One last attempt.

That's how Cloide phrased it in her text, as if Neha were signing up for a trial subscription about to expire. Another man. Another blind date that Cloide seemed convinced could be the one.

Well, apparently her brother had suggested this new guy.

Neha stared at the message, thumb frozen above the screen. Cloide wasn't just matchmaking. She was manifesting hope in spreadsheet form—proof that the world was still solvable, that if you just tried enough combinations, something would click.

She rolled over in bed. Saturday mornings were supposed to be slow, gentle, restorative. But she felt like a clock running fast inside her ribs. Exhausted physically, mentally, existentially. Her body was tired, sure, but it was the everything else that weighed her down: the constant measuring, comparing, planning, and performing. The pressure to succeed. To be stable. To be sensible. To be a woman whose life made sense in a neat, linear  way.

Her phone buzzed every now and then, but none of the messages had anything to do with her dating life anymore. The group chat had moved on—brunch plans, memes, photos of Bobby's new family member, a doberman pup named Maven with ears far too big for its head. In a way, she felt relieved. But in another, quieter way, she hated to admit it—there was a small pang of disappointment. Who was to blame, really? They had tried. She had... failed to follow through.

Even her mother hadn't called. And somehow, that felt heavier than nagging. Silence carried its own weight, leaving space for thoughts she normally shoved into neat, hidden corners, carefully labeled and ignored.

She considered skipping the date. Entirely. She didn't even know who she was supposed to meet. Cloide's text had mentioned a café, which at least meant there was coffee. And Neha liked coffee. She liked it enough to stand up, tie her hair back, and step out the door.

Quitting wasn't really her style, anyway.

The streets hummed with a lazy Saturday rhythm as Neha made her way to the café. Couples strolled hand in hand, sharing quiet laughs. Steam curling from manhole grates. A family juggled a stroller, a toddler, and a protesting dog. Delivery bikes zipped past, leaving trails of fried bread and espresso in their wake. Her phone buzzed—another text from her boss, urgent, because crises didn't respect weekends. She sighed, locked the screen. Some things could wait.

She tried, half-heartedly, to picture who she might meet. Cloide had sent the location, that was all—no name, no face, no clue about this person beyond a shared love of caffeine. Neha fished her phone out of her bag and tapped Cloide's contact. The line was busy. She let out a soft sigh, shoulders sagging slightly.

"Well," she muttered to herself, letting the words drift into the crisp morning air, "looks like I'll just have to figure this one out on my own. At worst... I still get a latte."

She scanned the street for the café sign, taking in its exterior. Busy, even for a Saturday morning—people moving in and out, the clatter of cups, murmured conversations spilling onto the sidewalk. She took a deep breath and pushed the door open—and immediately collided with someone.

"Oh! Sorry," she said, stepping back instinctively.

"¡Perdón!" the stranger said rapidly, gesturing with his hands. "¿Puedes decirme cómo llegar a la estación de tren?"

"I... I'm sorry, I don't—"

He repeated himself, frantic, hands waving helplessly. Panic prickled along her spine.

"I... I don't understand," she admitted, scanning around.

"¡Yo te ayudo!"

A calm, confident voice cut through the confusion.

Neha looked up. There was a man standing a step behind her—tall, lean, and easy in his stance. Sunlight caught the warm, golden-brown glow of his skin, the kind that seemed to hum with vitality. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and those deep, almond-shaped eyes held a familiar, steady light that made her chest tighten. His half-smile was relaxed, effortless, like he carried the kind of charm that didn't need announcing. Even the tilt of his head suggested someone who was both present and quietly amused by the world.

Her stomach gave a little flip, familiar and strange all at once. The face—those eyes, that half-smile—was unmistakable. Her teenage heart had once adored that profile in the margins of a biology notebook, had swooned at casual glances across classrooms, had dreamed embarrassingly vivid scenarios about him.

She froze. The world slowed. The stranger thanked him in Spanish and walked off, relief written all over his face. And Neha stayed rooted to the low stairs, staring.

He turned, just for a moment, and their eyes met. Recognition sparked like a tiny live wire.

Her lips parted. "Radya Ayya*?"

Disbelief flashed across his face before softening into a sheepish grin. "Neha?"

It was him. Her high school crush. The boy who had once lent her biology notes and made her heart feel like it had learned new rules of physics overnight. He was no longer the carefree boy she once knew. He had grown. There was something about the way he stood now, taller, leaner, with an air of quiet confidence that had replaced the impulsive, easy laughter of his younger self. The boy who had been a source of so many confusing feelings was now a man.

"What... what are you doing here?" she asked, trying to sound casual, though her pulse betrayed her.

He scratched the back of his neck, shy and slightly flustered. "Well... you know... a friend asked me to meet someone... for coffee..." His voice faltered, fumbling for words.

Neha tilted her head, catching the awkward rhythm, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "A... date?"

He nodded slowly and smiled sheepishly. "A date, yes."

Her eyes narrowed with mock suspicion. "Wait. Are you... I mean, by any chance, the friend who asked you to come here... was Luke Petrova?"

His eyes widened, then softened into a slow smile. "How... do you know him?"

For a moment, he looked genuinely stunned. Then realization dawned. "Neha..." he said softly, pointing at her. "Neha Rajaguru? Is that... you? Are you... a Rajaguru?"

She laughed, the sound spilling into the morning air. "Yeah. I'm the Rajaguru you were looking for. And dang... I didn't know I was coming to meet the one and only Radya Bandara."

He chuckled, shaking his head, incredulous and amused. "Well, this is... unexpected."

They stepped aside from the door, still laughing, the city moving around them but somehow quieter, slower.

"So... how have you been?" she asked, a genuine warmth in her voice.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Neha Rajaguru was the kind of student teachers whispered about in staff rooms—straight A's, perfectly aligned notebooks, the kind of girl who color-coded her exam prep and still found time to help others revise. But beneath the academic armor, there had once been a heart that beat wildly for a boy two grades above her: Radya Bandara.

He wasn't just popular. He was beloved. Cricket captain, prefect, the kind of boy who remembered the janitor's name and carried desks without being asked. His charm wasn't loud—it was in the way he listened, the way he laughed with his eyes, the way he made people feel seen.

Falling for him had been inevitable. Quite literally.

It happened at sports day drill practice, under the relentless sun. Neha, determined not to skip, had pushed herself too far. One moment she was standing in formation, the next—darkness.

When she came to, she was in the sick room, a damp cloth pressed to her forehead, and a boy sitting beside her, flipping through a newspaper. Radya. Of course. It had to be Radya Bandara.

Rumor had it he carried her there. Waited until the nurse confirmed she was okay. How mortifying it was. She had wanted to bury herself alive. But all he had offered was water and a quiet, "You scared us a bit."

She knew she wasn't special. He would have done it for anyone. But her heart didn't care. It had already started scribbling his name in the margins of her textbook—an act just as illicit and reckless as her feelings.

A few weeks later, her teacher sent her to his classroom to borrow a textbook. She knocked, stepped in, and there he was—leaning back in his chair, laughing at something his friend said. When he saw her, he smiled. That soft, iconic smile—the one that made her knees weaken and her thoughts scatter. She wanted to scream. Her heart wanted to scream. All she could do was return the smile, grab the book, and retreat as fast as she could.

But it didn't make anything better. From then on, he was everywhere. Standing on stage receiving awards, she'd scan the crowd for his face. In the schoolyard, cricket bat slung over his shoulder, she'd pretend to read but watch him from the corner of her eye. When he spoke to other girls—kind, gentle, respectful—she told herself it didn't matter. But it did.

It was puppy love in its purest form. One-sided. Quiet. Unspoken.

She never told anyone. Not even Dithra, her seatmate. It was hers alone—a secret that bloomed in silence, thriving in the spaces between her goals and her grit.

She didn't even notice when it began to fade. Somewhere between endless revisions, uncovered syllabuses, slightly lower-than-perfect results, university applications, and internships, it quietly slipped into the back of her heart, labeled childhood crush.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

"So... you took your braces off?" Radya asked, a teasing lilt in his voice that made Neha's cheeks warm instantly.

Neha blinked, caught off guard. "Yeah. Finally," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Her gaze wandered, despite herself, taking in the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt, the faint wrinkle at his collar, the watch glinting at his wrist. He cradled his mug loosely, turning it once between his palms before lifting it, eyes never leaving hers.

Neha sank into her chair. Radya's presence had a peculiar effect: calm, but alive, like he drew attention without demanding it. No performance, no expectation, no checklist.

The café buzzed softly around them. Sunlight poured through tall windows, gilding wooden tables and highlighting tiny swirls of steam rising from mugs of coffee. The scent of buttery croissants mingled with espresso. Students tapped away at laptops, a couple whispered across a shared pastry, and the occasional clink of ceramic punctuated laughter.

"So... life?" she asked lightly, spinning her mug between her hands.

"Busy," he said with a laugh, the kind that felt familiar and safe. "Conferences, patients... adulting." He cocked his head, eyes on her. "And you? Still color-coding your world?"

"Only in my dreams," she said with a small smile. "Reality has a habit of color-coding me instead."

His laugh was soft, easy, and for a moment it seemed to erase years of quiet longing, teenage heartbeats scribbled in margins, unspoken crushes.

Radya leaned back in his chair, his gaze lingering on her. "You've... changed," he said quietly. "But good changed. You look... really good."

Neha raised an eyebrow, playful. "Trust me, removing your braces and glasses might be a worthy upgrade too."

He chuckled, then shook his head, correcting himself with a faint smile. "No, I mean—you're still beautiful. Just as I remember." His tone gentled, almost thoughtful, though mischief lingered at the edges. "But I don't think I ever realized how beautiful you are when you smile. Back then... you didn't let yourself smile much, did you?"

Her heart stuttered but she managed to hide it behind an arched a brow and a smirk. "You almost sounds like you've been admiring me from afar."

Radya smiled. And shrugged. "Maybe that's because I have."

Words failed Neha, caught somewhere between disbelief and delight.

He smiled to himself, as though amused by her reaction. "I was wondering... what happened to you after the exams. Then I heard from a classmate that you went abroad. And... when Petrova mentioned a Neha... how could I have known it was you?"

Neha had nothing to say—her mind blank, her heart full.

He let out a soft sigh and leaned in, eyes bright. "And now... against all odds, here we are. If I asked you out—properly, a real dinner, no accidental meetings—would you come?"

Her chest fluttered. She couldn't help the smile curling on her lips. "I... I don't think I have a reason to say no."

His grin widened, satisfied. Triumphant, even. The ease settled between them, flowing naturally. They talked, laughed, shared stories of work, life, and everything in between. The years of silent admiration, teenage flutters, and careful boundaries melted into laughter and gentle teasing.

After a while, when he excused himself to go order them dessert, Neha pulled out her phone, fingers tapping a quick message into the group chat:

Neha: "Guys... Eureka... EUREKAAAA!"

___________________
Ayya* - older brother (honorofic in context)