The cafeteria had become routine.
Ganavi.
Jahnavi.
Sudharma.
Coffee.
Complaints about transport.
Complaints about customers.
Random office gossip.
At first Ganavi had carried most conversations.
Now she no longer needed to.
That was the first change.
Sudharma and Jahnavi had started speaking directly.
A comment here.
A disagreement there.
A small joke during breaks.
That Monday evening, Sudharma’s team leader dropped a surprise.
One-week Six Sigma training.
Mandatory for QAs and trainers.
Sudharma included.
For Sudharma — as though somebody had announced punishment.
“I have to wake up like a normal human being?”
“Tragic,” Harsh said.
Tuesday morning he reached the company bus stop half-awake.
And stopped.
Jahnavi was already there.
She looked equally surprised.
“You live around here?” he asked, surprised.
“Just a few streets away,” she said.
“You?”
He stared at her for a moment. “I can’t believe we’ve been working together all this time and never realised this.”
The company bus arrived.
They got in.
Half the bus was empty.
They sat together because there was no excuse to avoid.
The conversation began awkwardly.
“Daily first shift?”
“Yes.”
“That itself is training.”
She smiled.
“What about you?”
“I was born for evening shifts.”
That earned a small laugh.
For a while they spoke about work.
Training.
New batch.
Transport routes.
Then the conversation moved elsewhere.
Naturally.
He asked about her family.
She answered simply.
Mother. Father. Traditional Bangalore household.
Strict timings.
Strict routines.
Home before a certain hour.
No unnecessary outings.
No late evenings.
No questions about why the rules existed.
They simply existed.
“You never fought?” he asked.
“For what?”
“That.”
She looked at him.
“Not everybody fights at home.”
That stayed with him.
She asked about his family.
He told her about his hometown.
His mother, father, brother, sister-in-law who was more like an elder sister to him.
Living in Bangalore.
The bachelor flat.
Viraj. Utsav.
She listened with more attention than he expected.
“So your flat is really that bad?”
“Worse.”
“You cook?”
“I love to.”
“You clean?”
“Sundays only. Or if one of our girlfriends visit.”
She laughed.
The conversation became easier after that.
He slowly noticed something unsettling.
Jahnavi was not shy. She was quiet.
That was different.
She observed everything.
She missed very little.
And when she spoke, she was clear.
Sometimes blunt.
Never rude.
That surprised him more than anything else.
By the time the bus reached office, they were unexpectedly comfortable.
The rest of the week followed a rhythm.
Morning bus.
Training.
Coffee.
Work.
Evening shift.
After the first day, conversation came easily.
No awkwardness.
No mention of the confession.
That somehow made it more confusing.
Now he was no longer looking at her as the girl who had called him.
He was looking at her as a person.
That made things more complicated.
Ganavi noticed.
Ganavi noticed the change.
More than Jahnavi, she noticed Sudharma.
By Friday she had made up her mind.
Dinner.
“Half day.”
“What?”
“Take half day.”
“Why?”
“Dinner.”
That was all.
Friday evening traffic in Bangalore behaved exactly as expected.
Terrible.
They reached Beijing Bytes in BTM later than planned.
The place looked exactly the same.
Red lanterns.
Artificial bamboo.
The same laminated menu.
They didn’t need to discuss the order.
“One by two Wonton Soup,” Ganavi said.
“Dragon Chicken.”
She looked at him.
“American Chopsey?”
He nodded.
“Hakka Noodles for me.”
“Two lime sodas. Sweet and salt.”
The waiter left.
Ganavi looked at him.
“Okay, enough. What’s going on with you?”
He leaned back.
“Since when?”
“This week.”
“Training.”
“No.”
She stirred the lime soda.
“This is not about training.”
He said nothing.
She continued.
“Morning shift changed things.”
He smiled.
“That sounds dramatic.”
“It is not.”
She held his gaze.
“You are different with Jahnavi now.”
He did not answer.
“She is different with you too.”
Still nothing.
Ganavi leaned back.
“Am I imagining this?”
He looked at the table.
“No.”
The answer came quietly.
Ganavi waited.
This time he did not dodge.
He told her everything.
The messages during leave.
The call.
The confession.
He told her about the bus rides.
The conversations.
The confusion.
He spoke more honestly than he had expected.
Ganavi listened without interruption.
The soup arrived.
Neither touched it.
Finally she spoke.
“You are never confused with girls.”
Silence.
“Never.”
He said nothing.
“Not Sanvi. Not anybody.”
He looked at her.
She continued.
“If you are confused now…”
A pause.
“I think this is serious.”
The words landed harder than he expected.
For the first time all week, somebody had said it aloud.
Ganavi looked down at the table.
When she spoke again, her voice was quieter.
“I’m hurt.”
He frowned.
“Why?”
She looked at him.
“You didn’t tell me.”
He had no answer.
That hurt more than accusation would have.
The food arrived.
Dragon Chicken.
American Chopsey.
Hakka Noodles.
He placed the dishes on the table and looked at both of them.
“Any issue with the soup, sir?”
Both looked up.
“No.”
“Then why are you staring at it?”
“It’ll become cold.”
He walked away shaking his head.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Ganavi picked up her fork and rolled a few noodles around it.
“Listen.”
Sudharma looked up.
“I am the best friend you’ve got. Remember that.” She continued…
“The day you get a girlfriend…”
“…I should be the first person to know.”
He laughed.
“Noted.”
“Good.”
She pointed the fork at him.
“Now eat. We’ve already traumatised the waiter.”
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