Chapter 2: Filter Coffee and Family Drama
The Coimbatore evening was cooler than Chennai's sticky heat, with a breeze carrying the scent of jasmine and roasted coffee beans. Divya and Arjun stood on the bustling platform, her backpack slung over one shoulder, his hands still in his pockets. Her phone was practically vibrating itself to death—17 missed calls from Amma, 9 from Appa, and a WhatsApp group called "Divya Marriage Plans" blowing up with messages like "Yenga di ponna?!" from her Chithi. Divya silenced it, her heart still racing from Arjun's bombshell: *he* was the ponnu paakura guy she'd run from.
"So, Mr. Mapillai," she said, narrowing her eyes playfully, "you're telling me I climbed down a balcony, dodged my neighbor's dog, and ran to a train... only to end up flirting with you?" Arjun grinned.
Arjun grinned : Enna pannuradhu? You're a runaway heroine, and I'm just the lucky hero who got a front-row seat. Simran and Raj madhiri, la?"
Divya laughed, swatting his arm. "Ada paavi! Don't compare us to *DDLJ*. I'm not running across fields for you... yet." But her cheeks felt warm, and she couldn't ignore the spark in his eyes—or the way her stomach did a little somersault when he smiled.
"Come on," he said, nodding toward the station exit. "Let's get that filter coffee I promised. There's a place nearby, Amma Mess. Legendary davara-tumbler vibes. You in?"
"Filter coffee? I'm always in," she said, falling into step beside him. "But if it's not frothy and served in a steel tumbler, I'm judging you."
"Challenge accepted," he replied, winking.
The walk to Amma Mess was short but lively. Coimbatore's streets were a mix of honking autos, roadside dosa stalls, and college kids snapping selfies. Divya felt oddly free, like she'd stepped out of her life's script and into a new one. Arjun matched her pace, pointing out random things—a stray cow munching on a poster, a neon sign for "Fancy Bangles"—and cracking jokes that made her laugh too loud. By the time they reached the tiny, crowded eatery, she was starting to forget the chaos she'd left behind in Chennai.
Amma Mess was everything Divya loved: small, noisy, with the clink of steel plates and the aroma of sambar and coffee. They squeezed into a corner table, and Arjun ordered two filter coffees "extra frothy." The waiter, a middle-aged anna with a thick mustache, nodded like he was on a sacred mission.
"Okay, Arjun," Divya said, leaning forward, her elbows on the table. "Level with me. Why didn't you tell me who you were on the train? And don't give me that 'I wanted to see the real you' hero dialogue."
He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Fair enough. Honestly? I saw you storm into the train, all chaotic and sassy, and I thought, 'This girl's got a story.' I didn't want to ruin it with 'Hi, I'm your potential groom' awkwardness. Plus, your Simran escape story was too good to interrupt."
Divya raised an eyebrow. "So, you just let me ramble about running from you? Sneaky, but I'll give you points for style."
"Style is my middle name," he said, smirking. "But for real, Divya, I liked that you were honest. Most ponnu paakura talks are like job interviews—'What's your hobby?' 'When's the wedding?' You're... different."
Her heart did that somersault thing again. "Different's good, right?"
"Very good," he said, his voice softer now, his gaze holding hers just a second too long.The coffees arrived, saving Divya from blushing too hard. The froth was perfect, spilling over the tumbler's edge. She took a sip, the bitter-sweet warmth grounding her. "Okay, you pass the coffee test," she said. "But don't get cocky."
"Too late," he teased, sipping his own. "So, what's the plan now? You gonna keep running, or...?"Divya sighed, glancing at her phone. The notifications were a nightmare—her amma's latest message read, "DIVYA, WHERE ARE YOU? MAPILLAI VEETU PASANGA WAITING!" She groaned. "I can't run forever. My parents will probably send a search party with idlis and horoscope charts. But I'm not ready to go back and play 'perfect ponnu' either."
Arjun leaned back, thoughtful. "What if we do this our way? Like, we talk, get to know each other, no pressure. If it works, great. If not, no hard feelings. Deal?"
Divya studied him. He wasn't pushing, wasn't throwing around "family values" or "settle down" clichés. He was... real. "Deal," she said, smiling. "But I'm warning you, I'm a K-drama addict. You gotta keep up."
"Bring it on," he said, clinking his tumbler against hers like it was a toast.
Their coffee chat stretched into hours. They talked about everything—her dream of publishing a novel, his secret love for cooking biryani, their shared obsession with Mouna Ragam's soundtrack. Divya told him about her college days, sneaking out to Marina Beach with friends; Arjun shared stories of his US stint, where he once got lost in New York and ended up at a Tamil sangam event by accident. The more they talked, the more Divya felt like she'd known him forever. But reality crashed the party when her phone rang. It was Appa. She hesitated, then answered. "Hello?""DIVYA!" her father's voice boomed. "Yenga di irukke? We've been worried sick! Mapillai veetu pasanga came, waited, and left! Enna aachu unaku?"
Divya winced, holding the phone away from her ear. "Appa, I'm fine. I just... needed some air. I'm in Coimbatore."
"COIMBATORE?!" he shouted. "What air? You're not a balloon! And Arjun's family is saying he's missing too! His amma called, panicking!"
Divya's eyes widened, flicking to Arjun, who was trying not to laugh. "Uh, Appa, I'll explain later. I'm safe, okay? I'll come back tomorrow." She hung up before he could launch into a lecture.Arjun raised an eyebrow. "Missing, huh? Looks like we're both in trouble.""Big trouble," she said, but she was grinning. "Your parents are probably planning to disown you.""Nah," he said. "My amma's chill, but she'll probably guilt-trip me with 'Naan enna thappu panninen?' drama. My dad? He'll just ask if you're a good cook."
Divya laughed. "Good luck with that. My cooking skills are limited to Maggi and burning toast.""Noted," he said, smirking. "I'll handle the kitchen, you handle the vibes."
As they left Amma Mess, the night sky was dotted with stars, and Coimbatore felt like a world away from Chennai's expectations. Arjun offered to walk her to her hotel—a small place she'd booked on the way. The streets were quieter now, with only the occasional auto bike rumbling by. Divya felt a strange mix of excitement and nerves.
This wasn't how arranged marriages started, right? Train rides, coffee dates, and runaway plans?
At the hotel entrance, Arjun stopped. "So, Divya, what's the verdict? Am I still the boring IT guy you were running from?"She tilted her head, pretending to think. "Hmm... you're less boring now. But you owe me another coffee date. And maybe a K-drama marathon."
"Done and done," he said, smiling. "Text me when you're back in Chennai. And don't climb any more balconies."
"No promises," she teased, waving as she walked off.
Back in her hotel room, Divya flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Her phone buzzed again—her best friend Priya this time, demanding a video call. "Girl, you RAN AWAY to Coimbatore?!" Priya's voice squealed through the screen. "And you met the GROOM? Enna di, Tamil movie ah? Tell me everything!"
Divya laughed, spilling the tea—Arjun, the train, the coffee, the spark. Priya gasped dramatically. "Divya, this is straight-up romantic drama level! He sounds like a good guy. You gonna give this a shot?"
"I think so," Divya said, smiling softly. "But it's not just about him. It's about me figuring out what I want."
As she drifted to sleep, Divya's dreams weren't of trains or weddings, but of filter coffee, Arjun's laugh, and a future that felt like hers to write.
Sometimes, the best love stories start with a leap of faith, a good cup of coffee, and a whole lot of guts.
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