Dil ki Dilli

Coffee and Conversation

Weeks passed in a blur of shared laughter, long conversations, and countless coffee dates. Rohan and I had developed an unspoken routine, meeting up at various corners of Delhi—each spot holding a story of its own. Together, we explored the city's hidden gems, wandering through its bustling markets, quiet gardens, and forgotten alleys, savouring the vibrant energy of every place we visited.

One particular afternoon, we found ourselves tucked away in a quaint café in Mehrauli, its charm accentuated by the ancient ruins that dotted the surrounding landscape. The sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the rustic wooden tables. As we sipped our coffee, Rohan leaned back in his chair, a curious glint in his eye.

"Avni," he began, his tone thoughtful, "what drives your passion for Delhi? What makes you want to capture it the way you do?"

I paused, contemplating the question as I gazed out at the tranquil scene before us. "It’s the energy," I said finally, turning back to him. "Delhi is a living, breathing entity. It’s a melting pot of cultures, traditions, and stories. Every corner, every street, has a tale waiting to be told, and I feel this urge to uncover them, to bring them to life through my lens."

Rohan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "I love that about Delhi too. There’s something about the city’s resilience, how it has stood tall through centuries of change. It’s inspiring, don’t you think?"

As he spoke, I couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes sparkled with passion. His love for the city matched my own, and I realized that our connection ran deeper than our shared experiences—it was woven into the very fabric of the city that had shaped us both.

"What's your favourite Delhi memory?" I asked, curiosity flickering in my voice. I wanted to know more about the moments that had shaped Rohan’s love for this place.

His expression softened, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his smile. "My grandfather used to take me on long walks through Chandni Chowk," he said quietly. "He’d tell me stories about the city’s history, about the Mughal Empire, the British Raj… it was like walking through time. Those walks were magical."

I could picture it—young Rohan, wide-eyed and full of wonder, trailing after his grandfather through the narrow streets of Chandni Chowk, soaking in every word, every story.

"Those must have been incredible walks," I said softly, sensing the weight of the memories he was sharing.

"They were," Rohan replied, his voice growing quieter. "He passed away a few years ago, but those moments with him... they stay with me. They’re a part of who I am."

Without thinking, I reached across the table, my fingers lightly brushing his hand. "I’m so sorry, Rohan," I whispered. "Losing someone close is never easy. But it sounds like he left you with something truly precious."

Rohan’s eyes met mine, and for a heartbeat, everything else faded away—the café, the murmuring of other patrons, the sounds of the city. It was just us, connected by shared understanding, by the silent acknowledgement of loss and love.

"Thank you, Avni," he said softly, his hand turning to hold mine. "You get it."

The sun was beginning to set as we made our way back to my place, the streets bathed in the soft, golden hues of dusk. Rohan walked close beside me, the warmth of his presence wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. By the time we reached my door, the sky was painted in shades of lavender and rose.

He stopped just short of my doorstep, his expression contemplative, as if he had something on his mind. "Avni," he began, his voice gentle but tinged with something deeper, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course," I said, looking up at him expectantly.

His gaze held mine, steady and sincere. "Would you be interested in collaborating on a project with me? I’ve been thinking… we could showcase Delhi’s hidden gems—through your photography and my café’s culinary perspective. We could bring the essence of the city to life together."

For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Collaborating with Rohan, combining our passions—it felt like the perfect opportunity, something I hadn’t even realized I had been waiting for. My heart swelled at the thought.

"I’d love to," I replied, a smile spreading across my face. "It sounds like a dream."

Rohan’s grin widened, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Fantastic. Let’s start brainstorming soon."

And then, before I could fully process what was happening, he leaned in. His lips brushed softly against my cheek, the touch brief but electrifying, sending a wave of warmth through me.

"Goodnight, Avni," he whispered, his breath lingering against my skin.

I stood there, my heart racing, watching as he turned and disappeared into the fading evening light, leaving me with the echo of his words and the undeniable feeling that this—whatever it was between us—was only just beginning.