Almost, Then Everything

Nikki POV

The afternoon had that particular, golden laziness to it — the kind that makes leaving home feel like a small act of resistance.

Nikki didn’t mind. She was good at leaving.

She snapped her bag shut, checked her ID card was in the front pocket — it wasn’t, it never was on the first try — found it at the bottom, and called out toward the kitchen: “Maa, I’ll eat at the office. Cab’s coming in ten minutes!”

Her mother’s voice floated back with the predictability of a woman who had been ignored before and had made peace with it. “You said that yesterday also—”

“Bye, Maa!”

She stepped out into the society, blinking in the warm 5 o’clock light. The evening shift of life was beginning — children trickling back from school, aunties migrating toward the garden benches, the smell of someone’s early dinner already drifting down from an upper floor.

Ridhi was leaning against the gate, sipping chai like she had absolutely nowhere to be and was personally offended by people who did.

“Night shift again?” Ridhi grinned. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“Financial analysts are basically vampires,” Nikki said. “First-year training. I’ll survive.” She tilted her head. “Why do you look like you’re trying not to smile?”

Ridhi gave up the effort entirely. “Happy news. Bhai got the job.”

"Wah!" Nikki’s face broke open — genuine, warm. “Finally! He worked so hard for this.” She squeezed Ridhi’s arm. “Party then. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Ridhi said — but something flickered at the edges of her smile.

The cab horn interrupted. Nikki gave her a quick look — we’ll talk later — and slid into the back seat.

Jay was already inside, headphones around his neck, looking philosophically resigned to the evening. Karan was in the front passenger seat, phone plugged into the aux cord, scrolling through his playlist with the quiet authority of a man who had claimed this role and intended to keep it. He was the cab’s unofficial music director — had been since their first week together. Nobody had voted for him. Nobody had needed to. He’d simply connected his phone on day one, played something good, and the matter was settled.

He landed on something — a slow Bollywood melody, the kind that feels like late evenings and open windows. Nikki settled back and let it fill the silence.

Her phone buzzed. She called Ridhi.

“Okay, we’re moving. Tell me the drama.”

“It’s not drama,” Ridhi said, which meant it was absolutely drama. “Mom wants a big party. Sixty people, clubhouse, the works. Bhai wants a quiet dinner with his friends. That’s it. That’s the whole civil war happening in my house right now.”

Nikki laughed, watching the society gate disappear behind them. She could picture the scene perfectly — Sarla Aunty with a guest list already written, Raj with the expression of a man who had made a reasonable request and was being treated like a criminal for it.

“Don’t stress,” she said. “Enjoy the fact that your brother got a great job. The party argument will sort itself.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one watching them debate it over dinner.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning. We’ll fix it.”

Ridhi’s tone brightened. “Promise?”

“Promise. Now go eat something. You sound hungry and dramatic.”

“I am both of those things,” Ridhi admitted, and hung up.

Nikki smiled, put her phone away, and looked out the window as the city shifted into its evening gear. Six months into her first real job, night shift, still finding her footing — and somehow, even on ordinary Tuesdays, life managed to be quietly, unexpectedly good.

She didn’t know that tomorrow morning would be the beginning of something she hadn’t planned for at all.

Raj POV

Raj was not thinking about the job.

He was supposed to be thinking about the job — the offer letter was open on his laptop, his startup roadmap was pinned to the board above his desk, there were seventeen unread messages from Sid about the next sprint — but his brain had quietly excused itself from all of that the moment Nikki walked past the living room window at five o’clock.

Blue kurta. Hair loose. Bag over one shoulder. Moving with that particular energy she always had — like she was already halfway into whatever came next.

One glimpse. That’s all it ever takes. One glimpse and I’m completely useless.

He exhaled at the ceiling.

Five years. He had been quietly, hopelessly, almost embarrassingly in love with Nikki for five years. She was Ridhi’s best friend. She lived in the building directly opposite. She had walked in and out of his life in small moments — a laugh through a shared corridor, an argument with Ridhi about some film, the time she’d yelled at the security guard for throwing a stone at a stray dog with such fierce, unblinking certainty that something in his chest had simply... shifted and never quite shifted back.

She had no idea. He had made sure of that.

When will I ever actually say it?

“Raj!” His mother’s voice arrived like a notification he’d been dismissing for hours. “About the party—”

“Maa, I heard you the first three times.”

“Sixty people minimum. The Sharmas, the Mehtas, the whole C-wing—”

“I just want to take my friends to dinner. It’s a job, not a wedding.”

His mother made the sound she reserved for when she had lost a battle but intended to revisit it. He heard her retreat to the kitchen to rebuild her strategy.

He looked back at the ceiling.

The job was good news, genuinely. The startup was picking up. His life, by any reasonable measure, was going in the right direction. And yet the part of his brain that handled reasonable measures had been quietly overruled for five years by the part that thought about Nikki.

A dinner. Just a small dinner, just the gang. And she’ll be there.

He almost smiled.

If I ever get married, it’ll be to her.

The thought arrived without announcement. He went very still.

Then he looked around the room — confirming, with some relief, that he was alone.

First she needs to notice you exist as something other than Ridhi’s older brother.

He got up, closed his laptop, and went to deal with his mother’s guest list. Some problems, at least, had solutions.

Nikki came by the next morning, as promised.

She heard it before she saw it — the particular quality of silence that follows a domestic disagreement that is technically over but not emotionally resolved. She stepped into the flat and read the room in about four seconds: Sarla Aunty near the kitchen doorway, list in hand, wearing the expression of a woman who had been Reasonable and was Not Being Appreciated For It. Ridhi on the sofa with the careful blankness of someone staying neutral to survive. Ramesh Uncle with his newspaper open but his eyes fixed on nothing. And Raj at the dining table, laptop open, staring at his screen with the focused calm of a man who had accepted his fate.

“Good morning, Aunty!” Nikki said, bright and easy, like she’d walked into a perfectly ordinary room. “Hello, Uncle. Hi Ridhi — hi Raj. Congratulations again!”

Raj looked up. “Thanks. Got lucky.”

“Lucky,” she repeated. A small frown, almost amused. “You built a startup while working your first job and then moved to a better role on your own terms. That’s not luck, that’s just you doing what you do.” She said it simply, the way you’d state a fact, and immediately looked away — toward Aunty, toward the room, as if the words had been nothing at all.

Raj blinked once. Said nothing.

Sarla Aunty, however, was already in motion.

“Nikki beta, don’t ask." She set her list down with the gravity of a woman presenting evidence. “I want a proper celebration. Sixty people, clubhouse, everyone from the society. Is that too much to ask? This boy got a new job — a good job — and he wants a quiet dinner. Quiet! What will people think?”

Ridhi closed her eyes briefly.

Raj opened his mouth.

Nikki spoke first — gently, warmly, like she was simply curious. “Aunty, can I ask you something? When you imagine this party — what’s the moment you’re most excited about?”

Aunty blinked, slightly disarmed by the question. “The... the whole thing. Everyone together. Celebrating properly.”

“Because you want people to see how well Raj is doing,” Nikki said, nodding — not as a challenge, as an understanding. “You’re proud of him. And you want the world to know.”

Aunty’s chin came up. “Exactly. Is that wrong?”

“Not at all,” Nikki said warmly. “But Aunty — think about it from the outside for a moment. You book the clubhouse, you arrange everything, sixty people come, there’s food and decoration and fanfare. What will the society say?”

Aunty looked pleased, anticipating the answer.

“They’ll say —” Nikki smiled “— ‘Wah, Sarla ji organised such a lovely party.’"

A pause.

“And that’s it. The credit goes to the party. To the venue. To the arrangements.” She tilted her head. “But if Raj takes his own friends out — pays from his own pocket, makes his own choices, treats the people he loves — what will they say then?”

The room had gone very quiet.

“They’ll say,” Nikki continued, her voice softer now, almost conspiratorial, ”‘That Raj — he’s really grown up. So responsible. Takes care of everyone himself. Sarla ji raised him so well.’"

Sarla Aunty went completely still.

Nikki pressed gently, “The party gets the attention for one evening. But the way Raj carries himself? That reputation stays. And honestly, Aunty —” she leaned in just slightly “— everyone already knows your ladoos are the best in the whole society. One box to each family, and you’re the real star of the celebration without even leaving home.”

For a long moment, nobody moved.

Then Sarla Aunty laughed — not her polite laugh, the real one — and waved her hand in that way that meant she had been won over and was graciously pretending she’d agreed all along. “Arre, this girl! Fine. Fine! Raj, take your friends. I’ll make ladoos — the good ones, not the rushed kind.” She pointed at him. “But you give them to everyone. Personally.”

“Yes, Maa.”

“And you —” she pointed at Nikki “— I’m sending a special box home for you.”

Nikki hugged her. “Aunty, you’re the best.”

Sarla Aunty made a pleased, dismissive sound and swept back toward the kitchen, already mentally planning the ladoo recipe. Ridhi turned to Nikki with the expression of someone who had just watched a natural disaster be gently redirected into a garden.

Nikki shrugged — it’s nothing, it’s fine — and reached for her bag.

“Nikki.”

She turned. Raj was looking at her from the dining table with an expression that was almost carefully composed — almost.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “That was — I don’t know how you do that.”

She smiled. “She just needed to feel like she won. Which she did. Everyone won.” She glanced at him. “Dinner tonight — you’re still doing it, right?”

“Seven o’clock,” he said. “You should come.”

“She’s coming,” Ridhi announced from the sofa.

Nikki looked at Ridhi. Then back at Raj, who had the expression of someone choosing not to say something. “Seven o’clock,” she confirmed. “I’ll be there.”

She left with Ridhi chattering cheerfully beside her, already debating what to wear. The morning felt easy, warm, ordinary.

She didn’t notice the way Raj watched her leave from the dining table — the way he waited until the door clicked shut before he exhaled, slow and quiet, and looked back at his screen without seeing anything on it.

Some things, she was still learning to see.

Author's note: Thank you so much for 1,000 reads. I never expected Raj and Nikki’s story to reach so many hearts. If you’re enjoying their journey, tap the ❤️ or leave a quick comment — it helps the story grow. I’m grateful for every one of you.