A Peace Within You

Some connections take time — not everyone walks in holding your hand; some just sit quietly until you're ready."

I almost cancelled.

Even though I'd said yes to Veer's movie night earlier this week. Even though there was a whole WhatsApp group called "Cinema Squad" with snack lists and streaming links. Even though Riya had already announced she was bringing fairy lights to transform Veer's apartment into what she dramatically called "aesthetic heaven."

But when Saturday evening rolled around, so did the familiar weight of second-guessing.

What if I didn't fit in? What if the conversation felt forced? What if I just sat there like a silent observer, mentally taking notes for stories I'd never write?

Still, by 8 PM, I found myself standing outside Veer's building in Bandra, clutching a packet of Uncle Chips and wondering why my heart was hammering for something supposedly casual.

Veer's apartment smelled like freshly made popcorn mixed with the unmistakable scent of bachelors-who-cook-maggi-at-midnight: Old Spice deodorant, instant noodles, and that faint dampness Mumbai flats never quite shake off.

The living room buzzed with energy. Riya had indeed brought fairy lights, now draped artistically around the windows. Myra arrived with a bottle of wine that looked suspiciously expensive. Nishant had lugged in speakers that could probably wake the entire building, and I... well, I brought myself and chips. That felt like enough.

"Arrey, finally! The mysterious writer arrives," Nishant grinned as I stepped inside, his eyes crinkling in that familiar way that made everyone feel instantly welcome.

I held up the chips. "Was promised homemade popcorn. This is my insurance policy."

From the kitchen, Veer's voice boomed dramatically: "Insurance? Woman, you wound me! My popcorn is legendary in this building. Ask Mrs. Sharma from 3B—she's been trying to steal my recipe for months."

"That's because you put chaat masala in it, you genius," Riya called out, adjusting fairy lights with the precision of someone decorating for Diwali.

We weren't close friends, not really. Just colleagues who occasionally shared lunch tables and exchanged Spotify playlists during particularly boring Friday afternoons. But tonight felt different. The casual warmth in the room, the easy laughter floating around—it felt safe.

By 9 PM, the living room had transformed into organized chaos. Cushions everywhere, Myra's wine poured into mismatched glasses, and Veer locked in what could only be described as an intellectual battle with Myra about whether Interstellar was a masterpiece or overhyped nonsense.

"Are you seriously telling me," Myra said, gesturing wildly with her wine glass, "that a movie about love transcending space and time doesn't move you? Christopher Nolan literally made science poetic!"

Veer, sprawled across his armchair like a king holding court, shook his head with theatrical disappointment. "Myra, beta, it's not poetry when you bend physics until it screams for mercy. Also, can we talk about how Matt Damon shows up and ruins everything? The man's cursed, I tell you."

"You're emotionally constipated," Myra declared, pointing an accusing finger. "I bet you think Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara is just about rich boys traveling."

"Excuse me!" Veer sat up, genuinely offended. "I cried during 3 Idiots. I bawled during Taare Zameen Par. I just don't cry when everyone's floating in space staring at each other meaningfully."

Nishant, who'd been quietly assembling the perfect chip-and-dip combination, suddenly jumped into the fray. "Oh, please. This is coming from someone who sobbed watching Baahubali 2. 'Katappa ne Baahubali ko kyun maara'—you were inconsolable, yaar."

"That was a legitimate emotional trauma!" Veer protested. "We waited two years for that answer!"

"And don't even get me started on your K-drama obsession," Riya added, settling onto the carpet with practiced grace. "Remember when you made us all watch Crash Landing on You and you cried harder than any of us?"

Myra nearly spilled her wine. "Wait, wait, wait. Mr. 'Bollywood-is-superior' watches K-dramas?"

"They're... research," Veer mumbled, suddenly very interested in the popcorn bowl.

"Research for what? Your secret romantic soul?" I found myself asking, surprising everyone, including myself.

The room went quiet for a beat, then erupted in laughter.

"She speaks!" Nishant clapped. "And she goes straight for the kill!"

Veer clutched his heart dramatically. "Betrayed by the quiet one. This is why I trust no one."

I smiled, settling deeper into the cushions. For once, I wasn't just observing—I was part of the conversation.

The movie—we'd eventually settled on The Dark Knight because it was the only film everyone could agree wouldn't make Veer cry—played in the background while we continued debating everything from Shah Rukh Khan's filmography to whether Mumbai's street food was superior to Delhi's.

"Bombay has vada pav," Myra argued passionately. "Case closed."

"Delhi has chole bhature that'll change your life," Nishant countered.

"Both of you are wrong," Riya interjected. "Calcutta has fish curry that transcends earthly pleasures."

I didn't contribute much to these debates. I just sat there, garlic bread in hand, quietly absorbing the beautiful absurdity of it all. These people who barely knew each other outside work, now arguing about food like family members at a wedding.

Beside me, Riya passed me another piece of garlic bread and leaned in conspiratorially. "You're even quieter than usual tonight."

"Just... taking it all in," I said.

"You always look like you're mentally writing everything down. Like you're documenting us for some secret memoir."

"Maybe I am."

She grinned. "Well, make sure I get a dramatic backstory. Something involving forbidden love and mysterious family secrets."

"I'll see what I can do."

That's when I noticed Nishant step out onto the balcony, phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low, apologetic. A few minutes later, he returned and settled beside me on the carpet.

"That was Kabir," he said quietly, so only I could hear. "Client meeting ran way over. Said to tell you he's sorry he couldn't make it."

Something small but noticeable deflated in my chest. Kabir hadn't promised to come—we didn't have that kind of arrangement. We were just... whatever we were. Shared cigarettes during office breaks. Exchanged smiles across conference rooms. Lingered a few seconds too long during conversations.

Something unspoken but definitely there.

Still, his absence felt like a missed note in an otherwise perfect song.

After the credits rolled—and after Veer's surprisingly passionate defense of why Batman's voice wasn't actually that ridiculous—the energy in the room shifted to something softer. The fairy lights cast everything in warm amber, the projector hummed quietly in the corner, and Nishant produced a deck of cards from somewhere.

"Truth or truth," he announced, shuffling with unnecessary flair. "We're all too old for dares and too sober for convincing lies."

Veer groaned dramatically. "This is exactly how I end up crying on someone else's furniture."

"You already admitted you sobbed during Avengers: Endgame," Riya pointed out. "There's literally nowhere lower to fall."

"That was different! Iron Man died! Tony Stark was my childhood hero!"

"You were twenty-six when that movie came out."

"Your point?"

We arranged ourselves in a proper circle, wine and leftover snacks in the center like some urban campfire ritual. The questions started light and silly—Myra confessed she'd once DMed a Roadies contestant and immediately regretted it, Veer admitted he maintained a vision board on his bedroom wall complete with magazine cutouts and motivational quotes, and Riya revealed she'd once faked a family emergency to escape a particularly awful Tinder date.

"What was wrong with the guy?" Myra asked.

"He spent forty-five minutes explaining cryptocurrency while I ate paneer tikka and questioned my life choices."

When the invisible question mark landed on me, everyone leaned in slightly. The room felt suddenly attentive, waiting.

I took a long sip of wine. "Fine. I once pretended to like a guy just because he had a dog that looked exactly like Bolt from the movie. I wasn't into him, but I was emotionally attached to the dog within two minutes."

Everyone laughed.

Myra raised an eyebrow. "So what happened?"

"Well, everything was going fine... until one day, he told me — completely seriously — that Portugal is just a fancier part of Goa. Like, not another country. Just... upscale Goa."

Riya looked horrified. "No way."

"He said, 'I've always wanted to go abroad — like Goa, or Portugal or something.' I just stared at him."

I leaned back with a sigh. "After that, I had no choice. I had to ghost him. For the sake of my brain."

Veer shook his head with mock solemnity. "And they say romance is dead."

For a moment, we all sat there—five people who barely knew each other's middle names, suddenly sharing truths we'd barely admitted to ourselves.

At 11:47 PM, my phone buzzed against my leg.

Kabir: The Client finally stopped talking. Are you all still alive over there?

Me: Barely. Veer made us play truth or truth. I almost confessed I hate filter coffee.

Kabir: WHAT?

Kabir: Wait. What do you mean by 'almost'?

Me: Relax. I said almost. 

Kabir: You gave me a heart attack.

People started drifting away around midnight, some yawning, others still debating whether The Dark Knight was actually Christopher Nolan's best film or if Inception deserved more credit.

As I waited for my Uber outside the building, Nishant lingered beside me, both of us watching the fairy lights twinkle through Veer's window.

"Good evening?" he asked.

I nodded. "Better than I expected, honestly."

"You know," he said, hands shoved deep in his pockets, "you don't have to be best friends with everyone immediately. Sometimes just showing up is enough. Sometimes just being present counts."

Maybe he was right. We weren't close friends yet—might never be. But something had started tonight. The kind of something that didn't demand too much too soon. Just presence, quiet comfort, and permission to stay a little longer than usual.

My Uber pulled up, headlights cutting through the Mumbai evening.

"Same time next weekend?" Nishant asked.

"Text me the details," I said, getting into the car.

As we drove away, I caught one last glimpse of Veer's apartment, fairy lights still glowing, voices still carrying down to the street.

For the first time in months, I hadn't spent an entire evening analyzing every conversation, every silence, every social cue. I'd just... been there. And somehow, that felt like everything.