It was official.

Her best friend was finally getting married to the love of her life - after enough drama to fuel at least three daily soaps and one mildly successful web series.

Damayanti, meanwhile, was sitting in a bridal boutique like a resigned side character, watching Vibino twirl for the third time in a row in a suspiciously adorable skirt.

“This looks nice, no?” Vibino asked, striking a pose in front of the mirror like she was about to drop a brand deal. “I am sure John is going to love this.”

“I don’t understand why you’re spending this much for a court marriage,” Damayanti replied, not even looking up at first as she unlocked her phone - only to freeze.

Three missed calls.

From her mother.

Her soul briefly exited her body.

How did she not hear that? Her phone wasn’t on silent---

…Oh.

It was on silent.

Of course.

Swearing under her breath, she quickly turned the volume back on and typed out a message asking what had happened. The reply came almost immediately.

“Nothing, I forgot my Gmail password but then I remembered it is written in my diary as well.”

Damayanti stared at the screen.

For a full minute.

Then she locked her phone and slipped it back into her pocket with the quiet dignity of someone who had been personally betrayed by technology and genetics.

“Because I want to wear something nice,” Vibino said, still admiring herself. “Also, I want to show off my victory to my cousin who said no one would ever marry me.”

“Debashish is an asshole,” Damayanti muttered, finally standing up and walking over. She studied Vibino’s reflection, lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “But yeah… this actually looks really good on you.”

“I know, right?” Vibino grinned, absolutely unsurprised by the validation.

Naturally, the dress was bought. Money was spent. Emotional satisfaction was achieved.

A successful mission.

After a bit more wandering, impulsive shopping, and Vibino picking up things she absolutely did not need but emotionally required, they stumbled upon a cozy café and decided to take a break.

The moment they stepped inside, Damayanti’s eyes landed somewhere - and refused to move.

Oh.

Oh no.

There she was.

Sunshine.

It had been almost two years, but somehow, ridiculously, unfairly - she looked just as beautiful. Maybe more. Today she was draped in a chic white saree paired with a sleeveless green blouse, her hair tied in that same messy bun that seemed to defy logic and effort.

And like some cosmic joke that the universe clearly found hilarious ---

Sunshine turned.

And looked right at her.

There was recognition there, soft and surely curious.

Damayanti would bet actual money on it.

Of course, before she could spiral into a full cinematic moment, Vibino shoved her into a chair with zero regard for destiny and flagged the waiter down.

Rude.

What followed was, frankly, a setup. A cruel, unfair setup.

Because Damayanti was now seated in perfect alignment to see Sunshine clearly. Without even trying.

Not that she wasn’t trying.

God knew she was.

But every few seconds, like a magnet with no self-respect, her eyes drifted back.

And the worst part?

Sunshine kept looking too.

Which raised several concerns.

Was she recognizing her?

Was she judging her?

Was she mentally filing a complaint under “creepy women who stare too much”?

Highly likely.

From an outsider’s perspective, Damayanti probably did look like some unhinged creep who had forgotten basic social etiquette. She wasn’t drooling, per se - but the focus was intense enough to be questionable.

(Okay fine, the sleeveless blouse was not helping. At all.)

Then, as if things weren’t already chaotic enough, Damayanti noticed a faint blush creep onto Sunshine’s cheeks.

Wait.

Wait.

Hold on.

Before she could fully process that development, Sunshine signaled for the bill. And just like that, she was leaving.

But ---

She kept looking back.

Not once. Not twice. Multiple times.

Like she was… checking her out?

Was she though?

Damayanti immediately looked down at herself.

A loose, shapeless jumpsuit stared back.

Wow.

Of all the days to dress like a mildly depressed art teacher.

Tragic.

“How’s work? I heard the department is revamping the library,” Vibino’s voice cut through her internal meltdown.

Grateful for the distraction, Damayanti nodded. “Yeah. Ahuja was talking about adding a new section on contemporary Indian political literature. Apparently, it’s to help the youth understand how ‘great’ we’ve progressed in the past few years.”

Vibino snorted. “He’s still doing that obnoxious preacher thing?”

“Oh, relentlessly,” Damayanti laughed.

The waiter arrived, menu in hand.

And for reasons that even she couldn’t justify---

“Chamomile tea,” she said.

Immediately regretting her entire existence.

She hadn’t ordered it since that one stupid encounter, but apparently today she had chosen it for chaos.

Vibino, being a stable and sensible human being, ordered her usual matcha latte.

Time passed the way it always did with them - fast, loud, filled with complaints, laughter, and the occasional existential crisis disguised as casual conversation.

Damayanti had landed an ad-hoc position at their old college, which felt both surreal and mildly illegal. Vibino, on the other hand, was thriving at a small all-women publishing firm and living her best feminist main-character life.

It was nice.

But as Damayanti took a sip of her tea - grimacing slightly because yes, it still tasted like politely flavoured suffering - her gaze drifted back to the now-empty table where Sunshine had been sitting.

And that’s when it hit her.

That blush.

That very real, very noticeable blush.

Her stomach flipped.

What were the actual, statistical, scientifically explainable odds of that?