Mujhe Pyaar Hua Tha~ Short Stories Collection

1

Kol hove te sekh lagda ae
Door jaave te dil jalda ae
Kehri agg naal Rabb ne banaya
Rabb ne banaya,
Rabb ne banaya

Taap lagge na tapdi chandri da
Saari raati main oss chidkavan
Kinne dardan naal Rabb ne banaya
Rabb ne banaya, Rabb ne banaya

Author's POV

The air around the Durga Puja pandal in South Delhi was heavy with the scent of incense, flowers, and a strange sense of comfort that festivals often bring. It had been a long, exhausting week for Mahira Sharma, but something about being surrounded by laughter, prayer chants, and vibrant colors made her feel oddly calm. Dressed in a simple cotton kurta with her hair loosely tied, she moved through the crowd with quiet ease, not expecting to bump into anyone familiar—until she saw him.

Sameer Chaudhry.

He stood near the main pandal, talking to an elderly couple, smiling that same familiar smile she remembered from their college days. The crisp white kurta he wore added a quiet grace to his presence, but it was the easy confidence and the slight tilt of his head when he laughed that brought a sudden rush of memories.

He turned, and their eyes met.

"Mahira Sharma," he said with a small grin, walking over as though no time had passed.

"Sameer Chaudhry," she replied, mirroring his smile, "Look at you—Mr. Foreign-Returned. I half-expected you to walk in wearing a three-piece suit and an accent."

He chuckled, hands in his pockets. "Relax. It's only been six months. I haven't forgotten how to be desi just yet."

She gave him a playful look. "Not sure. That kurta looks suspiciously well ironed."

"I still remember how to burn toast and survive on Maggi. That counts for something, right?"

They shared a laugh, the kind that only old friends can manage—easy, light, and rooted in years of knowing each other far too well. As they walked through the crowd together, stopping occasionally to watch the rituals or greet someone familiar, the conversation flowed effortlessly. From work life and Sameer's diplomatic training in London to Mahira's chaotic MBA days at ISB Delhi, they covered everything that mattered—and a little more.

When the night finally began to wind down, they stood near the food stalls, finishing their bhog quietly.

"Text me when you get home?" he said, looking at her just as she turned to leave.

"I will," she smiled. "You should too, though. You know, just to prove you still remember how to hold a conversation."

He grinned. "Challenge accepted."

The next afternoon, as Mahira sat curled up on her bed scrolling through a finance case study she didn't want to do, her phone buzzed.

Sameer: "I'm free this evening. Coffee? My parents are out and I've escaped family catch-ups for one day. You around?"

Mahira: "Only if we stick to harmless nostalgia and avoid global policy debates."

Sameer: "Deal. Café Triveni at 5?"

The café they picked was quiet and warm, nestled between tall trees and red-brick walls that had clearly seen better days. Mahira reached a few minutes late to find Sameer already there, swirling his coffee absentmindedly, a habit he'd clearly never let go of.

"You're early," she said, sliding into the seat across from him, brushing strands of hair from her face.

"You're late," he replied, smirking. "But I'll allow it because you look less tired than yesterday."