job. He will not let me go, And even if I leave… he’ll come to take me back”
Vivaan didn’t push, but his mind was already racing. A way out. A plan. He asked her to take her time. To just keep talking to him.
++++
When she didn’t show up one Friday, a knot tightened in Vivaan’s chest. He texted. She replied she was busy. Fine, just busy. But something about that short reply wouldn’t let him sleep.
So when she accepted his invitation — a small get-together at his clinic to mark two years — he felt relief wash over him. It was just an excuse to see her, make sure she was alright.
As Prisha fed him cake, Vivaan noticed new bruises peeking from beneath her sleeves. His jaw tightened.
While she waited for her cab outside, drizzle misted the night air.
“Prisha…” Vivaan began softly. She turned to him, eyes tired, hopeful, afraid.
“Please,” he said. “You can’t wait anymore. Let me help you. We’ll find a safe place. A lawyer. I know you’re scared — that’s okay. Fear doesn’t make you weak. Staying makes you small. Leaving… makes you braver than you know.”
Her shoulders shuddered. She looked away, tears gathering.
“I thought I was strong once,” she whispered. “I thought choosing him made me brave. But I waswrong, I had been an idiot, a fool”
“No,” Vivaan said. “You are just human. We make mistakes. We take wrong turns. You simply loved him — that doesn’t make you an idiot. One wrong choice doesn’t define you.”
She laughed, broken. “What if I end up making a fool of myself again… What if he comes back, asks forgiveness? Takes me back & it gets worse? What if I can’t do this, can’t fight it?”
She laughed, broken. “What if, I end up making fool of myself again….What if he comes back, asks forgiveness? Takes me back & gets more harmful, What if I can’t do this, I cant fight it…. I ?”
“One step at a time. Say yes first. We’ll figure out the rest. First just Yes, not to me, but yourself.”
“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” she whispered.
Vivaan’s voice softened. “Then let’s find her again. Together.”
For a heartbeat, everything seemed to hush around them. Prisha stared at him, his words sounded like both a burden and a key. Her cab pulled up to the curb. She looked at Vivaan, really looked — and in his eyes, she saw a flicker of the girl she used to be.
“…Yes,” she whispered.
Vivaan didn’t cheer. He only nodded, exhaling the breath he’d been holding for months. He just exhaled — relief, gratitude — and nodded once. “Good. That’s all we need. We’ll take care of the rest.”
As the cab door shut behind her, Prisha pressed her forehead to the cool glass, eyes squeezed tight. Somewhere inside the fear, a small spark of herself flickered back to life.
++
A year later, the café smelled like fresh-baked bread and old pages — Prisha’s two favourite things now. She sat by the window, sunlight dancing on her notebook and her half-drunk coffee.
With a deep breath, she pressed send on her application to join the NGO’s outreach team. Her fingers trembled, but her heart felt light — like she’d just opened a door and found herself waiting inside.
When Vivaan walked in, he paused by the entrance, taking her in. Bright green saree, hair loose down her shoulders, a small silver bindi. Her eyes found him and lit up in a way that made his chest ache — in the best way. He paused for a moment, just watching her — the way she tilted her head while reading, the gentle smile she wore when she caught him staring.
“Hey Doctor,” she teased as he sat down opposite her. “You’re late.”
“I brought muffins,” he said, placing a bag on the table. “Your favourite. With extra chocolate.”
She laughed — a sound that once felt extinct. She laughed — a clear, ringing sound that still startled him every time. For months, he’d memorized her silence. Now he was relearning her laughter. She broke the muffin, offered him half, and they sat in easy quiet for a moment. No checking the door, no flinching at footsteps. Just two old friends — maybe something more — sharing warm bread and gentle secrets. They ate together, the silence easy, warm. Outside, the evening sun dipped lower.
“I submitted it,” she said suddenly. “If they like me, I’ll start working with women’s outreach next month. Help them find safe housing, legal help. Maybe become someone’s first ‘yes.’”
Vivaan’s smile was soft, proud. “I am proud of you,” his grin split wide. “Look at you. Changing the world.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “I want to help women who feel like I did. Maybe be that one person who tells them it’s okay to say yes.”
Their eyes lingered. He reached over, tapped the bangles where bruises once hid. She looked at their joined hands, then at him. Her voice lowered. “You know… when I said yes that night — to your help — it wasn’t just yes to leaving him. It was yes to finding myself.”
Vivaan heart fluttered & he chuckled “You look so l…”
Prisha raised an eyebrow. “I look…?”
“Like yourself, the old Prisha, ” he finished. “The girl who once dragged me on stage and made me dance in front of half the college.”
She laughed again, softer this time. “Maybe I’ll drag you somewhere again someday.”
His eyes crinkled. “I hope you do.”
Between them, the silence felt easy. Full of all the words they didn’t need to say — not yet.
Somewhere in that quiet, a promise lived — not rushed, not forced. Just a simple yes to whatever came next. Together, when they were ready.
As they stepped out into the bright evening, hands linked, the tiny bell over the café door tinkled behind them — a soft, sweet echo of every yes that had ever saved them.
And sometimes, a simple yes is all it takes.
+++++THE END+++
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