"When the whole world was watching the Goddess, he was watching her."
The city was draped in lights.
Stalls glowed with warmth.
The smell of jalebis, momos, and chaat floated in the air.
Durga Puja had arrived.
And Siya?
She didn't care about the aarti. Or the loudspeakers.
She only cared about one thing that evening—Ruhan was coming.
✨ The Plan
Ruhan had promised to meet her near the phuchka stall.
She wore her best black kurti, her kajal darker than usual, hair open, with just enough perfume to make hearts skip.
He was already waiting.
"Killer look, ma'am," he whispered.
"Behave. We're in public."
But her smile gave away how much she loved it.
They started walking through the stalls, blending in with the crowd.
His pinky touched hers—slowly, nervously—and finally, they interlocked their fingers like two puzzle pieces finding home.
🌭 Food, Laughter, and That Glance
They shared one plate of chowmein, fighting over bites.
They ate ice cream with a single spoon.
They even dared to try spicy aloo tikki, and Ruhan almost cried.
"Who eats this voluntarily?! My tongue is on fire!"
"Eat it with dignity. You're from UP," she giggled, handing him water.
People passed by. Lights twinkled. The sound of dhol played in the background.
But in that moment, it was just the two of them.
🧍 The Relative Strike
Just when he leaned in a little too close...
"Arey Siya beta!"
Boom.
The aunty from her colony appeared out of nowhere like a sanskari jumpscare.
Both of them instantly separated like magnets pushed apart.
Ruhan backed up three steps.
Siya adjusted her dupatta like she had just taken seven pheras alone.
"Aunty! You here?" Siya fake smiled.
"Haan beta, came with my son. Who's this?" she pointed at Ruhan.
"Uh—just someone from tuitions," Siya blurted.
"Oh okay, good good. Stay blessed. Jai Ma Durga!"
She left, finally.
Siya turned to him.
"Tu na… next time wear a disguise."
"What disguise? A sadhu baba?"
"Yes. Or I'll wear a burqa. Too risky."
🌕 The Goodbye Under the Moonlight
As the night ended, they stood behind the temple's big neem tree.
It was quieter here. The crowd was thin.
They stood close, barely touching, hearts louder than the puja drums.
"This night…" Ruhan said, "feels like a memory already."
She looked at him.
"Why do you always talk like a poet?"
"Because I'm in love with a poem."
He leaned down. Their foreheads touched.
She whispered:
"We can't kiss. There's CCTV."
"Then let's just breathe together."
And they did.
No rush. No noise.
Just stolen breaths in a borrowed moment.
Festivals are made for families.
But sometimes… they become the perfect excuse to fall in love in public,
while pretending you're just "friends from tuition."