1 | the call

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kismat ko hai ye manjur kya kije, milte rahe hum badastur kya kije

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 📲

Rain played its soft tune on the windows, pulling the city out of focus—like reality itself had decided to loosen its grip for one quiet evening.

Nikita curled her legs under her on the wide sill that she had transformed into a window seat. A half-drunk cup of mocha cradled in her hands. From the eleventh floor, Nikita could only see the rustling treetops and a mosaic of other terraces—satellite dishes catching droplets, laundry long since rescued, the occasional flicker of someone else's night. 

From the shelter of a quiet room, she watched the rain fall like soft whispers against the glass. The world outside was wrapped in grey mist and murmurs, yet within those four walls, warmth held her close. She didn't step out into the storm, but the storm stepped into her — stirring calm thoughts and quiet wonder. Though untouched by the droplets, she felt part of something larger, as if the rain had reached her in every way that mattered.

"Honestly," Tara's voice crackled from the laptop speaker, "this is tragic. It's Friday night. You're single. You're only thirty. You're indoors in a fleece hoodie that probably has stains from your cooking adventures."

She wasn't the kind of best friend who sugarcoated. Tara arrived in scenes like thunder after heat — bold, loving, and wildly entertaining. The kind of person who made even the quietest evenings feel like they needed popcorn.

Nikita smiled, looking down at the warm green garment she wore. Her friend was on point about the stains.

"Comfort is underrated," she murmured, glancing at the screen.

Tara groaned theatrically. "Comfort is for retirement, Nikita Desai! You're supposed to be out making eye contact with a stranger over bad cocktails and regrettable music."

Nikita chuckled and then sipped her warm beverage, conveniently ignoring to reply to her best friend. 

"You know what I mean," Tara pressed on. "When's the last time you were on a date?"

Nikita raised an eyebrow. "Define date. You mean when two people agree to a meal and pretend they're not both mentally swiping right on someone else halfway through dessert?"

Tara rolled her eyes. "Okay, snobbery noted, but you downloaded the new app in the market, right? What happened to that?"

"I deleted it." Nikita took a sip of her mocha. "Everyone's just there for hookups. Or they say they're not... and then they are. One guy had a body count displayed on his bio. With every passing day, I grow vary of men, especially the good looking ones."

"And your family? No fresh bio-datas with potential?"

Nikita let out a long sigh. "Bua shared the number of a banker who, mid-conversation, kept cutting me off every time I mentioned my job—said it wasn't worth discussing something 'with no future.'"

Tara rolled her eyes, "Men!

"The next one sent me an Excel sheet, literally listing attributes of his ideal wife. Before we'd even spoken."

"Oh my god," her friend said, mouth agape. "That's... next-level absurd."

"Yup. It's a bleak jungle out here," Nikita muttered, half amused, half resigned. "You really lucked out, finding someone back in college. Honestly, that's the last time people felt remotely normal."

Tara shook her head, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "You know you're intimidating, right? Men have no clue what to do with women who outwork them, out-earn them... who are basically you."

"You sound like my Bua," Nikita chuckled. "Just without the—'Beta, maybe choose a career that pays less so more boys will like you. You'll get more proposals that way.'"

Tara burst out laughing, tossing her hair back. "Oh God, I miss your Bua. Her logic defies reason. She could be a whole research paper."

Just as Nikita opened her mouth to reply, her phone buzzed on the armrest beside her. She glanced down lazily — and froze.

Her body tensed before her brain caught up. It was a WhatsApp call, displaying a name she hadn't seen lit up in years.

Utkarsh Mehra.

The name was still there. Still saved. First and last, like she'd never quite meant to let it go. A heartbeat, a missed breath, then a weird quietness in her bones.

"Huh," Nikita said, too lightly.

She blinked, then frowned at her phone just off to the side. The name was glowing. Flashing like it had shown up in the wrong year.

"What?" Tara asked, her voice sharp across the laptop speaker. On-screen, her face narrowed, eyes catching Nikita's sudden change in expression.

"He's calling me," Nikita said, staring at the WhatsApp notification like it might correct itself if she looked long enough.

Her fingers hovered just above the screen, frozen mid-reach. The quiet shift in her posture—the stillness in her shoulders, the way her breath paused—didn't go unnoticed.

Tara leaned closer, pixels sharpening the concern on her face. "Who is?"

Nikita turned the phone slightly toward the webcam, not saying the name but letting it speak for itself.

Tara leaned in, squinting, as if the name had short-circuited something. Then her expression flickered.

"Who is Utkarsh?" First confusion. Then recognition. "Oh!" She sat back like she'd been physically nudged. "No," she said. "Is that—?"

Nikita gave a single, small nod. "Yep, him."

Tara's eyes widened. "You're kidding. Him?"

Nikita nodded once.

"As in—The Utkarsh? Your first date? The cosy cafe, expensive mocha, spark flew and emotionally loaded eye contact, disappeared-into-the-void him?"

Nikita offered a half-shrug, more restrained than indifferent. "One and the same."

Tara's jaw dropped theatrically. "Okay, what in the retro romance plotline is happening?"

Nikita didn't answer immediately. Her thumb hovered near the still-ringing call. "I have absolutely no idea," she said, her voice calm but laced with the kind of disbelief that only shows up when the past refuses to stay put. 

Tara leaned in so close to her webcam she was practically breathing into it. "You're joking. He's calling you? Now? Like now? Wait, are you texting him?"

"No!" Nikita answered almost immediately, briefly looking at her laptop offended. She told her best friend almost everything.

"Then why is he calling you?"

Nikita didn't speak. Her eyes were still on the screen. On the name. On the years it had quietly sat there, untouched and unspoken. She just stared at the screen, the call still buzzing like an unanswered question.

Tara gawked. "Okay, but seriously—what does he want? Its been what— three years? Isn't three years a little late for a second date?"

Nikita sighed not moving her eyes from the screen. Why was she calling her? 

"Maybe he butt-dialed or accidentally called another Nikita?," her best friend reasoned.

Nikita couldn't look away from the phone screen. "Yeah, probably. Although with smartphones as smart as they are, I don't think butt-dialled is a thing anymore." 

"Hmm, maybe his voice assistant dialed you by accident?" Tara offered, raising one eyebrow.

Nikita nodded like it was plausible. "Yeah... I'll just ignore it." She said it casually, but her eyes didn't leave the screen.

Then, almost too quickly, she added, "But what if he's actually trying to reach me? To... talk?"

Tara tilted her head. "Right, because he finally wrapped up his emotional processing three years later? Or maybe he's been on a sabbatical in the Himalayas, journaling about you and just now got Wi-Fi?"

Nikita glanced up at the screen. Tara was on a roll—half joking, half dramatic, fully ridiculous.

"Three years isn't a sabbatical," Nikita muttered. "It's a full PhD in the art of disappearing."

Tara snorted. "Maybe he just wants to... finally catch up?"

"Oh please. 'Catch up' is what you say when you bump into someone at a cousin's wedding and pretend you never unfollowed them out of pure self-preservation," Nikita snapped, restless, her thumb hovering over the screen. Torn.

"You sound like you're still a little mad he vanished from your life," Tara said softly, her voice gentler now.

They both stared at the buzzing phone. A long beat passed.

Nikita raised an eyebrow, half-daring. "Should I answer?"

Tara gasped, dramatic. "Girl, do you own stock in bad decisions?"

She sighed. "Maybe. I mean, I went out with that dating app disaster last month, and now I'm stuck talking to these shortlisted profiles my relatives swear by—none of whom can hold a conversation without mansplaining or glitching socially by the second minute."

Tara picked up on the tension instantly, her voice softening. "So... what are you gonna do?"

"I don't know." Nikita's exhale came slow, deliberate. "What do you think I should do?"

"Decline," Tara said without missing a beat. "Ghost the ghost. Friday nights aren't meant for emotional excavation."

Nikita glanced at her phone again, still buzzing with that name from another time.

"Tara—" she began, unsure if it was protest or plea.

Tara leaned in, eyes narrowing playfully. "Unless you're feeling brave enough to start a thesis titled 'Men Who Vanish and Why We Still Answer Their Calls', I say let it ring."

"Tara—" 

"No. Do not romanticize this. This could be a drunk dial. Or worse—closure fishing. It took you long enough to get him out of your mind." 

Nikita bit her lip, thumb brushing the edge of the screen. Tara was saying something, muffled now, far away, as her thoughts became louder.  What if, the timing was right now not back then? What if she wasn't delusional? What if he thought of her too? There was just one way to find out. 

"Or maybe," Nikita said, almost reasoning with herself, "it's just a random call."

They stared at each other across a digital ocean. Then, with a sigh that felt dangerously close to betrayal, Nikita answered the call. In the same breath, she shut her laptop screen, severing her best friend's virtual presence from the moment she wasn't sure she wanted witnessed.

"Hello?" she said, quiet but clear.

The rain didn't pause. The world didn't shift. But everything inside her tilted, just enough to feel it. And somewhere deep in her heart, something almost began again.

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Would love to ready your thoughts. 

Would you pick up the call? 

–Anami!♡