The calls began accidentally.
At least that was how both of them would later remember it.
A missed cab became a call.
A production issue became another.
A complaint about a manager stretched into forty minutes.
Then one day, without discussion, calling each other after work stopped feeling unusual.
The office still occupied most of their conversations initially.
Escalations.
Deadlines.
Client stupidity.
Shift politics.
People who replied-all unnecessarily.
But over time, work stopped being the subject and slowly became background noise.
Calls drifted elsewhere.
Some nights Swara spoke while folding clothes after dinner.
Some nights Sudharma spoke while pacing on the terrace outside his house.
Sometimes one of them fell silent midway and the other simply continued talking anyway.
Nothing about it felt important while it was happening.
Around the office, assumptions settled faster than facts.
By then people had stopped asking jokingly and started speaking as if it was already understood.
“If Swara is staying back, Sudharma also staying ah?”
“Sudharma approved leave? Ask Swara first.”
“Team outing means both coming only.”
Neither reacted much anymore.
Occasionally Swara would roll her eyes.
Occasionally Sudharma would say:
“You all seriously need hobbies.”
Then everyone would laugh and move on.
One Friday evening, power had gone out across one section of the floor.
Half the team welcomed the excuse and disappeared toward the cafeteria.
Sudharma and Swara remained near the emergency-lit bay, waiting for systems to restart.
She spun slowly in her chair.
“What will you do after Masters?”
“Haven’t reached Masters itself.”
“You’ll go.”
“You sound very confident.”
“You’re bored here.”
Sudharma looked at her.
“That obvious?”
“You stare at Excel sheets like they insulted your family.”
He laughed softly.
“Maybe I just want something different.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Say.”
Swara adjusted the loose rubber band around her wrist.
“You’re the kind who’ll leave suddenly one day.”
“That sounds insulting.”
“It’s not.”
“Then?”
She shrugged.
“You keep one foot outside everything.”
That stayed with him longer than he expected.
The calls became later after that.
Not intentionally.
Some nights they discussed families.
Swara’s mother had started bringing up marriage more frequently now. Not aggressively. Just steadily. The way most middle-class homes approached such things.
One proposal.
Then another.
Photos forwarded on WhatsApp.
Horoscope discussions happening in rooms she wasn’t sitting in.
“Spoke to him?” Sudharma asked once.
“No.”
“Why?”
“No energy.”
“You should at least talk.”
“You sound like my aunt.”
“That bad?”
“Worse. You sound practical.”
“That’s deeply insulting.”
Swara laughed.
Then silence settled.
The kind that stayed possible only between people who no longer needed to constantly maintain conversation.
Sudharma’s Masters applications moved slowly.
Most colleges were in and around his hometown city itself. Some required entrance exams, some interviews, some endless document verification that exhausted him before anything even began.
Some nights he sounded excited and some nights unsure.
“You really want to leave work and study again?” Swara asked once.
“I don’t know if I want to study.”
“Then?”
“I just know I can’t stay exactly like this forever.”
“And after that?”
“No idea.”
“That’s comforting.”
“You asked.”
“I regret asking.”
They stayed on the call another hour after that discussing absolutely nothing important.
One night the call remained connected while both did separate things.
Sudharma was finishing a presentation.
Swara was apparently helping her mother in the kitchen while balancing the phone between shoulder and ear.
Occasionally sounds drifted through.
Steel vessels.
Pressure cooker whistle.
Her mother asking something in the background.
Television noise.
At some point he realized nearly seven minutes had passed without either speaking.
“You there?” he asked finally.
“Hmmm.”
“Why didn’t you cut the call?”
“You also didn’t.”
Another pause.
Then she said quietly:
“This is nice no?”
“What?”
“This.”
He smiled faintly though she couldn’t see it.
“Free customer care?”
“Idiot.”
That was all.
No emotional weight added to the moment.
No realization.
No confession hidden underneath.
Just two people slowly becoming part of each other’s ordinary days.
Weeks moved.
Work continued.
Birthdays were celebrated near cubicles with badly cut cakes.
People resigned.
New joiners arrived.
Appraisal frustrations spread floor by floor.
And somewhere inside all that routine, Sudharma and Swara became a fixed assumption in each other’s day.
The admission confirmation came on a Tuesday afternoon.
Sudharma stared at the email for several seconds before opening it properly again.
Then once more.
As if repetition might change something.
He got in.
By evening, half the office already knew.
Someone from the next bay shouted:
“Party when?”
“After loan approval,” Sudharma replied.
Laughter.
Congratulations followed.
Swara said nothing immediately.
She only walked to his desk later, after most people had left for dinner.
“Done then?”
“Looks like.”
“When do classes start?”
“Two months.”
She nodded slowly.
“Good.”
He waited.
For something more perhaps.
But she only asked:
“You’ll come tomorrow?”
“It’s not prison, Swara.”
“You never know with colleges.”
He smiled.
For some reason the conversation felt shorter than usual.
That night, the call came later than normal.
Shanbhogue Publications 
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