The city outside was asleep, but the café lights burned softly — golden halos reflected in two untouched cups of coffee.
Rhea sat across from Aarav, her camera bag beside her chair, her eyes glinting with curiosity. The night had stretched longer than either of them planned. Their film edit was done. The others had gone home. Yet here they were — still talking, still not wanting to say goodbye.
Aarav leaned back, eyes lost in thought. "You ever think about how stories… outlive people?"
Rhea tilted her head. "All the time."
He smiled faintly. "That's what I want. Not fame. Not awards. Just to make something that feels true. A film that people see and go — 'That's me.'"
Rhea listened, chin resting on her hand. The words weren't just ambition — they were confession.
"And what's your truth?" she asked softly.
Aarav looked at her for a long moment, his voice barely above a whisper. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
Coffee and Dreams
The cafe door creaked as the last customer left. The owner smiled at them. "Last call, kids. I'll leave the lights on — just lock up when you're done."
Rhea laughed. "Perks of being regulars."
Aarav smirked. "Or just charming."
She rolled her eyes, hiding a smile. "You wish."
He grinned, but then his tone softened again. "You know, when I was in school, I used to sit at the back of the class and write fake movie scripts. Teachers thought I was taking notes."
She laughed. "You were rehearsing to be a director even then."
"Maybe," he said, eyes distant. "But those stories were my escape. I wanted to tell the truth — not the kind people like to hear, but the kind they feel. The kind that makes you look at yourself differently."
He paused. "Even if it hurts."
Rhea felt something shift inside her. She had seen his confidence before — his jokes, his charisma, his drive. But this… this was raw. Unmasked.
"You will," she said finally. "You'll tell those stories."
Aarav looked up. "You really think so?"
She nodded, smiling. "You already do. You just don't realize it yet."
Unspoken
Outside, the streets were quiet, lamplight spilling onto wet pavement. Rhea toyed with her coffee spoon, thinking.
"You know," she said, "I always thought dreams were selfish. But now I think maybe… they're something you share."
Aarav's eyes softened. "You share yours through a camera. I share mine through words. Maybe that's why we work."
She smiled, feeling her pulse quicken. "We?"
He caught the word, chuckling softly. "We. The storytellers."
There was a silence — not awkward, but full. The kind that says more than words. Rhea's heart raced. Something about the way he looked at her — steady, thoughtful — made the world feel both infinite and small.
And then, almost as if afraid to break the moment, she whispered, "What's your biggest fear?"
Aarav stared into his cup for a long time. "That I'll get everything I want… and still lose what matters most."
She didn't ask what he meant. Because deep down, she already knew.
A Dream in Motion
"Show me something," Aarav said suddenly. "Something you've filmed — just for you."
Rhea blinked. "Just for me?"
He nodded.
She hesitated, then pulled her camera from the bag. Scrolled. Pressed play.
On the tiny screen, the three of them — Aarav, Rhea, Kabir — laughing on the terrace under the stars. The audio shaky, the focus imperfect, but the feeling real.
Aarav watched silently. His own voice echoed faintly — 'We'll make it big. Always we.'
When the clip ended, he exhaled. "You see it, don't you?"
"See what?" she asked.
"The truth."
Rhea frowned slightly. "That we're dreamers?"
He shook his head. "That you're the heart of it. You make it real."
Her breath caught. "Aarav—"
He smiled — a quiet, knowing smile — and changed the subject before she could reply. "One day, I'll make a film about us. About how it all started."
She laughed softly. "You'd better make me look good."
He grinned. "You already do that yourself."
Outside the Window
Rain had started falling again — soft, rhythmic drops against the glass. The café felt like a world apart, suspended in time.
Rhea reached for her bag. "We should go before they lock us in."
Aarav didn't move. "Rhea?"
She looked back.
"Promise me something."
"Hmm?"
"When it gets hard — when things change — don't stop believing in what we're doing."
Her eyes softened. "I won't. Promise me the same."
He nodded. "Deal."
They stood up, side by side, their reflections flickering faintly in the café window — two dreamers caught in the glow of their beginning.
Neither realized that this night would become the memory they'd both return to — when dreams started costing more than they gave.