Chapter 11: The Tea That Spoke Volumes

The sky was now navy blue, scattered with early stars as Veeresh pulled over beside a familiar tea shop on the outskirts. The place hadn’t changed — same wooden benches, same old uncle with his big moustache pouring tea with perfect foam.

Veeresh parked the bike and turned to her.

“Tea?” he asked casually.

Poornima shook her head. “No.”

He didn't argue.

“One ginger tea. Less sugar, extra strong,” he told the chaiwala.

She looked away, folding her arms, still unsure why she was even here.

When the tea arrived, Veeresh took a sip, silent.

He didn’t say much.

He just stood beside her, close — not touching, not asking. Just there.

He drank half, then looked at her.

“Drink, Poornima.”

She opened her mouth to refuse again, but before she could…

He placed the warm cup in her hand.

Firm. No argument.

She stared at it. At him.

Then… quietly took a sip.

She hadn’t realized how cold she was — until the heat of the tea settled inside her. And she hadn’t realized how hollow she’d felt — until that sip brought tears to her eyes she didn’t show.

They didn’t speak.

But something softened.

---

A little later, they walked into a roadside hotel nearby. Nothing fancy — just their kind of place from their college days.

One plate, two spoons.

He ordered everything he remembered she used to love — gobi manchurian, dosa, and extra chutney.

They sat under the dim light. She didn't smile, but she didn’t frown either.

He scooped a bite and offered her first.

They shared silently.

At one point, as he was sipping juice, his arm lazily rested over her shoulder.

She flinched a little. Not in anger… but because it felt familiar.

Too familiar.

Too hard to ignore.

After a few moments, she whispered, “Let’s go home.”

Veeresh, eyes still on the roadside traffic and lights, said in a low, steady voice, “Shut up… You’re coming with me.”

And for the first time…

She didn’t argue.