The first time Kinjalk saw her, she looked like someone who had just lost the map of her life.
Not crying. Not panicking. Just… still.
The Indian Embassy in Brussels was unusually crowded that morning. People moved in slow lines, clutching papers that suddenly meant everything. Identity reduced to photocopies, signatures, and stamps.
Kinjalk stood near the notice board, reading the same instruction for the fourth time without actually processing it.
Emergency Certificate: Processing time 4 working days.
Four days.
He let out a slow breath.
Four days in a foreign country. No phone. No wallet. No passport.
He rubbed his forehead and turned.
That was when he saw her.
She was sitting in the corner row of chairs, fingers tightly holding a small cloth pouch. Her eyes looked tired, but alert. Like she was trying very hard not to fall apart in public.
He hesitated.
Then walked toward her.
“Is this seat free?” he asked.
She looked up, startled.
“Yes.”
Her voice was soft, but there was something guarded in it.
He sat down, leaving space.
A few seconds passed.
Then he said, “You’re here for the same reason?”
She looked at him.
“Robbery,” she replied quietly.
He nodded. “Same.”
A faint, almost helpless smile appeared on both their faces.
“What about you?” he asked. “Where did it happen?”
“Near the station,” she said. “I didn’t even realise. Everything gone.”
“Grand Place,” he said. “Crowd. Quick hands. Professional.”
She nodded slowly.
Silence returned, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore.
“I’m Saba,” she said after a moment.
“Kinjalk.”
“Where are you from?”
“Nainital. You?”
“Gaya.”
Something about the way she said it carried a whole world behind it.
The process inside the embassy took hours.
Forms.
Verification.
Statements.
Waiting.
When finally an official told them that it would take four days to issue their emergency travel documents, Saba’s face lost whatever little strength it had gathered.
“Four days?” she whispered.
“Yes,” the officer said. “You can check back after that.”
Saba stepped aside, her fingers trembling slightly.
“I don’t have money,” she said, almost to herself. “I don’t have anything.”
Kinjalk looked at her, thinking.
“I have… a hotel room,” he said slowly.
She looked up.
“For one more night,” he added. “And… some money left there. Not much. But enough for a day or two.”
She stared at him.
“You don’t even know me,” she said.
He smiled faintly.
“Right now, I barely know myself either.”
That made her exhale a small, shaky laugh.
A pause.
Then she asked, “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She studied him for a few seconds.
Then nodded.
The walk to the hotel felt strangely quiet.
Not awkward.
Just… new.
They were strangers who had suddenly decided to trust each other because the world had given them no other option.
The hotel room was simple. A small bed, a narrow window, and a desk with Kinjalk’s bag still lying there untouched.
He opened it and pulled out a small envelope.
“Lucky me,” he said. “Forgot this.”
He counted the euros.
“Not a lot. But we’ll manage.”
Saba sat on the edge of the bed, looking around.
“This was supposed to be your trip,” she said softly.
He shrugged. “Still is. Just… a different version.”
She smiled faintly.
That night was the first test of comfort.
One room.
Two strangers.
A thin line of hesitation between them.
“I can sleep on the floor,” Kinjalk said immediately.
“No,” she replied. “We can manage.”
They adjusted the bed, creating space.
Lights off.
Silence.
Every small movement felt louder than it should.
At one point, their hands accidentally brushed.
Both pulled away instantly.
“Sorry,” they said together.
A small laugh followed.
And slowly, the tension softened.
Morning brought reality back.
They checked out.
Now, they had nowhere to go.
The next two hours were spent searching.
Cheap hostels.
Budget rooms.
Anything within reach.
Finally, they found a small student hostel tucked between narrow streets.
One room.
Two separate beds.
Shared bathroom.
“Take it,” Kinjalk said.
Saba nodded.
Life, for the next few days, became about survival.
They counted every euro.
They skipped meals.
Shared water.
Walked everywhere.
And tried not to think too far ahead.
On the second day, hunger made everything sharper.
Saba sat near the window, staring outside.
“I didn’t imagine this,” she said.
“What did you imagine?” Kinjalk asked.
“Cafés. Photos. Freedom.”
He smiled gently.
“And what did you get?”
She looked at him.
“You.”
He blinked.
That was unexpected.
She quickly added, “I mean… this situation.”
But the moment had already settled somewhere deeper.
Money was running out.
Fast.
“We won’t last four days like this,” she said.
Kinjalk thought for a long time.
Then asked, “Do you sing?”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because I do.”
She stared at him.
“You’re serious?”
“Very.”
She shook her head, half laughing. “This is insane.”
“Exactly.”
That evening, they stood on a busy street.
Saba’s hands were cold.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
“Yes, you can.”
“What if people laugh?”
“Then we’ll laugh louder.”
She looked at him.
Something in his calmness made her nod.
He started first.
A soft melody.
Uncertain.
Then she joined.
Her voice trembled at first.
Then steadied.
Then blossomed.
People slowed down.
A few stopped.
Some smiled.
Coins dropped.
Then more.
And something shifted again.
They weren’t just surviving.
They were creating something together.
That night, they counted their earnings like it was gold.
“We can eat tomorrow,” Saba said, smiling for real this time.
“Big achievement,” Kinjalk replied.
Day three brought exhaustion.
And emotions.
Saba broke down.
“I feel stupid,” she said, tears finally falling. “I came so far… just to lose everything.”
Kinjalk didn’t interrupt.
Didn’t offer solutions.
He just sat beside her.
After a while, she leaned into him.
Not thinking.
Not asking.
Just needing.
He stayed still.
Letting her breathe.
Letting her cry.
Sometimes love doesn’t begin with words.
Sometimes it begins with silence that doesn’t feel empty.
That night, something changed.
The distance between their beds felt unnecessary.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
They talked for hours.
About childhood.
About festivals.
About how different their worlds were.
And how, somehow, they were not that different at all.
On day four, their bond felt… natural.
Like it had always been there.
They walked through the city without fear.
Got lost again.
Laughed again.
Sang again.
Earned enough.
And for a few hours, they forgot that this story had an end.
There were small moments.
Quiet ones.
The way she adjusted his collar absentmindedly.
The way he waited for her to finish speaking even when she paused.
The way their hands brushed and didn’t pull away immediately.
The way silence between them began to feel like a language.
That night, in the dim light of the hostel room, Saba said softly,
“What happens after we go back?”
Kinjalk looked at the ceiling.
“I don’t know.”
She turned toward him.
“I don’t want this to just… disappear.”
He didn’t answer.
Because he felt the same.
And that scared him.
The next morning, their documents were ready.
Tickets booked.
Everything fixed.
Except their hearts.
At the airport, they sat side by side.
Not talking much.
Every word felt too heavy.
Every silence felt too loud.
“This was never supposed to happen,” Saba said.
Kinjalk nodded.
“Yeah.”
“But I’m glad it did.”
He looked at her.
For a moment, everything else faded.
The flight to Delhi was quiet.
But their hands found each other once.
And stayed.
Just for a few seconds.
Then slowly parted.
Delhi airport.
Reality returned.
Crowds.
Announcements.
Movement.
Endings.
They stood facing each other.
Unsure.
Unready.
“This is where we go different ways,” Saba said.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
Then an awkward hug.
Short.
Careful.
Incomplete.
She pulled back first.
“Take care, Kinjalk.”
“You too, Saba.”
She turned.
Walked away.
Didn’t look back.
He wanted her to.
She didn’t.
He boarded his bus to Nainital with a heart heavier than his luggage.
She boarded her flight to Gaya carrying a silence she didn’t understand.
Some stories don’t end.
They pause.
Right at the moment when they matter the most.
Because somewhere between a robbery and a song…
Between hunger and hope…
Between strangers and something deeper…
They had found each other.
And maybe…
They weren’t meant to lose that.
To be continued…
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