Chapter 3: Chutney, Confessions, and Chaotic Chemistry
Narrated by Aanya Kapoor
There are three universal truths I hold sacred:
Green chutney > mayo. Always.
The first date is never really a date unless there's food involved.
If I wear eyeliner, something important is about to happen—or I'm just emotionally unstable.
Spoiler: Today, it was both.
It was Wednesday. Hump day. The unsalted cracker of the week. But there I was, staring into my closet like it owed me answers to life's biggest mysteries.
This wasn't just any meetup.
It was a maybe-date.
With Rohan-the-delivery-guy-who's-actually-a-startup-founder-who-delivers-chicken-sandwiches-and-chaotic-flirting.
Ugh.
Why did I agree to this?
Oh right. Because I'm human. And he's annoyingly attractive with those stupid dimples and that I-read-books-for-fun-and-probably-know-how-to-make-chai-properly energy.
After twenty minutes of trying on outfits like I was auditioning for the role of "Not Trying Too Hard But Still Kinda Cute," I settled on my favorite black jeans, a tucked-in rust-orange t-shirt, and a denim jacket I bought during a breakup and never returned.
Simba gave me a look that said, "Bold of you to leave the house for a man."
"I'm not doing it for him," I told him. "I'm doing it for… sandwiches."
He blinked.
Rude.
We agreed to meet at The Kulcha Joint, a legendary hole-in-the-wall spot that sold stuffed kulchas slathered with homemade chutneys and butter that could solve world peace.
I got there first. Ordered the classic: paneer kulcha, extra green chutney, and a glass of sweet lassi thick enough to use as building material.
Rohan arrived five minutes late, helmet in hand, curls doing that effortlessly messy thing that should be illegal.
"Smells like heaven," he said, sliding into the booth across from me. "Nice pick."
"I don't mess around with food."
He grinned. "So I've heard. The internet agrees."
I rolled my eyes. "If one more person comments 'sandwich soulmate,' I will unplug the WiFi and move to the mountains."
"Could be worse. Someone called me a 'spicy monsoon daddy.'"
I nearly choked on my lassi.
"No."
"Yes."
I was wheezing.
"That is not okay," I gasped. "That's a crime. Against language. Against humanity."
He laughed. "Don't worry. I blocked her. But I did take a screenshot first."
The food arrived. Hot, buttery, divine. We bit in, and for a few minutes, there was only satisfied silence.
"Okay," he said, mouth half-full, "you win. This is better than chipotle chicken."
I held up my lassi like a toast. "Victory tastes sweet."
He clinked his glass against mine. "To chutney supremacy."
We ate. Talked. Laughed.
He told me about his co-founder, who tried to code while microdosing mushrooms "for innovation."
I told him about the time I accidentally sent a meme of a goat screaming into the investor Slack group instead of the marketing channel.
"It was labeled 'Me watching the app crash for the third time today,'" I explained. "Not my finest moment."
"That's iconic," he said.
"That's unemployment waiting to happen."
We finished eating and wandered toward a nearby park. It was one of those golden-hour moments that Instagram influencers hunt in the wild: warm light, soft breeze, the city humming in the background like a lo-fi beat.
We sat on a bench under a tree. Simba would've hated it. Too many birds.
Rohan leaned back, stretching. "So tell me the truth. Are you always this funny, or is this a trauma response?"
I grinned. "Why not both?"
He smiled, quieter this time. "You've been through something."
I looked away.
I didn't talk about Aryan much. The ghosting. The spiral after. The months of doubting my worth because a boy forgot how to type three letters: hey.
But something about Rohan made me want to be honest.
"He wasn't bad," I said finally. "Just... lazy. Lazy with love. Lazy with effort. He ghosted me on our six-month mark. Just stopped texting. No explanation. No closure."
Rohan was quiet.
"I kept refreshing my phone like a moron," I continued. "As if he was going to magically reappear and say, 'Sorry, I dropped my phone into a wormhole.' But no. Just… gone."
"That sucks," he said softly.
"Yeah. I went into startup overdrive after that. Built Nudge like it was therapy."
"And now you're the girl who motivates strangers but lowkey doesn't believe in love anymore?"
I blinked at him.
Damn.
"You're smarter than you look," I said.
He smiled. "Don't let the sandwiches fool you."
We sat in silence for a moment. A good silence.
Then he asked, "What would it take for you to believe again?"
"In love?"
"Yeah."
I looked at the sky.
"Effort," I said. "Consistency. Someone who texts back. Someone who doesn't flake. Someone who listens. And—most importantly—someone who brings the right sandwich."
He laughed. "Tough standards."
"I know what I'm worth."
"I like that."
We locked eyes for a second too long.
My stomach flipped.
Nope, I told myself. Do not fall for the sandwich man. Do not.
I was about to change the subject when his phone buzzed.
He glanced at it. Then frowned.
"Everything okay?" I asked.
He hesitated. "It's my co-founder. We just got a message from one of our investors. The platform we're building might've triggered a patent issue."
I blinked. "Wait, like a lawsuit?"
"Not yet. But we need to pivot fast."
I sat up. "How bad is it?"
"Bad. We might have to rebuild the engine from scratch."
"Wow."
He put the phone away. "Sorry. Didn't mean to kill the vibe."
"No, it's okay. I get it. Startup life doesn't come with an off switch."
He looked at me. "Neither does yours, huh?"
"Not really."
He exhaled. "You ever think about quitting?"
"All the time. But then I remember that if I don't build it, someone else will. And I'd rather it be me."
"Same."
He smiled again, smaller this time. Tired. Real.
I liked this version of him, too.
It was getting dark. He offered to walk me home.
On the way, he stopped by his scooter. Opened the seat storage. Pulled out something wrapped in foil.
"What is this?" I asked.
He handed it to me. "Just something I made."
I unwrapped it.
A homemade kulcha. Slightly uneven. Still warm. Stuffed with paneer.
"You made this?"
He nodded.
I took a bite.
Spicy. Cheesy. Imperfect. Delicious.
I looked at him.
"Rohan?"
"Yeah?"
"You're not just the sandwich guy anymore."
He smiled.
Teaser for Chapter 4:
The lines between fun and feelings start to blur.
But just when things get cozy…
An unexpected text shakes everything.