When I Reached Before My Heart Was Ready

Why did he decide to meet so suddenly?

I had told him we could wait.
Two months wasn’t that long.
I’d be coming to Mumbai for my friend’s wedding anyway — we could have met then.

But he didn’t wait.

He never does, once his mind is made up.

I exhale slowly, my breath turning faintly white in the cold air.
Bangalore winters are cruel like that — quiet, sharp, unforgiving.

And yet…
why am I the one feeling restless?

I glance at my reflection on my phone screen.
Just a little makeup. Nothing dramatic.
Enough to look nice.

I smooth my hair once more, then stop myself.
Why am I doing this?

I’ve known him for years.

Still, here I am — standing early at a metro station, fingers cold, heart loud,
as if this isn’t someone familiar…
as if this moment isn’t new.

Nine years of knowing him.
One year of really knowing him.
And just two nights ago, I crossed a line I never thought I would.

I asked him out.

The thought still feels strange in my chest — warm and terrifying at the same time.

I don’t know when it happened.
Somewhere between long conversations that stretched past midnight
and silences that never felt awkward,
he quietly settled into my mind.

And now I’m here.
Waiting.

The platform hums softly around me.
Footsteps. Announcements. The distant rattle of a train.

My leg bounces before I realize I’m doing it.

Calm down.

The metro slides in with a rush of wind, cold brushing against my face.
Doors open. People step out.

He should be here.

I scan the crowd.

And then—

I see him.

My breath catches before I can stop it.

He’s wearing my favourite colour.

The realization lands softly, like a secret.
Did he remember?
Or am I reading too much into it?

He looks different today.

Not in a loud way.
Not dramatic.

Just… closer.
More real.

The kind of handsome that feels like it belongs to you before you admit it.

My heartbeat stumbles.

Okay. Calm down.
This is not a heart attack.

Probably.

A dull ache twists in my stomach and I laugh silently at myself.
Why does it feel like my entire body is panicking together?

For a fleeting second, the urge hits me —
text him, say something came up, disappear.

But then I see him properly.

Standing there.
Only a shirt. No jacket. No sweater.

Idiot.

I had told him it would be cold.

The thought makes my chest tighten in that stupid, affectionate way.
Of course he didn’t listen.

My feet refuse to move.

What do I do first?

Wave?
Say hi?

Call his name and watch him turn around?

No.

A smile creeps onto my lips.

I step quietly, closing the distance between us.
My heart is loud now — too loud.

Maybe I’ll scare him a little.
Just enough.

Or maybe…
a gentle back hug.

That’s what girlfriends do, right?

The word girlfriend echoes in my head, unfamiliar and sweet.

I am his girlfriend.
And he is my boyfriend.

The thought makes my lips curve upward again.

He’s smiling — not at anything in particular.
Just smiling.

Not confident.
Not cool.

Just… silly.

Has love already done this to him?

Or did I really commit to a slightly mad person?

I pause a few steps away and watch him.

Hands tucked into his pockets.
Eyes moving slowly across the platform.

Not searching desperately.
Just waiting.

Like he knows I’ll be here somewhere.

That look —
soft, patient, quietly hopeful —
settles something inside me.

Okay.

Slowly.

This is still him.
The same boy.

Just… someone I love now.

His hands drop to his sides.

That’s my moment.

I reach out and slide my hand into his.

His fingers are long.
Cold.

He stiffens.

Then he turns.

Our eyes meet — and every plan I had dissolves instantly.

The noise around us fades.
The platform blurs.

There’s only this strange warmth spreading through me.

Soft.
Unsteady.
Real.

Is this what love feels like?

His eyes widen slightly.

Is he shocked?

And—
oh.

He’s blushing.

The sight makes something flutter in my chest.

Cute.

Is he wondering if I’m being too bold?
If this is something only boys are supposed to do?

Maybe.

But I know —
I know he’s liking it.

And suddenly, I understand.

I didn’t fall for big gestures.
Or dramatic words.

I fell for this.

His innocence.
His quiet excitement.
The way love makes him a little silly —
and still impossibly cute.

His hand is cold.

Mine too.

I lower my gaze, still holding on, pretending to be calm —
not ready to meet his eyes,
not ready to let him see just how much my heart is giving away.

— Part 2 (Her POV)
To be continued…