Davinder Ranu

Every morning in Mumbai, Ramesh walked into the same small restaurant.
He always sat at Table Thirteen.
Fresh orange juice.
Vegetarian sandwich without cheese.
And the same question.

“Is the owner of the restaurant here today?”
The waitress already knew the routine.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

After a few days, Ramesh started feeling something strange. It felt as if Priya — the owner — was somewhere inside the restaurant but had chosen not to see him.
Still, every morning he returned.
Table Thirteen.
Orange juice.
Vegetarian sandwich without cheese.
The same question.
The same answer.
Two weeks passed.
Ramesh was supposed to return to Germany, but he extended his stay in India. Something about Priya — the brief moment he had once seen her — kept pulling him back.

One morning he finished his juice, stood up, and walked toward the door as usual.
But he didn’t leave.
He waited outside.
A minute later, Priya stepped out from the kitchen.
She leaned toward the waitress and asked quietly,
“What did Ramesh say today?”
The waitress smiled.
“The same thing he’s been saying for weeks. I think he really likes you. Why are you ignoring him?”
Priya looked down for a moment.
“I have my reasons,” she said softly.
Then a voice came from behind them.
“I didn’t know I was bothering you.”
They turned.
Ramesh stood there.

“I just found you interesting and wanted to know you better,” he said. “That’s all.”
He glanced once toward Table Thirteen.
“But clearly you’re not interested. So why keep making a fool of myself?”
His voice stayed calm.
“Sorry if I ever said or did something you didn’t like. I’m catching a flight to Germany today…and I won’t be coming back to India again.”
Before Priya could say anything, Ramesh walked out of the restaurant.
And later that same day, from Mumbai Airport, he flew back to Germany.
Priya stood there for a long time after he left.
“Ramesh seemed like a nice guy,” she thought.
“Maybe I was too reserved.”

Months passed.

She slowly lost interest in many of her usual routines. At the restaurant she often found herself looking toward Table Thirteen.
Sometimes she could almost see him sitting there.
Fresh orange juice in front of him.
Vegetarian sandwich without cheese.
Quiet. Patient.
Waiting.
One evening an idea came to her.
She opened Instagram.
Maybe she could find him there.
She searched Ramesh Aggarwal.
Hundreds of profiles appeared. She opened them one by one.

Hours passed.

Finally she found the right one.
She stared at his profile for a long time before typing a message.
“I want to be your girlfriend. Do you want to be my boyfriend?”
The message showed Seen.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then Ramesh replied.

“No.”