Chai & Matcha Diaries

No one’s ever thrown flowers at my face before.

And I had never given one to anyone either. It wasn’t even about the damn flowers. It was what they meant. A gesture. A first. A rare kind of vulnerability from someone like me.

And Reva—she didn’t just reject it. She threw it. In front of everyone.

Hari was right. There’s a world of difference between us—me and Reva.

How could she ever understand?

Anyway, it’s been three weeks. And yet, even now, while staring into the mirror, I catch myself replaying that moment like an idiot.

Maybe I stooped too low.

This has never happened to me before.That’s the truth. None of this has ever happened to me before. She comes from a different world altogether. I don’t know what kind of madness possessed me to think something real could happen between us.

But I’m glad I woke up from that illusion. She doesn’t deserve me. I should be around people who match my class, my ambition—my mindset.

So I went back to the one place that still made sense: my work. Because numbers don’t lie, tasks don’t feel, and KPIs don’t shatter you with a look.

And for the first time in weeks, I let myself breathe. Weekend lunch with old friends. 

A cafe style bar-restaurant, the kind I hadn’t visited in ages.

Plants everywhere, sunlight streaming through the windows—it felt refreshing.

There were eight of us, seated around an oval table.

Six guys, two girls.

Me, Hari, Samar, Raman, Arun, Bali, my childhood friend Ananya. And someone new.

Riya.

I hadn’t looked at her properly. She sat diagonally across from me—opposite end, Samar’s plus one. I didn’t know who she was or where she came from. And frankly, I wasn’t curious. Not yet.

The table buzzed with old memories—school mischief, hostel gossip, professors we hated, crushes we never confessed.

But Riya… something about her was off. Since the start, she kept inserting herself into every conversation, steering it toward her own stories. What a talent to effortlessly irritate someone.

Raman, whom I hadn’t seen in two years, was animatedly telling everyone about our college days at Cambridge.

“Back in college,” Raman said, “this guy—Jace—never believed in impossible. When the IT fair was happening, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. We had no ride, so we borrowed a roommate’s cycle and rode all the way from Trinity to Queen’s College.”

Honestly I sat at the far end, tuned out until a voice cut clean through the table.

“Wait, Queen’s Tech Fest? I went to Churchill. You’re telling me you thought Queen’s had better events?”

I looked up. She was tall, confident, and annoyingly certain of herself. Hair tied in a lazy ponytail, oversized hoops swinging like punctuation marks to her sarcasm.

Riya.

Raman stumbled, clearly not expecting the jab. “Uh, yeah. That’s where I met my wife. We even started our startup from Queen’s.”

Riya snorted. “You poor souls. Should’ve gone to Churchill. You might’ve actually learned something.”

That was it.
I closed my phone and looked straight at her.

“I doubt it. Queen’s gave us everything we needed. Including success.”

She turned to me, full attention now, like she’d just realized I was more than background noise.

“Oh…” Her smile curled sideways. Like she’d spotted a new challenge. Me.

Hair flip. Intense eye contact. Theatrics

Fine. I went back to my phone. Not interested.

But I knew.

The radar had locked on.

On me.

Hari and Raman were across the table, probably wondering the same thing I was:

Why was all the attention orbiting around someone who wasn’t even part of our past?

I turned to Bali, who was next to me, and started talking about the pizza. That’s when Riya struck again.

“Hey Bali, can you order a drink for me? Same one you’re having.”

“It’s just Coke.” Bali replied, clearly not in the mood.

“Still,” she said sweetly. “Tell the waiter?”

Bali hesitated, then stood up to find the waiter.

And the moment he left—like a ninja in heels—Riya slid into his seat.

Right next to me.

If you’re expecting a reaction from me, forget it.

Not even a speck of dust will rise.

The table went silent.

Like someone had hit the mute button on life.

Everyone saw it—Riya, now suddenly seated beside me, smiling like she’d just won a prize.

“What happened, guys?” she said, all innocence and fake charm. “The window view’s better from here. I’m a sucker for good views.”

Sure. And I’m a sucker for peace and quiet.

But here we are.

Everyone awkwardly resumed their stories. College tales. Old flames. Startup disasters.

But I could still feel the weight of her body next to mine. The sudden proximity.

And then—her voice again, closer now, softer.

“Such a beautiful city view, isn’t it?”

“Hmm,” I replied, eyes fixed anywhere but on her.

“You live here?”

“No. Rajasthan.” Still not looking at her.

But she was leaning in like I was the last piece of cake at a party.

“But Samar said you’re the hotshot CEO of the group. The one who broke away from his father’s business?”

Wow. She really did her homework.

Then ask him where I live too, I wanted to say. But instead, I just looked at her—flat, unimpressed. I didn’t speak, but my silence screamed: Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not worth the effort.

But subtlety was clearly not her strong suit.

“So tell me, Jace. What do you usually do on weekends?”

“Nothing. I read.”

“Ohhh,” she grinned. “So no girlfriend?”

I stayed quiet.

That smile of hers curved like a question mark.

She was flirting. Hard.

“Ohhh… that little curve on your lips—I get it. Don’t worry, I’m good at reading faces.”

No, sweetheart, you’re just good at reading your own ego. What smile? I thought. This is my default face.

“I don’t know what smile you’re talking about. That’s my normal face.” I answered, calm as ever.

“Fine then. I’ll smile the same way at you.”

And she did—resting her elbow on the table, chin on her hand, watching me like I was her favorite flavor of trouble.

I turned my face away, picked up my beer. 

And just when I thought I’d have to fake a phone call to escape—

“Ahmm,” Hari finally spoke.

Bless you, Hari. You dragged me into this circus—now tame the lioness.

“Riya, I think you’re mistaken,” Hari said, loud enough for the table. “Jace has a girlfriend.”

He said it casually, but it hit like a grenade.

Everyone turned to me like I’d just been outed on national television.

“You have a girlfriend?” Samar blinked.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Ananya gasped.

“When? Who? Do you have a photo?”

The questions came like bullets.

I sighed. The spotlight was burning hot now.
I looked at Hari. He was trying to save me—but did he have to lie?

“No,” I said, finally. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Ananya turned to Hari. “Hari, that’s not funny. I was about to get mad.”

“No need to be mad,” I said quickly. “Hari sees me with any girl and assumes she’s my girlfriend.”

But Riya wasn’t done.

“I don’t think any girl is worthy of being your girlfriend,” she said, placing her hand on my lap. “Except me.”

She leaned in, her voice a whisper, her eyes locked on mine.

“Those girls don’t have what I have.”

I stared at her, dead in the eye.

Then gently, firmly, I took her by the neck—calmly—and moved her face away from mine.

“You’re nowhere close to Reva.”

The words slipped out like a blade.

And oh, the silence that followed.

I leaned back in my chair, satisfied, proud. Yeah, you needed that. How dare you even try comparing yourself to Re—

Wait.

Wait.

Shit.

Did I just say—?

My hand flew to my lips. My gaze dropped. I didn’t need to look to know—everyone had heard.
Ananya was frozen, Samar had stopped mid-sip, and Hari looked like someone punched the wind out of him.

I had said her name.

Out loud.

In front of everyone.

And suddenly, I was furious.

At myself.

At Hari.

At this whole stupid lunch.

I stood up so fast my chair scraped against the floor.

And without another word, I left.

“Drive fast,” I told the driver.

The moment I got home, I poured myself a drink.

One peg. Straight. No ice.

Why the hell did we bring her topic?
Three weeks. Three damn weeks of silence between us. I thought I had buried it.
Clearly not.

The doorbell rang.
Hari. Of course.
And the second he stepped inside, I exploded.

“How dare you, Hari! This is all your fault!”

I paced like a madman, yelling, venting, spiraling.

“Why would you even mention her?!”

“Bro i was not telling them about Rev…” Hari tried to explain but I was too angry to hold still.

“Reva.. Reva … Reva… can you just stop talking about her. You did not have to mention Reva!” 

“I didn’t tell them about Reva—you did!” Hari shouted back.

And then—he pushed me. Hard.
I stumbled back, hit a chair. It rattled under me.

“You said Reva,” he snapped.

Five seconds of silence.

Then it hit me.

I collapsed into the chair, palms over my face.
“I said Reva,” I repeated, softer this time. Like it would make more sense if I said it enough.

Hari sat beside me, took my untouched peg and sipped.

“And what’s this about not having a girlfriend? You said her name in front of everyone.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” My voice was low. Defeated.

“Then what is she?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why did you say her name?” 

“I don’t know!” I snapped, grabbing the glass and downing it.

Hari poured us both another. We sat by the window for a while, watching the city grow quiet with the night. No one spoke. That’s how Hari and I worked. He knows I don’t fight. I don’t explain. I just… sit.

But Reva—she changes that.

She makes me want to yell, to hold her hand, to scream, to laugh, to feel.

And when she doesn’t understand me, it hurts.

“She never acknowledges my efforts,” I finally said.

“You know what?” Hari replied. “I skip meetings to take Jenna to the hospital, and she still says I don’t care.”

“You skipped a meeting?!”

“That’s not the point.”

“But she’s pregnant. That’s different.”

Hari laughed. “Looking at you, I don’t think Reva’s getting pregnant anytime soon.”

“Not the point,” I laughed too.

We both sighed.

“It’s over,” I said. “We haven’t talked in weeks. She could never commit to someone like me.”

“And could you commit to someone like her?”

“Yes!” I snapped. “That’s what I’m good at!”

“You’re committed to your work. That’s it.”

I stared at him, trying to laugh it off, trying to pretend it didn’t sting.

“Well, I have a dream,” I said, almost defensively. “You know that, Hari.”

“So you’re committed to your dream,” he said, calmly. “And you want her to commit to you?”

I looked at him.

Did he really just say that?

“Love isn’t hard, Jace,” Hari said, sipping his drink. “We are. You love your dream. That’s clear. But maybe you don’t love Reva enough. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

I stared at the glass in my hand.

“I don’t know love, man,” I whispered. “I’m just… confused.”

“That’s very new of the Jace I know,” Hari said with a small smile. “But don’t worry. You’ll figure it out.”

I shook my head. “Actually… no. I’m not confused.”

And suddenly, I wasn’t.

“I know I want her. I know it’s her and only her. But I’m just… not ready. Not for all of it. I need time. Time to strike the right balance between my love life and my business. That’s all.”

For a moment, I felt clear.

Like I could see through the fog.

Like I was finally standing on solid ground.

But then,Hari chuckled.

“Honestly,” he said, “love is never about being ready. When I met Jenna, I thought I wasn’t the right match for her. I still think that sometimes. But love happened anyway.”

He paused, his voice softer now.

“I could’ve waited. Built my empire. Made millions. Then proposed to her in some grand, perfect way. But I didn’t. I chose her. Over all those illusionary plans that might’ve come true.”

He looked at me.

And then he said the one thing that broke me.

“I chose her… because she chose me.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder.

“So here we are, Jace. Choosing each other. Every day. Till the end.”

He left.

And I sat there, with the silence.

With that one thought echoing in my head:

Reva is not going to choose me.

Because I never really chose her.

I lost her.