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Chapter 3- Cafe Choas

By morning, the Sharma Café was alive again — the smell of roasted coffee beans, the clinking of cups, and the sound of Meera giving instructions to her staff like a calm general before battle.

Aditya stood by the counter, sleeves rolled up, trying to fix the old billing machine that hadn’t worked since 2020. He wasn’t exactly good at it, but it gave him something to do — something to control.

“Try pressing the green button twice,” came a familiar, teasing voice from behind.

He didn’t have to look.

“Isha,” he said flatly, “I thought journalists were supposed to be busy writing, not breaking more electronics.”

She grinned. “And I thought engineers were supposed to know which button does what.”

Before he could respond, she reached over and pressed a random key — the machine beeped and printed a long receipt.

“See?” she said proudly. “It works!”

“It just charged someone ₹5,000 for one samosa.”

The waiter looked horrified. Isha bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

“Oops. Maybe a little too efficient.”

Meera walked out from the kitchen, wiping her hands.

“Oh, you’ve met Isha! She’s writing an article about us,” she said warmly.

“Yes,” Aditya replied. “She’s also charging customers premium prices for snacks.”

Meera chuckled. “Then maybe she should handle our accounting.”

Isha leaned casually against the counter. “I’m just helping. You know, supporting small businesses and emotionally unavailable sons.”

Aditya blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” she said, sipping her coffee and smirking.

Riya entered just then, humming and looking suspiciously cheerful.

Meera squinted. “Yoga class again?”

Riya froze. “Yes! Deep stretching today.”

Dadi’s voice echoed from behind: “Yes, yes — stretching her heart with that boy, I suppose!”

Riya turned crimson. Aditya burst out laughing; even Meera couldn’t hide her smile.

Meanwhile, Isha had taken over a corner table, laptop open, interviewing customers with her trademark charm. Within minutes, half the café was telling her their life stories.

Aditya watched her — how easily she made people laugh, how she turned awkward moments into warmth. There was something magnetic about her energy, like sunshine cutting through the clouds he’d built around himself.

But when she noticed him looking, she smirked again.

“What? Never seen a professional at work?”

He looked away quickly. “Just wondering how someone can talk so much without inhaling.”

“Oh, it’s a talent,” she said. “You could learn it — right after you learn to smile properly.”

Later that evening, when the café finally quieted down, Isha handed Meera her notebook.

“I think people love this place because it feels… real,” she said softly. “It’s not perfect, but it’s full of heart.”

Meera’s eyes glistened. “That’s because it was built with love — and a lot of burnt toast.”

They laughed. Even Aditya couldn’t help smiling.

But as he was closing the counter drawer, he noticed something strange inside — a small envelope tucked under the cash tray. His father’s handwriting again.

He froze.

> “If this reaches you, Aditya… the truth is closer than you think.”

His heart pounded. For a moment, the laughter around him faded, replaced by the echo of his father’s voice in his memory.

He folded the letter quickly, pocketed it, and looked around.

Isha was watching him curiously from her table — and for some reason, her eyes didn’t look teasing this time. They looked like she already knew that something big was about to begin.

To be continued...