Chapter 4: Dosa Dates and Heart-to-Hearts
The Chennai evening was a humid hug, with the sky turning a soft orange over T. Nagar's crowded streets. Divya stood outside Murugan Idli Shop, her heart doing a little Kollywood-style drumroll. She'd told her amma she was "meeting Priya for a work thing," a half-lie that got her out of the house without triggering another marriage lecture. Her outfit was a compromise—jeans, a flowy yellow kurti, and a dupatta for that "sanskari but not *too* sanskari" vibe. Her phone buzzed with a text from Arjun:
"Here. Look for the guy in the blue shirt trying not to get hit by an auto."
She spotted him across the street, dodging a rickshaw with the grace of a cricket fielder. Arjun wore a blue shirt, sleeves rolled up, and a grin that made her stomach flip. "Runaway heroine, you made it!" he called, jogging over. "Thought you might climb out another balcony and ditch me."
"Very funny, Mr. Mapillai," Divya shot back, smirking. "I'm here for the dosa, not you. Murugan's ghee roast is my true love."
"Ouch," he said, clutching his chest dramatically. "Already replaced by a dosa? I need to step up my game."
Inside Murugan Idli Shop, the air was thick with the sizzle of dosas and the chatter of families, couples, and IT guys arguing about cricket. The walls were plastered with photos of crispy idlis and Tamil cinema stars, and the aroma of sambar made Divya's mouth water. They grabbed a corner table, squeezing past a group of aunties debating the merits of podi vs. chutney. The waiter, a harried anna with a towel over his shoulder, dropped off two steel tumblers of filter coffee without being asked.
"See? I told you they serve the good stuff," Arjun said, lifting his tumbler. "Frothy enough for your high standards?"Divya took a sip, the bitter-sweet warmth hitting just right. "Passable," she teased, but her smile gave her away. "Okay, fine, you get points for picking the right spot. Now let's order before I faint from hunger."
They ordered a ghee roast dosa to share, plus a plate of mini idlis drowning in sambar. As they waited, Divya leaned forward, her eyes playful. "So, Arjun, how's life as the 'perfect mapillai'? Your amma still planning that pooja to fix your rebellious streak?"
He laughed, shaking his head. "She's upgraded to daily calls, asking if I'm 'serious about settling down.' I told her I'm very serious... about dosa dates." He winked, and Divya's cheeks warmed.
Arjun : "What about you? Your family still in 'Divya Marriage Emergency' mode?"
"Oh, big time," she said, rolling her eyes. "My chithi's convinced I ran to Coimbatore to join a secret cult. And my amma's already picking muhurtham dates, like we're halfway to the mandapam. I keep telling them, 'Slow down, I'm not signing a marriage contract yet!'"
Arjun nodded, his expression softening. "I get it. This whole arranged marriage thing... it's like a Tamil movie with too many subplots. Parents, horoscopes, relatives with opinions. But I meant what I said, Divya. I want to do this our way. No pressure."
She studied him, the sincerity in his eyes cutting through the restaurant's noise. "You're not what I expected," she admitted. "I thought you'd be some boring US-return guy, all 'career goals' and 'family values.' But you're... fun. And real."
"Fun and real, huh?" he said, grinning. "I'll take it. And you're not what I expected either. My parents showed me your photo—saree, fake smile, looking like you were plotting an escape. I was like, 'Okay, she's pretty, but probably shy.' Then you storm into a train like a heroine, and I'm like, 'Yeah, this girl's trouble.'
"Trouble's my middle name," she said, laughing. The dosa arrived, a golden, crispy masterpiece, and they dug in, passing the plate like old friends. Between bites, they swapped stories—her disastrous attempt at making biryani (it turned into khichdi), his secret obsession with Crash Landing on You ("Don't judge, Hyun Bin's got game"). The conversation flowed like the filter coffee, easy and warm.
But then Arjun got quiet, twirling his tumbler. "Can I be real for a sec?" he asked, his voice lower.Divya nodded, sensing a shift. "Always."
"I was in a relationship before," he said, looking at the table. "Back in the US. It didn't work out—different goals, different vibes. I told my parents I'm open to arranged marriage, but... I don't want to mess this up, Divya. I like you. A lot. But I'm scared of moving too fast and screwing it up."
Divya's heart softened. His honesty caught her off guard, but it made her trust him more. "Thanks for telling me," she said. "I haven't been in anything serious, but I get being scared. This whole thing—families, expectations—it's a lot. But I like you too, Arjun. Like, *really* like you. And that scares me too."
He looked up, his eyes searching hers. "So, what do we do? Keep sneaking out for dosa dates until our parents figure it out?"
She laughed, but her mind was racing. "Maybe. Or maybe we tell them we're figuring it out, but we need time. I don't want to be pushed into a wedding just because our horoscopes match. I want... us."
"Us," he repeated, smiling. "I like the sound of that."
The rest of the date was lighter—jokes about their families, plans to watch Mouna Ragam together, and a bet on who could eat more mini idlis (Divya won, barely). As they left Murugan's, the night air felt electric, like anything was possible. Arjun walked her to the auto stand, his shoulder brushing hers.
"So, next date?" he asked, hands in his pockets."Only if you pick a place with better sambar," she teased. "But yeah. Text me. And no more secrets, okay?""No more secrets," he promised, his smile making her heart skip. "Unless it's about my biryani recipe. That's classified."
She laughed, climbing into an auto. As it pulled away, she looked back, catching his wave. Her phone buzzed with a text:
"Runaway heroine, you're making it hard to play it cool. 😎 See you soon."
Back home, Divya slipped in quietly, hoping to avoid another amma interrogation. No luck. Her mother was waiting, arms crossed, like a detective in a Tamil thriller. "Yenga di, late night 'work thing' with Priya? I called her. She said you were out!"
Divya froze, then went for the truth—sort of. "Okay, fine, Amma. I met Arjun. We had dosa, talked, and... I like him. But I need time to know him better. Can you trust me on this?"
Her amma's eyes widened, then softened. "Arjun ah? Aiyo, why didn't you say so? Okay, okay, take your time. But no more running to Coimbatore, got it?"Divya hugged her, relieved. "Okay, Amma."
In bed, she replayed the night—the dosa, Arjun's confession, the way he said "us." For the first time, the idea of an arranged marriage didn't feel like a trap. It felt like a story she wanted to write, one dosa date at a time.
Love grows in the little moments—crispy dosas, honest talks, and the courage to choose your own path, even when the whole family's watching.
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