Anshul

The weekend had finally arrived. At least for everyone else. For me, it meant a change of scenery from glass-walled conference rooms to an even more polished battlefield: the Mauve Hotel. One of our biggest clients. One of the most demanding. And, unfortunately for my sleep schedule, one of the most prestigious.

A society gala was coming up next week for their newest opening, and today's meeting was meant to fine-tune the marketing direction with the heiress herself—Maya Dubey.

I glanced at my watch again. Just past 11 a.m.

She was late. Or fashionably delayed. With Maya, it was always hard to tell the difference.

The ballroom they'd assigned us was already half-prepared—soft golden lighting bouncing off chandeliers, floral arrangements still being adjusted at the edges, staff moving like quiet shadows behind the curtains. Somewhere deeper backstage, a sound check was in progress.

I flicked through slides on my tablet, half-focused, half-listening to the world around me.

And then—

A voice drifted through.

"When Marimba rhythm starts to play.. dance with me.. make me sway.."

I paused.

It wasn't just singing. It was controlled. Smooth. Almost cinematic. The kind of voice that didn't belong to a casual rehearsal, it belonged on a stage, under spotlights, the kind that made people stop mid-step without realizing why.

I leaned slightly, trying to place it.

Whoever she was that wasn't amateur.

I found myself unconsciously murmuring the lyric under my breath, like my brain had already decided to follow it.

Before I could think further—

"Namaste Anshul."

Maya Dubey walked in like she owned the room. Which, in most places like this, she practically did.

I stood immediately, professional reflex kicking in, and pulled her into a brief hug.

"Good to see you. Dear lord, you smell so good."

Of course she said that.

Maya Dubey didn't do subtle. She never had.

She rested a hand lightly on my shoulder a second too long, leaning in as if she was memorizing something she'd already decided she liked. I kept my expression neutral, practiced, controlled.

Maya had been one of our strongest clients for years. I'd known her for almost eight years now—since I was just an assistant executive trying not to mess up email formatting.

And I also knew exactly what this was.

Maya was used to getting what she wanted.

And somewhere along the line, she had decided she wanted me.

"I heard you've got the big opening next week, right? So I've come up with a few new ideas."

I immediately shifted gears, grateful for the escape.

"Dear lord, you are all about work work work. You are coming next week though, right?" she asked, already taking a sip of wine.

At 11 a.m.

Of course.

That was Maya.

"Yeah, wouldn't miss it, Maya. I heard the band sound check—it is amazing," I replied, tapping into the rhythm of professionalism.

"Ooh, they are actually a local band. They play at the jazz club I used to go to. Red, Rex—I'm not sure. But they sound amazing!" she said, swirling the wine flute like it was part of her personality.

"Rev?" I nodded slowly, mentally trying to connect the name.

Well that explained the voice.

The beautiful, unknown singer backstage.

"Yeah, that one!" Maya laughed, lightly hitting my arm as if we were in on some private joke.

I forced a small smile.

Dear lord, what I have to endure to keep this job.

And then—

"Parkkum parvai nee, en vazhvum nee en kavidhai nee."

The voice returned, clearer this time, floating through the ballroom like it owned the air itself.

I froze for half a second.

This time it wasn't English.

Tamil.

Right in the middle of Texas.

Courage

Something about the delivery made it feel less like a rehearsal and more like a confession set to music.

My lips moved before I could stop them, quietly repeating the melody under my breath.

"I love this song."I said almost automatically.

Maya tilted her head.  "Even if I don't understand a single meaning. I do too. " She laughed and blew a playful raspberry.

And for a moment, I almost forgot I was in a business meeting.

Almost.

"Maya, back to the slides," I said, gently pulling us back into structure.

"Yup!" she smiled, effortlessly slipping back into her role.

But even as I continued presenting, my attention kept drifting—just slightly—toward the backstage curtain.

That voice stayed in my head longer than it should have.

⸻

The meeting ended smoother than expected.

Contracts aligned. Gala direction approved. Maya left with her usual teasing smile and one last lingering glance that I pretended not to notice.

The moment I got into my car, I exhaled properly for the first time all morning.

Silence.

Then I connected my Bluetooth.

A playlist loaded automatically.

And then it played—

"Pesa Koodathu."
[Composed by Ilaiyaraaja, Sung by S.P. Balasubrahmanyam]

I paused.

The same feeling from the ballroom returned instantly, like the song had been waiting for me to remember it.

That voice.

That unknown singer.

Still stuck somewhere between curiosity and distraction, I leaned back into my seat as the car pulled out of the hotel driveway.

The city moved past in blur, but my thoughts didn't.

I found myself wondering who she was.

Not just a singer.

Something about her voice didn't feel like background music.

It felt like a beginning.

Looking forward to the opening next week suddenly meant something different.

And I wasn't entirely sure I liked how much I was already looking forward to hearing her again.

-
Aaradhya

The rehearsal behind the curtain finally winds down, the last echoes of our laughter still clinging to the heavy fabric like it doesn't want to leave.

We had to hide back here the entire time—makeshift stage, scattered props, half-tuned instruments leaning against chairs—because technically, we're not performance-ready yet. And more importantly, we don't want to accidentally draw attention from whoever's already arrived early this morning. Mauve Hotel is too classy for chaos like ours... at least that's what I keep telling myself while Reyansh is literally vibrating with excitement beside me.

The moment we step out of our last run-through, Sidharth practically explodes.

"Macha! I can't believe you booked us Mauve Hotel da!" Sidharth beams in excitement, eyes wide like he's still processing it.

Reyansh doesn't even try to be humble.

"Adhaan Rey!" [That's Rey!] he declares, patting his own shoulder like he's just won an award, chin lifted with dramatic pride.

I roll my eyes immediately, but I'm smiling anyway.

Reyansh Martin Karunas—my human chaos generator and lifelong headache. And Sidharth Arjunan—our soft-spoken vocalist with charm that could probably convince a storm to calm down.

Somehow, they are my people.

Not just bandmates. Not just friends.

Family.

I've known Rey since I was fourteen. Back then, I was the quiet script girl scribbling dialogues in the corner of a school theatre workshop while he was the choreographer who kept arguing that my "dramatic pauses" needed more energy. We clashed constantly—until we didn't. Somewhere between rehearsals and arguments over lighting cues, we clicked so naturally it felt like it had always existed.

And then he introduced me to Sidharth.

His cousin. The golden voice. The calm in our chaos. The kind of person who walks into a room and somehow makes everything feel slightly more stable.

Now, years later, we've built this strange little universe together—this band that sneaks into reality between corporate deadlines, late-night exhaustion, and responsibilities that try very hard to separate us. Rey in IT, Sid in engineering, me somewhere between spreadsheets and sanity... and yet somehow, we always find our way back to music.

Because this is where we breathe.

"Machi intha vatti orru tamil pattu potruvoma?" Rey asks.

[Bro, this time shall we do a Tamil song?]

I tilt my head, already suspicious.

"You think the owner would allow?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

Sidharth leans back casually, adjusting his mic stand like he's discussing weather.

"She is Hindi da. Not Tamil." [She is Hindi, bro. Not Tamil.] he corrects, as if that solves everything in life.

Rey immediately points at him like he's just delivered divine wisdom.

"Maybe we could do Tum Hi Ho this time?" he suggests, already half-lost in his own imagination.

I snort.

"Kettu pakulam da. And you only know Tum Hi Ho," I tease.

[We can try asking]

Rey gasps dramatically, clutching his chest.

"Sorry da I'm not vadakkan washed like you two."

[I'm not north-indian washed like you two.]

Sidharth chuckles, shaking his head.

"You sing Meri Jaan so well? Why not suggest that?"

Rey snaps his fingers like that's the most obvious thing in the world.

"Sure."

That's the thing about us—nothing is ever serious for too long. Even arguments turn into music decisions. Even stress turns into teasing. We move like a messy, perfectly mismatched rhythm that somehow always lands on beat.

And then the fourth piece of our chaos walks in.

"Guys coffee is here!"

Dharini Sivalingam steps into the curtain space balancing a small cart like it's a runway performance. She's new to the team technically—but at this point, she's already part of the band ecosystem. Mostly because she's dating Rey, and also because she refuses to let us function without caffeine.

"Va ammu." Rey says automatically, softening instantly as he takes a cup from her. [Come, love.]

I watch that shift in him—the loud, chaotic Rey who seconds ago was claiming hotel victories, now suddenly all gentle and attentive. It's almost funny how love rewires him.

Dharini turns to me next, already knowing my order like it's muscle memory.

"Itha ungalku." [This is for you.] she says, passing my almond milk cappuccino.

I take it with a small smile. "Thanks ma."

And just like that, the energy settles again—not quieter, just warmer.

We sip coffee, leaning against folding chairs and instrument cases, laughter still floating between us in broken pieces. Sid hums a random tune under his breath, Rey taps a rhythm on the side table, and Dharini scrolls through setlists on her phone like she's reviewing a battle plan.

This is us.

A band built on inside jokes, shared exhaustion, and a kind of loyalty that doesn't need to be spoken out loud.

Next week is coming fast. The real performance. Real audience. Real pressure.

But for now, behind this curtain, with coffee in hand and music still hanging in the air...

We're exactly where we belong.
-

I waved goodbye as Rey's car slowly pulled away from the curb. He flashed me a lazy salute through the driver's window while his girlfriend leaned over with a warm smile, waving enthusiastically before they disappeared into the evening traffic.

A smile tugged at my lips.

Despite how chaotic rehearsals always were, spending the day with them somehow made everything feel lighter.

I adjusted the guitar case hanging heavily over my shoulder and made my way towards the entrance of my apartment building. Every muscle in my body protested after carrying the instrument around all day. My fingers were sore from rehearsal, my back ached, and all I wanted now was a cold shower, comfortable clothes, and absolutely no human interaction.

The automatic doors slid open with a soft whoosh as I stepped inside.

Just as I reached the lift, my phone vibrated.

I casually pulled it out, expecting Rey to send another ridiculous meme from the car.

Instead.

"Hey intern. Free tonight?"

My footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

"Huh?"

I blinked once.

Then twice.

Anshul?

Why was he asking me if I was free tonight?

A hundred possibilities crashed into my head all at once.

Wait.

Was this what he meant when he said my three-month probation period?

My eyebrows slowly knitted together.

No.

Absolutely not.

I better draw my boundaries with this man.

The audacity.

Without thinking twice, my thumbs immediately flew across the keyboard.

"Excuse me?"

I pressed send and folded my arms, waiting.

Barely a few seconds later, my phone buzzed again.

"Excuse you!"

I stared at the screen in complete disbelief.

"Excuse me?" I muttered under my breath.

"The confidence..."

I let out an incredulous laugh before typing another reply.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

This time, I slipped my phone into one hand while unlocking the front door to my apartment with the other.

The familiar scent of vanilla from my diffuser greeted me as I stepped inside.

With a relieved groan, I shrugged the guitar bag off my shoulder and let it fall onto the floor with a loud thud.

"My poor shoulders..." I sighed, rolling them carefully.

Before I could even stretch properly, my phone buzzed again.

I picked it up.

"I just asked if you are free tonight. What are you so shocked about?"

I pursed my lips.

Nothing, sir.

Nothing at all.

Only that my boss had texted me after office hours asking if I was free.

Perfectly normal.

Totally not suspicious.

I shook my head and reminded myself to act professionally.

"Nothing, sir. Is there anything you need me for?"

I hit send before placing my phone on the kitchen counter.

Let's see.

What exactly does a man in his late twenties want from his intern after working hours?

The notification appeared almost instantly.

"I am sending you a PowerPoint deck that you need to correct."

Oh.

A long breath escaped my lips.

"Phewww..."

I actually placed a hand over my chest.

For one glorious second, I had convinced myself this conversation was heading somewhere completely inappropriate.

It was work.

Just work.

I silently scolded myself.

Aaradhya, seriously?

Get a grip.

Feeling slightly embarrassed by my own imagination, I quickly typed my reply.

"Sure, sir. I'll look into it." 😊

I smiled as I pressed send.

What was all that panic about, girl?

It was just a mere work text.

He was simply being considerate of your time.

See?

Not everyone was secretly plotting something.

A second later, another notification appeared.

Anshul ❤️ reacted to your message.

He hearted my emoji?

I frowned.

Why would someone react to an emoji?

Men were strange creatures.

Deciding not to overthink that one too, I placed my phone beside the sink and walked towards the Coway water dispenser.

The cool water poured smoothly into my glass.

I took a long sip, letting the icy water soothe my dry throat after hours of singing and rehearsing.

It felt refreshing.

Peaceful.

Finally.

A quiet evening.

Buzz.

Another notification.

Still holding the glass against my lips, I casually picked up my phone.

The new message appeared.

"Also, be my date at the Societal Gala."

My brain stopped functioning.
My eyes widened.

The water that had been peacefully travelling down my throat suddenly chose the wrong direction.

"Cough!"

I nearly spat the water out as I bent over, coughing violently.

"Cough... cough..."

I placed the glass on the kitchen counter with a shaky hand while trying to catch my breath.

"What?!"

I stared at the screen again.

Surely I had imagined that.

I blinked.

The message didn't disappear.

I rubbed my eyes.

Still there.

Also, be my date at the Societal Gala.

I looked around my apartment as though someone had secretly walked in and borrowed my phone.

No one.

Only silence.

The ceiling fan continued spinning lazily above me, completely unbothered by the life-altering message sitting on my screen.

"A date?" I whispered.

My voice echoed softly around the apartment.

"A date?"

I reread the message for the fifth time.

Still the same words.

Still from Anshul.

Still addressed to me.

I slowly sank onto my couch, clutching my phone with both hands like it was about to explode.
I whispered to absolutely no one.

"What is happening?"

am_i_awesome