When I was studying in New Delhi, I had quite a hard time finding a part time job to pay off some of my student loans. "Work experience is a must" said the managers and you could say rejection from every place of work became a part of my daily routine. 

Walking around on the streets, looking for a place to sit and eat lunch after another failed interview, I found myself at a peaceful diner. I entered the wooden café and darted my eyes across the entire place. Not so popular, I assumed. There was atmost one person on every alternate table. Following the pattern, I sat down on a comfy brown leather sofa on the seventh table. A vase of lillies at the centre, a menu and a bunch of napkins on the side. Neat. My hand pulled out my phone and a pair of earbuds from my pocket and began a solitary music session. A song or two had passed, before I felt someone tapping on my shoulder. My eyes looked up through my eyebrows.

"Would you like to order anything, sir?" There I saw him infront of me, smiling. Dark Brown hair, somewhere around 5'8ft, amber eyes and an orange apron that symbolised his profession at this diner. 

I picked up my gaze. "A coffee and some grilled cheese sandwiches would be just fine." I said without taking off my earbuds but pausing the song. He nodded, wrote it on the notepad with his pen and left to the back. He didn't look to be so old. Somewhere around my age or, younger.

I had just noticed that there weren't many employees either. A brunette stood behind the counter to take the purchase. That boy in the apron, and just a few more people run this place. Business is a messy process that starts unorganized at first so, I wouldn't like to point fingers. The boy came back with my order and I put my phone and earbuds aside to eat. 

"You don't look to be from around here. Where are you from?" The boy asked, seemingly curious. Though I don't enough small talk, I figured this will be the best way to get my head off of what I expected to be a successful opportunity for a job. You know, find something worse to forget the bad.

"Kolkata. I'm here to finish my degree." I said, without looking up.

"My classmate was from Kolkata in 7th grade! Do you happen to know him?" He sat down on the sofa adjacent to mine. A bit confused, I was. How would I know someone from almost 6-7 years ago? And on top of that, someone I've never even met!

"I have no idea-"

"His name was Rakesh. A creative fella. His science projects were so fascinating that most of the class was jealous of his intelligence! Man, I miss him sometimes. Oh, don't worry! He is a scientist, now. Shifted to London when one of his projects about a new type of sumbraine was approved. Money kisses his feet now!"

For some reason, his way of telling a story and that particular detail caught my attention. "Submarine? Do you mean Star-78?" His eyes lit up when he discovered I was no foreigner to the invention. "Yes! Apparently, the marines found it so useful that they requested him to work on the project. The sea has been safer since the launch."

"Yeah," I chomped down on the sandwich. "Practice makes progress, I'd say." 

"Because perfection is a myth." We both said in sync. And so began our chat.

Our interests didn't match all the way through. He liked the space, I liked the sea. His favorite type of music genre was jazz, mine was metal. But somewhere within these differences, i found myself getting more and more interested in speaking to him. Maybe it was his voice or the way he exaggerated the plot of a south Indian movie that flopped, but I was left in a bubble of admiration that prevented me from noticing the time. 

"I never expected her to be the actual mastermind. She was such a background character." I said and took a last sip of my coffee. 

"Exactly! The director pulled an uno reverse right at the end." He chuckled before looking at me again. This time, like he was a bit onto something. 

"You looked a bit troubled when you came in. Something bothering you?" He asked me. I put the cup down and prevented eye contact before breaking off the glass of secrecy. I told him about my need for a part time job and surprisingly, he offered me one at this diner. I mean, not so many employees and seems to have a decent vibe to it all so, why not? I agreed with a soft smile and man must I say, even my own mother wouldn't have been as happy as he was. I gathered my phone, dailed his number, and asked for his name.

"Call me Aryan." He spoke, I saved. The boy stood up before giving me a high five, telling me to have a nice evening and heading back to the kitchen. 

As I exited the diner after paying for my meal, which was delicious, I looked back at the number I had saved as 'Aryan' on my phone. My lips curled up into a small, but genuine smile before I put the phone and earbuds back in my pocket and walk back on the crowded streets of New Delhi.

Looking back at the number that is now saved as 'Blocked' on the same phone, I can't help but stare with an empty gaze. How some people are just temporary assets in your life like decorations during a festival and once they leave, you are back in place. Untouched and undecorated like nothing ever happened. What happened between me and Aryan is a memory. But what is about to happen between me and him will be delicate. I lost him the day I lost her and it didn't end pretty. I don't know how he reacted or even comprehended to the notification of her death. From what I remember, Aryan doesn't do well with anything associated with dying. His body just freezes and he goes into a state of isolation. Locking himself up until he can't feel it anymore. That's just how he is. 

It doesn't matter to me now, though. I am going there just to pay my regards and leave. Or more like, fulfilling a wish.

It's 5 P.M now. The train has stopped at a station to have supper. I skipped lunch because I was either sleeping, reading a book, or calling back home to tell Maa where I've reached. I stood up before walking up to the end of my block and getting down on the station. We are in Uttar Pradesh, now. A state famous for its rich culture and history but mostly for Taj Mahal in Agra. One of the seven wonders of the world. Well, I am not going to see it right now, am I? So let's just stick to what I want to eat.

I walked a bit on the platform before noticing a small street food shop, selling vada pavs. They seem like a decent meal. I sped up to the shop and ordered one plate. When my food arrived, I sat down with it on a bench to eat. Vada pav is a kind of bun served with some seasoned lentils and a tikki inbetween. It's popular for its spicy and tangy taste. I enjoy eating it but I'd rather have something I'm more familiar with. Like a Siddu. A Siddu is a Himachali traditional dish that is a bun stuffed with mashed walnuts with some chutney. It's mostly served with melted ghee on top and chai.

She used to bring it to lunch almost every Friday. 

The day after the pair up, she sat next to me on the bench. I don't know why, but this action didn't bother me that much. It felt right at the time. She introduced herself again, said she doesn't want to finish all the food by herself and offered me a piece. Now look, I don't usually eat from anyone's lunch box. Especially from someone I don't know. But the white bun smothered in ghee and that soft smile on her face told me that I wasn't going to get poisoned. So, I took a bite of that Siddu, and felt it melt in my mouth. My expression softened and she giggled. The sound of her oxidized jhumkas dangling as she bobbed her head to express her gratitude made me open my eyes to a face that felt honored to say that she made it herself. She said that she will make more if I am willing to eat lunch with her for most days. A fair trade for someone like me that doesn't know how to cook. 

I didn't have a bench partner but after that day, I did. As she left for her next lecture, I felt like a little kid getting a friend without being judged. 

I hope I get to eat a Siddu when I reach Himachal.

The train made a loud noise and I knew it was time to resume my journey. I paid the man who served me the Vada pav, told him it was exquisite, and ran up to the train to get on. My legs walked back to my seat and I sat down, looking out the window again. A short break, a small reminder. Something waits me ahead and it wants a fair amount of my attention. I hope I give it that and the mountains welcome me like a friend, not an enemy. 

Her heart is red, so is mine. But hers stopped beating while mine beats only for her.