Monsoon of Longing - Is Mod Se (A Quiet Turning)

Bengaluru had a way of making everything feel hurried. Workdays blurred into brownbag meetings, late dinners, and sleepy mornings. But for Ayushman and Tanuja, the days after Pune carried a different kind of rhythm; one that felt like rediscovery.

It started with small things. A coffee after work, a quick dinner on MG Road, long walks where they laughed about old classmates and silly fights. The comfort was instant, as if no time had passed. She teased him about his smoking and his stubborn startup obsession; he teased her about her perfectionism and her endless to-do lists. Somewhere in the laughter, they both felt the old bond quietly stitching itself back together.

One Friday evening, after dinner near Church Street, they wandered without purpose, weaving through the weekend crowd. Streetlights flickered on, shops pulled their shutters down, and the air carried that familiar Bengaluru dampness. A sudden breeze caught Tanuja’s hair and swept it across her face. She pushed it back, laughing softly, and Ayushman found himself staring longer than he should have.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, half-teasing.

He shook his head quickly. “Nothing… just. It’s been a while since I saw you like this. Relaxed.”

She tilted her head, amused. “So you remember how I look when I am relaxed?”

He smiled, but before he could reply, she changed the subject. “So,” she asked, “what are you up to these days? Other than work-work?”

Ayushman hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’ve been working on something of my own. A startup idea. Think of it like… a platform for booking household help. Cleaning, repairs, small chores. Like a digital marketplace.”

Her eyes lit up. “That’s fantastic! But…” she tilted her head, thoughtful, “isn’t that a little futuristic for now? The market is so unstructured. Feels like category building.”

Ayushman’s tone sharpened, defensive but passionate. “Maybe. But people’s lives are busier than ever, especially in cities like this. India’s spending power is growing. Somebody has to start solving for it.”

She smiled, almost impressed. “You sound serious. So where are you at with it?”

“The MVP is ready. Pitch deck’s ready too. I even ran a pilot in my apartment complex and a nearby one.”

“Do you have a co-founder?” she asked.

He shook his head. “So far, I’m solo. Two interns are helping me, but that’s it.”

There was a pause. Then she said, “Why don’t you show me a demo?”

His eyes brightened instantly. “The web app is working. Mobile app’s still in progress. If you’re free, come to my place. I’ll show you the demo and the pitch deck too.”

She hesitated, the practical voice in her head flashing warnings.

Ayushman caught it and leaned in slightly, his voice softer, more instinctive. “I’m serious, Tanu. It’s always good to have another pair of eyes. And you being you, critical about everything… your feedback will help.”

For a moment, she said nothing. Then she nodded. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

His flat was only a short walk away. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, sheepish already. The place was exactly as she had imagined: startup notes scattered across the table, half-finished wireframe sketches, an open laptop glowing on standby, and two mugs abandoned on the windowsill.

“Organized chaos?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” he grinned, moving a pile of papers off the chair for her. “This is where the magic happens.”

He powered on the laptop, opened the browser, and pulled up the web app.

“Here it is. HouseHelp, basic MVP. You can search for services, book them, and even rate the workers. I tested it in my apartment complex. Got surprisingly good traction.”

Tanuja leaned in, scrolling through the simple interface. “It’s clean. But the challenge isn’t the tech, Ayushman, it’s the people. Convincing workers to trust the platform, customers to pay on time. This is category creation. It’ll take years.”

He looked at her, a spark in his eyes.

“I know. But someone has to start. And I’d rather be the one failing at it than never trying.”

“Show me the pitch deck,” she said.

He laughed. “Boss mode activated.” But he clicked it open anyway, running her through slides about market size, revenue models, and early pilot data. She asked tough questions, interrupting him mid-sentence, and he defended every point. By the end, she leaned back and smiled. “Not bad. You’ve done your homework.”

“I had to,” he said. “You were going to judge me.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the softness in her smile.

“Fine,” he added with mock seriousness. “Let me pay you for this consultation. How about… Ayushman’s Special Kawa?”

Tanuja raised an eyebrow. “Kawa? Since when?”

He grinned. “Coffee in the day, kawa at night — it’s the adrenaline punch of geniuses.” She laughed, shaking her head as he disappeared into the kitchen. While the water boiled, she watched him move around. Something stirred in her chest. He was still the same rebel she had known in college, but now the rebellion had purpose. The scattered notes, the messy determination, the way he defended his idea; he wasn’t drifting anymore. He was building something.

When he returned with two steaming glasses, saffron threads swirling gently, she accepted hers and took a sip. The warmth spread through her, unfamiliar yet comforting. “Where’s the music?” she asked suddenly.

Without a word, Ayushman pulled his laptop closer and queued an old playlist. The opening strains of “Is Mod Se Jaate Hain” from Aandhi filled the room. Tanuja’s eyes softened. “You have no idea how much I love this song.”

Ayushman smirked. “Seriously? You have full aunty-type taste.”

She nudged him lightly. “Don’t mock it. It has depth. The way Gulzar sahab penned raw emotion… it’s timeless.”

He tilted his head, amused. “When did you become such a romantic?”

“I was always one,” she said quietly. “Maybe it was buried inside me all this time.”

She leaned forward, her voice low as she recited the opening stanza, explaining each line, how it captured the fragile uncertainty of choices and the ache of paths not taken. Her words slowed as she spoke, her eyes distant but glowing.

Out of nowhere, Ayushman reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She paused mid-sentence, her breath catching. For a moment, she didn’t speak. Instead, she let her head rest gently against his arm.

Ayushman’s heartbeat quickened, his breath warm against her hair. She tilted her face up, and their eyes locked.

A silence heavier than words settling between them.

He bent forward, not hurried, not unsure, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Tanuja closed her eyes, smiling faintly, then rested her head back on his shoulder.

“The emptiness…” she whispered, “it just disappeared.”