Green Flag

The plan fell apart.
The invitation didn’t.

1. The call comes at 8:40 on a Friday. You know something’s off before she says a word. Her voice is too bright. Trying very hard to sound fine.

2. The trip’s off. The people she was meant to go with have “figured something else out”. She isn’t crying. She’s just saying “it’s fine” a lot.

3. You look around your flat. Dal on the stove, laundry on the chair, zero plans. Not exactly hosting material. Doesn’t matter even a little bit.

4. You tuck the receiver against your shoulder, move the laundry and pull out the second chair. Green-tipped fingers rest on its back. “You’re sure?” she asks.

5. You’ve never been more sure. The dal’s enough for two. Everything else can wait. Tum aa jao. Main dekh lungi.