A Delhi Metro Love Story
Every morning at exactly 8:12 AM, the Yellow Line metro would stop at Rajiv Chowk.
Thousands of people entered. Thousands left.
For everyone else, it was just another crowded metro ride.
For me…
It was where I fell in love.
Without ever speaking a single word.
The first time I saw her, she was standing near the metro door with white earphones in, holding a thick psychology book. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone. She wasn’t scrolling endlessly like everyone else.
She was just… peaceful.
I still remember thinking,
“I’ve never seen someone look so calm in a city this loud.”
I smiled.
She never noticed.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks became months.
And somehow, our timings matched every single day.
Sometimes she’d board from Kashmere Gate.
Sometimes from Civil Lines.
I would secretly change my coach just to stand where she usually stood.
Not too close.
Not too far.
Just enough to see her.
I never knew her name.
But I knew everything else.
She loved rain because she’d always smile looking outside during monsoon.
She hated crowded coaches because she’d quietly shift to a corner.
She drank coffee every Monday morning.
She read novels instead of using Instagram.
And every Friday…
She wore blue.
Funny how you can know someone’s habits…
Without knowing their voice.
My friends laughed at me.
“Bhai, jaake baat kar.”
“Instagram maang le.”
“Maximum kya hoga? Mana hi toh karegi.”
But they didn’t understand.
Some people aren’t scared of rejection.
They’re scared of ruining something beautiful.
What if she stopped taking this metro?
What if she felt uncomfortable?
What if the silence we shared disappeared forever?
So I chose silence.
Again.
And again.
And again.
One winter morning…
She looked at me.
Not for one second.
For almost five.
Five seconds.
Our eyes met.
She smiled.
Just a tiny smile.
My entire day changed.
I reached office two hours early.
Worked with a smile.
Even my boss asked,
“What happened today?”
Nothing happened.
Yet…
Everything happened.
After that day…
She started noticing me too.
Sometimes she’d look first.
Sometimes I’d.
Sometimes we’d accidentally smile.
No words.
No introductions.
Just two strangers slowly becoming part of each other’s routine.
Delhi Metro became our little universe.
Almost two years had passed.
One evening the metro suddenly stopped inside a tunnel.
The lights dimmed.
People got irritated.
Some complained.
She looked nervous.
For the first time…
She stood a little closer to me.
Not touching.
Just close enough.
I wanted to say,
“It’s okay.”
Instead…
I looked away.
Because my heart was beating louder than the metro.
The train started moving again.
She got down at Vishwavidyalaya.
Before leaving…
She turned back.
As if waiting for something.
Maybe a goodbye.
Maybe a hello.
Maybe…
Just one sentence.
I stayed frozen.
The doors closed.
She disappeared.
After that…
Life became busier.
New projects.
Promotions.
Responsibilities.
But every morning…
We still met.
Still smiled.
Still remained strangers.
Four years.
Imagine loving someone…
For four years…
Without even knowing her name.
Sounds impossible.
But Delhi teaches you strange kinds of love.
One day…
She wasn’t there.
I thought she was late.
The next day…
Still missing.
Then one week.
Then one month.
Every station felt empty.
Every morning felt longer.
I realized something terrifying.
When someone becomes your daily habit…
Their absence echoes louder than their presence.
Months later…
I saw her again.
Not in the metro.
At Connaught Place.
She was wearing a red suit.
There was mehendi on her hands.
A wedding ring.
She looked happy.
A man stood beside her.
He held her shopping bags.
She smiled at him…
The same smile I’d secretly waited for every morning.
She saw me.
For a moment…
Time stopped.
Recognition.
Surprise.
Silence.
Then…
She smiled again.
Exactly like she used to in the metro.
I smiled back.
Neither of us walked towards the other.
Because sometimes…
Memories are safer than conversations.
Life moved on.
Two years later…
I got married too.
My wife is kind.
She laughs loudly.
She fills every room with life.
I genuinely love her.
Love isn’t always about your first story.
Sometimes…
It’s about the person who chooses to stay.
Last month…
While cleaning old books…
I found a Delhi Metro card that had expired years ago.
Suddenly…
Every station came back.
Rajiv Chowk.
Civil Lines.
Kashmere Gate.
Vishwavidyalaya.
And…
Her.
I still don’t know her name.
Maybe I never will.
Maybe she sometimes remembers the quiet boy who always stood near the metro door.
Maybe she doesn’t.
But if, by some miracle, she’s reading this today…
There’s something I should’ve said four years ago.
“I waited every morning just to see you.”
“You made ordinary metro rides feel like the happiest part of my day.”
“I never wanted your number.”
“I never wanted to disturb your peace.”
“I just wanted one chance to tell you…”
I liked you.
More than I ever admitted.
Maybe…
I loved you.
And maybe…
You knew.
Some love stories don’t end with weddings.
Some end with two strangers…
Smiling one last time…
Before walking in different directions.
Just like two metro lines…
Running side by side…
Until they don’t.
If you’re reading this and there’s someone you silently love…
Don’t wait four years.
Sometimes one “Hi” can save a lifetime of “What if?”
Leave a Reply