✨The Unexpected Bond ✨

6.THE DATE

Divya's POV—

Six weeks.

That’s all it had taken for Mitansh to slide from stranger to friend, from a passing face to a familiar presence that lingered longer than expected. He was sweet—disarmingly so—the kind of person who remembered small details and laughed too loudly at his own jokes. And yet, on certain days, he had a rare talent for irritation, like a song you loved but hated hearing on repeat. Still, I let him in. I told him about my past—the parts people usually flinch at—and he took it with a shrug and an easy smile, as if my history were just another chapter, not a warning label. That should’ve comforted me. Somehow, it unsettled me instead.

Today was our coffee date. Nothing dramatic. Just coffee. Just conversation. Or so I told myself.

I had gotten dressed with deliberate care, choosing comfort dressed up as confidence. The mirror reflected someone put together on the surface, but my thoughts were a mess of quiet anticipation and practiced indifference. I arrived at the café we’d agreed on—the same old place with burnt caramel notes in the air and indie music humming low like a secret—and took a seat near the window.

Fifteen minutes passed.

I checked my phone. No notifications.

The café clock ticked with unnecessary audacity.

I stirred my coffee though it didn’t need stirring, watched the steam rise and disappear, and told myself not to overthink. People get late. Trains stall. Life happens. Still, the chair across from me remained painfully empty, a silent accusation dressed as furniture.

I texted him—casual, light, pretending I wasn’t counting seconds.

No reply.

Around me, laughter bloomed and faded, cups clinked, and doors opened and closed. The world kept moving, on schedule, on brand. And I sat there, caught between patience and pride, wondering if this was one of those moments that seemed small but later revealed itself as a pattern.

I leaned back, exhaled slowly, and stared out the window.

Coffee dates, I decided, were never just about coffee.

They were about timing. And showing up.

As time dragged its feet, I surrendered to the familiar glow of my phone, thumb lazily scrolling through reels and half-hearted posts. Faces blurred. Music looped. Nothing really held my attention—not when the empty chair across from me kept staring back like an unanswered question.

Then—snap.

The sharp sound cut through the café’s hum.

I looked up.

There he was. Mitansh. Standing right in front of me, slightly out of breath, eyes bright like he’d just stepped into the right moment of a movie scene. Before I could process his sudden appearance, words spilled out of me, irritation finally clocking in on time.

“Yarrrr, how much time do you need to get early? I have been—”

He cut me off.

Bold move.

He extended his hand, and in it was a bouquet—soft pink and white tulips, wrapped neatly, unapologetically beautiful. My annoyance dissolved instantly, like sugar in hot coffee.

“Awww—tulips,” I breathed, taking them from him as if they were something fragile. My eyes widened, genuine awe spilling over. “Tulips are my favourite. How did you know I love tulips?”

He smirked, clearly pleased with himself. “Dumbo,” he said, effortless and teasing, “don’t you remember? You mentioned it once.”

I giggled, the sound slipping out before I could stop it. “Ohh yaaa… I remember.”

There was a brief pause as he sat down, studying me with that curious look of his. Then, casually—but not really—he asked, “But why do you love tulips though?”

I looked down at the bouquet, fingers brushing the petals. “Oh well,” I said softly, “these flowers kind of describe me.”

He frowned slightly, intrigued. “Describe yourself? How?”

I met his eyes this time, my voice steady but low, like I was letting him in on a secret.

“The tulip means a soul reborn,” I said. “Shedding the past like petals. Rising through the scars. Blooming again with quiet strength.” I shrugged lightly. “So yeah… it kind of describes me.”

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect.

He just listened.

Like I was reciting poetry meant only for him. Like every word mattered. His gaze lingered, softer now, warmer—less about the meaning and more about the sound of my voice carrying it.

I caught him staring.

“What?” I said, narrowing my eyes, lips curling into a smile. “What are you looking at, dhuu!?”

He blinked, snapped out of it, and laughed—but there was something different in that laugh. Something unspoken.

And just like that, I knew.

This coffee date?

It wasn’t just a coffee date anymore.

Soon, the weight of first impressions melted into something easy. We talked about random things—the kind of nonsense that somehow matters more than serious conversations. Music we pretended not to like. Childhood habits that never quite left. Little annoyances, little victories. Coffee cups emptied, refilled with laughter instead.

After a while, we decided to walk. The beach was close, calling us the way old traditions do—simple, honest, timeless. The sun was already leaning toward the horizon, painting the sky in reckless shades of orange and rose, as if it didn’t care about subtlety.

I pulled out my phone, unable to resist, and started clicking pictures of the sunset. The light was perfect—gold spilling everywhere like a promise. As I turned to show him one of the shots, I caught him in the act.

He was taking pictures of me.

“Aayoo,” I protested, heat rushing to my cheeks, “why are you clicking my pictures, i***t?”

He didn’t even look guilty. Didn’t stop either. Just smiled and said, way too casually, “You’re looking cute. That’s why I like capturing cute stuff.”

That did it.

My blush deepened, traitorously loud on my face. I looked away, pretending to be interested in the waves, while he laughed like he’d won something. We walked on, shoulder to shoulder, our footsteps syncing with the tide. No rush. No awkward silences. Just the sound of the sea and the quiet comfort of being understood without trying too hard.

Time slipped past us the way it always does when you’re not watching it.

Eventually, he walked me home. No dramatic goodbyes. Just a soft smile, a promise hidden in the ordinary, and a feeling I wasn’t ready to name yet.

Back in my room, the tulips were still with me. I placed them carefully on my study desk. In the fading evening light, they looked even more gorgeous—alive, gentle, unapologetically hopeful.

I stared at them for a moment longer than necessary.

Some days don’t announce themselves as important.

They just bloom quietly—like tulips—

and stay with you.