The One I Denied, The One I Can't Lose

Shayari sat on the balcony of her home, the afternoon sun warming her skin as she scrolled through her phone. It had been a few days since she returned home, and while her parents hovered over her with concern, she assured them she was fine.
Physically, at least.

Her body was healing, but her mind was another matter. Sleepless nights, lingering thoughts, and the suffocating weight of everything that had happened made it impossible to fully relax. The only moments of true distraction came in the form of her unexpected conversations with Dr. Meghaditya Sen.

It had started with a simple text:

Meghaditya: Hope you're resting well, Miss Chatterjee. Let me know if you experience any discomfort.

Shayari had hesitated before replying.

Shayari: I'm fine, Dr. Sen. Thank you.

She had expected that to be the end of it. But the next evening, another message came:

Meghaditya: I assume you're fine since you didn't call me for an emergency. Good. But resting well and being fine are two different things.

She had stared at the message for a long moment before typing back:

Shayari: Are all doctors this persistent, or are you just making me your personal project

Meghaditya: Only for the patients who pretend they don't need help when they clearly do.

A small smile had tugged at her lips. And just like that, their conversations became more frequent-lighthearted at times, filled with small debates, sarcastic quips, and the occasional serious check-in about her health.
It was easy, effortless-so different from the emotional weight she had carried for so long.

Then, one afternoon, a different kind of message arrived:

Meghaditya: I assume you're resting well since I haven't received any emergency calls?

Shayari stared at the message for a moment before a small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

Shayari: You really take this whole 'doctor' thing seriously, don't you?

Meghaditya: I do. And I also take good food and interesting conversations seriously. Which is why, Miss Chatterjee, I have a proposal.

Shayari: I'm listening.

Meghaditya: There's a place in the city that serves excellent Bengali food. And before you argue, no, this isn't a medical visit. It's just two Bengalis bonding over good food. What do you say?

Shayari blinked at the message.

Her first instinct was to say no. Meeting people still felt like a weight she wasn't ready to carry. But something about Meghaditya's easy, non-intrusive way of speaking made her pause. Maybe it was the way he made it seem so casual-like it wasn't a big deal, like she didn't have to overthink it.

And honestly? She needed a break from herself.

Shayari: Fine. But if the food isn't as great as you claim, I will never let you hear the end of it.

Meghaditya: Fair enough. But I won't disappoint. I have a reputation to maintain, after all.

A small smile tugged at her lips. Maybe, just maybe, this was something she needed.