In January 2025, I moved to Noida. New city, new beginnings — and obviously, no bandi.
I had just joined a new job at a warehouse setup. Nothing glamorous. I worked as a helper — loading boxes.The job was decent, and I was focused. I wasn't there to make friends. I had a goal. About three weeks in, during another ordinary shift of lifting and arranging stuff, I noticed a new face. Her name? I forget.(for this story- Pinki)
And no, this wasn't some filmy love-at-first-sight moment. She wasn't the most beautiful girl in the world. But she was... different.
She had a bright smile. The type that made the room look less industrial and more human. She didn't talk much at first. In fact, we barely exchanged more than a few words. But there was something about the way she moved, helped others quietly, kept to herself — that caught my attention.
She was helper too, like me. We were both at the same level, and every now and then, we ended up on the same shifts.
At first, I'd steal glances. I'd pretend to check stock numbers while actually trying to figure out if she looked at me too. Once or twice, I thought I caught her smiling when our eyes met. Maybe it was just coincidence. But something about those little exchanges started making my shift more interesting.
Then one day, I came in and she wasn't there.
Hours passed. Manager came in and said in his usual harsh voice:
"Jo kaam nahi karte, unko main turant nikal deta hoon. She got fired."
Apparently, She and a few others weren't doing their work properly. Maybe she was distracted. Maybe she just wasn't used to the labor-type grind this place demanded.
Whatever the reason — she was gone.
I felt a strange emptiness. No one had made the work feel lighter the way she did — just by existing nearby.
But life goes on, right?
Two weeks later… she came back.
Just like that, re-hired.
Only, she wasn't the same Pinki I remembered.
This time, she wore layers of makeup. Every day. Lipstick, foundation, eyeliner — the works. Not that there's anything wrong with makeup, but something about it felt off. Like she was trying too hard to look like someone else.
And suddenly, she wasn't alone anymore. She had a crowd — mostly boys. Loud laughter, inside jokes, hands brushing too close. During lunch breaks, she'd be surrounded by guys. She'd go on night outs with them, hanging out late, coming back with gossip.
One day, I saw her leaning on one guy's shoulder, laughing loudly.
That was the moment I felt it — the disinterest.
It wasn't jealousy.
It wasn't heartbreak.
It was just... a realization.
She wasn't the girl I thought she was.
Or maybe she was — and I had just imagined someone else.
I wasn't looking for someone who needed validation from ten boys. I wasn't okay with the constant late-night outings, the touchy behavior, the flirty giggles.
And most importantly — I wasn't interested in someone who didn't value quiet connections over public performance.
So I pulled back.
No more conversations. No more glances. I kept it professional. She didn't seem to care. Maybe she didn't notice. Or maybe she didn't value what we could've had.
It didn't matter.
A few days later, she smiled at me in the hallway — the same smile I had once admired.
I smiled back.
But the spark was gone.
That was the last time we spoke.
Mohabbat hogi toh mil jayegi.
Bhala hogi toh tal jayegi.
Sometimes, you don't need closure. You just need clarity.
— Ayan