Lift!

Each step felt heavy—heavier than the two bags pulling at my arms. My body moved forward, obedient and mechanical, but my mind stayed behind, caught somewhere between a pair of brown eyes and a moment that refused to loosen its grip on me.

It was nothing, I told myself. Just a glance. Just a coincidence.

Still, my breath felt uneven. I was about to step down when a voice reached me from behind—deep, calm, and impossibly warm.

“Can you tell me your name again?”

The world paused.

Oh, Veda. This—this—was the moment you were pretending not to hope for. A rush spread through me, sudden and electric, making my fingers curl tighter around my bag straps. I turned slowly, afraid the spell would break if I moved too fast.

“Veda,” I said, my voice softer than I expected.

“Veda Hari.”

He watched me as I spoke—really watched me—as if the name mattered. As if he wanted to remember it.

“And you?” I asked, gathering courage from somewhere deep inside my chest.

A faint smile touched his lips. Not rushed. Not casual.

“Do we exchange everything right now?” he said gently. “We still have about two hundred meters to walk to the exit.”

Something fluttered low in my stomach.

I nodded, cheeks warming, suddenly aware of how close we were walking now. Not touching—yet close enough to feel his presence beside me, steady and grounding.

“I’m Nivin,” he said after a pause. “Do you live nearby?”

“No,” I replied. “I still have around eight kilometers to go—northwest.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering.

“Same. Just two kilometers more for me.”

Our steps fell into an unspoken rhythm.

“Where are you travelling from?” he asked.

“Drudhnagar,” I said, turning toward him. “And you-”

Before he could answer, my brother appeared, abruptly pulling me back into reality.

The moment cracked.

I turned to Nivin reluctantly, already missing the quiet space we had created. He stood there—tall, composed, effortlessly attractive. Clean lines. Calm eyes. The kind of presence that didn’t ask for attention but claimed it anyway.

“Bye,” I said, wishing the word meant see you again.

He held my gaze for a second longer than necessary. Long enough to make my heart ache.

The walk to my mom’s car felt unreal. My thoughts chased after him, tumbling over each other. Should I have asked for his number? Did he feel it too? A quiet sadness crept in—not sharp, just tender.

My brother climbed into the front seat. I slid into the back, greeted my mom, then looked back toward the station exit—hoping for a final glimpse. Even a shadow.

Then I remembered.

He lived just two kilometers away.

The thought settled in me like a promise.

Traffic stalled near the railway crossing. Ten minutes passed. The car in front moved, then stopped again.

And that’s when I saw him.

Standing at the bus stop.

My breath caught.

He was scanning the road, hands in his pockets, unaware—until I spoke.

“He’s someone I know,” I said to my mom, trying to sound casual.

“Can we drop him on the way?”

My mom nodded without hesitation.

I rolled down the window.