Every evening, Ananya wandered down the bustling streets near Prinsep Ghat, notebook in one hand, steaming cup of masala chai in the other. The scent of wet earth from the Hooghly mingled with the aroma of fried momos, roasted peanuts, and the occasional whiff of jasmine from the street vendors, creating a haze that felt uniquely Kolkata. She had long carried a quiet fondness for Arjun ..the boy who waved from the tram every morning with that careless, easy smile. She thought she knew love, or at least the shape of it.
That evening, the sky was bruised purple with the last light of the monsoon sun. The Howrah Bridge stretched across the Hooghly like a golden spine, its lights trembling on the water below. The city hummed with life: rickshaw bells jingling, vendors shouting prices, the distant whistle of a train leaving Howrah Station. Amid all of it, her gaze fell on someone new.
He was leaning against the railing, rain-soaked hair plastered to his forehead, eyes like storm clouds over the river….dark, endless, magnetic. They were eyes that drew in the chaos of the city and left nothing else in their wake. In that instant, Arjun the one she had imagined walking beside her faded, as though he had been a shadow on a wall that the sun had finally burned away.
Ananya felt her chest tighten, not with guilt or confusion, but with the undeniable pull of recognition. The tram rattled past, street vendors’ calls rose and fell, the monsoon wind tugged at her hair and yet everything else seemed to vanish. It wasn’t betrayal. It wasn’t wrong. It was just eyes. Eyes that carried gravity, that anchored her entirely, leaving no room for anything else.
She sipped her chai, letting the rain mingle with the city’s scents, letting the Hooghly carry away her old imaginings of love. In that single glance, she realized that sometimes, love doesn’t arrive slowly, doesn’t grow over months or years. Sometimes, it falls into a gaze so deep and alive that the rest of the world—the people you thought you loved, the paths you thought were certain simply fades.
Ananya smiled softly, finally understanding:
some hearts are claimed not by devotion or effort, but by a pair of eyes that makes everything else disappear. And for the first time, she didn’t want anyone else.
That evening, the sky was bruised purple with the last light of the monsoon sun. The Howrah Bridge stretched across the Hooghly like a golden spine, its lights trembling on the water below. The city hummed with life: rickshaw bells jingling, vendors shouting prices, the distant whistle of a train leaving Howrah Station. Amid all of it, her gaze fell on someone new.
He was leaning against the railing, rain-soaked hair plastered to his forehead, eyes like storm clouds over the river….dark, endless, magnetic. They were eyes that drew in the chaos of the city and left nothing else in their wake. In that instant, Arjun the one she had imagined walking beside her faded, as though he had been a shadow on a wall that the sun had finally burned away.
Ananya felt her chest tighten, not with guilt or confusion, but with the undeniable pull of recognition. The tram rattled past, street vendors’ calls rose and fell, the monsoon wind tugged at her hair and yet everything else seemed to vanish. It wasn’t betrayal. It wasn’t wrong. It was just eyes. Eyes that carried gravity, that anchored her entirely, leaving no room for anything else.
She sipped her chai, letting the rain mingle with the city’s scents, letting the Hooghly carry away her old imaginings of love. In that single glance, she realized that sometimes, love doesn’t arrive slowly, doesn’t grow over months or years. Sometimes, it falls into a gaze so deep and alive that the rest of the world—the people you thought you loved, the paths you thought were certain simply fades.
Ananya smiled softly, finally understanding:
some hearts are claimed not by devotion or effort, but by a pair of eyes that makes everything else disappear. And for the first time, she didn’t want anyone else.
