Aarav arrived early to Coffee Junction, picking a corner table. Casual. Not a date. His shirt was crisp this time—no stains. He'd overthought his outfit like a teenager. Parents' divorce made me allergic to this shit. Why bother?Isha spotted him from the counter, apron swapped for jeans and a faded band tee. Her stomach flipped. He's cuter without coffee camouflage. Play it cool. She slid into the seat with two lattes. "Survived the spill. Hero status unlocked."He chuckled, stirring his drink. "Barely. So, story time. Apron life?"She shrugged, tracing the cup rim. "Family cafe. Dreams of viral reels, but this pays rent. You? Spill survivor gig?""Graphic designer. Freelance hell—endless revisions, zero credit." Their knees brushed under the table; neither moved. Awkward silence stretched, charged."You're good at dodging," she teased. "Texts last night? Ninja level.""You started it." His eyes held hers a beat too long. Say something real, idiot. "Truth? Dating apps suck. Everyone's performing."Isha nodded, too fast. He gets it. "Same. Swiping feels like job hunting. But this?" She gestured between them. "Feels... normal."They talked for hours—her reel fails, his toxic client stories, Mumbai's relentless pace. Laughter flowed easy, but under it, her mind raced: Don't get attached. Mom's right; this never lasts.As the cafe emptied, Aarav stood. "This was fun. Text me a reel that doesn't suck?"She watched him leave, heart tugging. Fun? Or the start of trouble?
But then her phone buzzed. His text: Thanks for the coffee. And the company.
Why did "normal" suddenly feel dangerous?