Meet Me On The Metro

By Subasree

You know that saying, “Not all men are the same”?

 Yeah, well, I’ve hated that line my entire life.

It all started back in twelfth grade. My so-called “first love” was the dark-skinned, devilishly athletic cricket star every girl in school drooled over. He wasn’t a genius and barely passed his exams, but when he ran, the world stopped. Or at least, that’s what his fan club of hormonal admirers believed.

And me? I was the quiet one. The one who should’ve known better. But when he walked past me one random Monday morning, my stomach did that stupid fluttery thing. The famous butterflies.

He flirted, I blushed, and for a moment, I thought maybe this was what love looked like.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

Turns out, my charming athlete had a hobby of collecting hearts. He didn’t date girls; he rotated them. And while some didn’t mind being part of his “team,” I refused to be one of his “players.” I walked away with a broken heart and a brand-new life motto:

Never. Ever. Fall. Again.

So, when Seetha, my new college friend, asked why I chose a women’s college, my answer wasn’t exactly subtle.

“Because one heartbreak is enough for a lifetime.”

Seetha blinked. “Wait… you hate all men?”

And just like that, my peaceful, man-free college life was about to get way more complicated than I planned.

Seetha tilted her head curiously. “By the way, your name?”

“Nithya.”

Her eyes lit up. “That’s one cute name for a girl who hates love.”

I groaned. “Oh, please! Not that love thing again! Just don’t—”

“So… you don’t love anyone, right?” she teased.

“Please tell me you don’t!”

I sighed dramatically. “I may disappoint you, because I’m already in love.”

Seetha’s grin widened. “Wait—what?”

“And it’s double-sided,” she said proudly. “Anyway, he’ll be here in a minute or two, but he’s late today.”

I blinked. “He’ll be here? As in… here here? Why?”

“We travel together every morning.”

“With him? A man? Okay, I’m out. I’ll book a taxi or an auto—whatever’s available.”

Seetha rolled her eyes. “What? Are you scared of a man now?”

“Uh, yes. That’s kind of my whole personality!”

She laughed. “Come on, Nithya! He’s my boyfriend, not a monster. He won’t even talk to you. The metro’s way cheaper than a taxi, and besides—” she grabbed my wrist gently, “you’re my first friend in this college. I don’t want us to become strangers just because of this love thing. Also, he gets off five stops before us. Please?”

I hesitated. “Five stops, you said?”

Seetha promised, “Exactly! He gets off before us.”

I sighed, staring at the approaching metro sign. “Fine. But if he even breathes weird, I’m jumping off at the next station.”

Seetha giggled. “Deal. You’ll thank me later.”

Spoiler alert: I did not thank her later.

He finally appeared as the train screeched into the station.

Out of breath, hair sticking up in every possible direction, a heavy bag slung over one shoulder, and a shirt that screamed, I gave up on ironing today.

I blinked. This total disaster is my new friend’s boyfriend? Wow. Cupid really needs to update his glasses.

Seetha’s face, however, lit up like the Diwali sky.

“See! That’s him!” she whispered excitedly, waving at him as if he were some celebrity.

He smiled back, tired but warm. Okay, maybe a little cute, but definitely not my type.

Seetha started to introduce us, but before she could get a word out, I held up my hand. “I’m her friend. And a total stranger to you. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

I rolled my eyes, adjusting my bag. “I’m boarding the ladies’ compartment. You two, please enjoy the common one.”

But Seetha wasn’t having it. She grabbed my wrist again just as the metro doors beeped.

“Just five stops, please?”

I groaned. “You are such a pleaser, you know that? I can’t even argue with you right now!”

She grinned triumphantly as we stepped inside together.

And there I was trapped between a lovebird and her rumpled Romeo on a metro ride I never signed up for.

The metro doors slid open with a hiss, and we squeezed in just before they closed. I clutched the pole, trying to stay as far as possible from Seetha and her messy-shirted boyfriend.

He was already busy apologizing for being late. “Sorry, babe. I almost forgot today is Monday! Still can’t believe the weekend is over. Raghav was supposed to drop me off, but he—”

He stopped mid-sentence. Because Raghav was right there.

Leaning casually against the door, earphones in, sleeves rolled up, reading something on his phone like he’d stepped straight out of a perfume ad.

Seetha’s boyfriend laughed. “Speak of the devil! Raghav, man, what are you doing here?”

Raghav looked up, smiled politely, and nodded. “Metro was faster today. Morning!”

My eyes shifted between the two of them: the messy boyfriend and his friend, this calm, well-put-together man.

How on earth were they even friends? One looked like he wrestled with an iron and lost, while the other looked like he just stepped out of a clothing brand ad.

I quickly looked away before anyone noticed I was staring. Of course, Seetha noticed first.

“Nithya! There you are,” she chirped, turning to Raghav. “Hey, this is my new friend—”

I cut her off, pretending to adjust my bag strap and suddenly finding the metro floor very interesting. Nope. Not happening.

The last thing I needed was another “hello” from a man.

Seetha pouted but dropped it, turning back to her boyfriend.

And me? I just stared out the window, silently counting the stops left and wondering why the clean one’s reflection in the glass was suddenly so distracting.

I was determined not to look at him again. Not even a side glance.

Men were trouble, and I’d already had my lifetime subscription.

But fate or bad luck has a wicked sense of humor.

Because the metro jerked suddenly, and I lost balance for half a second. My hand slipped from the pole, and before I could grab it back, someone’s hand steadied my elbow. Firm. Steady.

“Careful,” he said.

I froze. That voice. Smooth, low, annoyingly polite.

Raghav.

“Thanks,” I muttered, pulling away like I’d touched a live wire.

He smiled, clearly amused. “You really hate men, huh?”

I glared. “Is it that obvious?”

He tilted his head. “Well, you looked like you were ready to jump out of the metro just to avoid saying hello.”

I crossed my arms. “Because saying hello leads to talking, and talking leads to… disappointment.”

He chuckled softly. “Interesting philosophy. Do you apply that to everyone or just people with a Y chromosome?”

Seetha caught my eye and mouthed a gleeful See? I told you he’s nice!

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

But then the train slowed, and Raghav’s reflection flickered again in the window.

Smiling faintly, half amused, half curious, I caught myself doing something I swore I wouldn’t.

I smiled back. Just a little. Then immediately looked away.

The next stop came. Seetha’s boyfriend nudged Raghav. “Bro, our stop.”

Raghav nodded, unplugged one earphone, and straightened his sleeves.

“Nice meeting you again, Seetha,” he said. Then his eyes shifted to me.

“Try not to fall off the train, Miss Anti-Hello.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

He smirked. “Just… stay balanced.”

And with that maddeningly calm smile, he stepped off the train.

Seetha was practically bouncing. “See? He’s sweet, right?”

I huffed. “He’s something, that’s for sure.”

The doors slid shut. I caught a glimpse of him through the glass standing on the platform, hands in pockets, watching the train leave, and for a second, my chest did that annoying flutter again.

Seetha nudged me playfully. “Someone’s blushing.”

“I’m not!” I said too quickly.

But deep down, I knew.

For the first time in years, someone had managed to slip through the cracks in the wall I’d built around my heart, and all it took was five stops and one perfectly timed careful.

The next morning, I told myself one thing:Don’t think about him.

Easy, right? Just ignore the memory of that stupidly calm smile, that voice, and that “Miss Anti-Hello” comment echoing in my head all night.

Totally easy.

Except it wasn’t.

Seetha, as usual, was already at the metro station, waving at me with the energy of a morning talk-show host. “Good morning, sunshine!” she chirped.

I groaned. “You’re too cheerful for someone who has a class test in an hour.”

“Love gives energy,” she winked. “You should try it sometime.”

“Pass.”

The train arrived with a screech, and we stepped in. I took my usual position near the door, away from any possible male interference.

At least that was the plan.

Because two stops later, I saw him.

Raghav.

Same crisp shirt, same rolled-up sleeves, holding a coffee cup like he’d walked straight out of a book.

He looked up mid-sip, his eyes landing on me. For a second, neither of us spoke.

Then that familiar half-smile appeared. “Well, if it isn’t Miss Anti-Hello herself.”

I exhaled slowly. “Oh, great. It’s you again.”

He laughed softly. “Good to see you too.”

Seetha’s grin could’ve powered the whole metro. “What a coincidence!” she whispered loudly. “Raghav, meet—”

“Already met,” he said, still looking at me. “Sort of.”

I pretended to check my phone. “I didn’t know the metro came with recurring passengers.”

He chuckled. “Some of us like routines. You’ll get used to it.”

The doors slid open again, and he shifted closer to make space for a crowd of new passengers. I felt the faintest brush of his arm against mine, unintentional but enough to make my brain short-circuit for a solid three seconds.

And that’s when it hit me.

This was going to be a long semester. The metro rattled along, and I tried my best to stay focused on the route map. One, two, three… just five stops again. I could survive five stops.

Except Raghav apparently had other plans.

He shifted slightly, balancing his coffee cup as the train jerked again. I noticed it too late.

“Careful, your—”

SPLASH.

A perfect arc of hot coffee landed right on my sleeve.

I gasped. “Seriously?!”

His eyes widened. “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!”

Seetha was already giggling behind her hand. Raghav scrambled for tissues, trying to help, while I stood there fuming and also trying not to laugh at how panicked he looked.

“Great,” I muttered. “First, he saves me. Now he stains me. What’s next? Pushing me off the metro?”

He winced. “I swear, I didn’t; the train just—”

“Sure, blame public transport.”

Seetha burst into laughter. “Okay, okay! It’s just coffee, Nithya! Look, he’s literally sweating from guilt.”

Raghav shook his head with a helpless smile. “I’ll make it up to you. Coffee is on me tomorrow.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Really? More coffee? That’s your apology?”

He grinned. “I promise it’ll stay inside the cup this time.”

Seetha leaned closer, whispering dramatically, “You should totally say yes. It’s destiny. Coffee brought you two together!”

I groaned. “Please stop acting like a horoscope auntie.”

But she only winked. “I’m just saying… maybe the universe spilled that coffee for a reason.”

Raghav laughed softly, and for a moment. Just a moment, I did too.

And maybe, just maybe, the universe had a weird sense of humor.

The next morning, I arrived early purely by accident, of course. Not because someone promised me coffee. Definitely not that.

Seetha was late for once, claiming she’d “accidentally overslept.” Yeah, right. The girl who could wake up for a 6 a.m. skincare routine overslept? Please.

I was scrolling through my phone when a familiar voice said,“Still avoiding men, or can I sit?”

I looked up. There he was, Raghav, holding two cups of coffee and that same half-smile that should honestly be illegal before 9 a.m.

I sighed, pretending to be unimpressed. “You again? Didn’t you spill enough caffeine on me yesterday?”

He chuckled and slid one cup toward me. “Truce coffee. Extra tissue included.”

I tried not to smile. Failed miserably. “You’re persistent.”

“Just polite,” he said, taking a seat across from me. “You don’t seem like the type who accepts apologies easily.”

I sipped the coffee cautiously. “Depends on the person… and the amount of spillage.”

He laughed low, easy, and genuine. And I hated how nice it sounded. There was something disarming about him, not just the way he talked, but the quiet comfort he carried, like he didn’t need to impress anyone.

“So,” he said after a pause, “do you hate all men, or just the messy ones?”

I smirked. “Mostly the messy ones. And sometimes the overconfident ones.”

“Good,” he said, leaning back. “Because I’m just the right amount of confident.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips betrayed me, smiling before I could stop them.

And right then, like a perfectly timed plot twist, Seetha appeared out of nowhere, eyes gleaming like she’d just caught her favorite serial live.

“Well, well, well,” she said, sliding into the chair beside me. “Look who’s having coffee without spilling it or running away!”

“Seetha,” I warned.

“Don’t ‘Seetha’ me. I knew it! The coffee prophecy is true!”

Raghav laughed. I groaned.

But deep down, as ridiculous as it sounded, maybe she was right. Maybe some stories start with a spill.

The following week, I realized something annoying:Raghav was everywhere.

Not stalking everywhere, obviously, but the metro had a strange habit of making our paths cross. Same train. Same compartments. Sometimes even the same seats.

Seetha noticed immediately. “See? Destiny is serious about you two,” she whispered one morning, practically vibrating with excitement.

I groaned. “Or it’s just called public transport.” The following Monday, Seetha bounced up to me with that guilty-excited look that always meant something.

“So…” she started, twisting her hair. I narrowed my eyes. “What did you do?”

“Nothing bad!” she said quickly. “Just… you’ll have to manage the metro alone for a week.”

I blinked. “What? Why?”

She smiled dreamily. “My boyfriend’s picking me up on his bike every day. He said the weather’s perfect for rides!”

Of course he did.

I sighed. “Wow. Romantic weather. Public transport for me.”

Seetha laughed, hugging me. “Oh, come on! You’ll survive. It’s just one week!” Then she leaned in, whispering mischievously, “And who knows, maybe a certain coffee-spilling gentleman will keep you company.”

I groaned. “No, thanks. I’m boarding the ladies’ coach from now on. Safe, quiet, and blissfully Raghav-free.”

The next morning, I stood at the metro station, earphones in, determined. New playlist. New plan. No more fluttery moments. No more awkward smiles.

The train arrived with its usual screech, and I made a beeline for the ladies’ compartment, sliding into a corner seat. Peace. Silence. Just me and my thoughts.

Except my thoughts were annoyingly loud.

Because somehow, every small detail reminded me of him: the way he’d stand near the door, one hand in his pocket; how he’d always have that faint smell of coffee; or the stupid, effortless grin that made half the women in the coach invisible to him. except, somehow, me.

But when the train approached, I saw him already inside, standing near the door, earphones in, lost in thought like always.

I quickly ducked behind a pillar, pretending to be on my phone until the crowd thinned. Only when the doors were about to close did I slip into the ladies’ coach, far away from where he stood.

For the rest of the ride, I kept telling myself I didn’t care. That it didn’t matter if he was there or not.

But my stupid heart noticed it anyway. Every time the train curved, and I caught a glimpse of him through the glass partition; that calm profile, that soft smile, it was like the universe was laughing at me.

I sighed and looked away. “Nope. Not thinking about him. Not even a little.”

For the next few days, I became an expert in Raghav-avoidance.

If there were medals for it, I’d have won gold, maybe even two.

Day one, I switched my metro timing. I arrived five minutes later than usual, smug about my flawless plan until the train door slid open and there he was, standing exactly where he always stood. Of course. The universe clearly had a sense of humor.

On day two, I moved to the extreme other end of the platform, pretending to check train timings on my phone. The train arrived, and who do I see boarding from the same end for the first time ever? Raghav. I nearly sprinted into the ladies’ coach like it was a safety bunker.

On day three, I bought a new pair of earphones just so I could avoid talking if we crossed paths. Except they weren’t even connected to my phone when he waved from a distance. I pretended not to see him, tripped over someone’s bag, and dropped my ticket. Smooth. Very smooth.

By day four, I had a whole strategy —

1. Reach the station.

2. Scan for tall, clean-shirted humans named Raghav.

3. If spotted, retreat immediately.

But no matter how carefully I planned it, he was always there standing in his usual place, calm and quiet, like the world didn’t exist.

And the worst part? He never even tried to talk to me. Not once.

Somehow, that made it worse.

One evening, Raghav finally approached Nithya. “Why do you keep avoiding me?” he asked quietly, his eyes searching hers.

Nithya hesitated. “Because… I’m scared,” she admitted. “Scared that I might fall in love with you.”

Raghav smiled faintly. “But I’m already in love with you.”

She blinked, taken aback. “Then why did you avoid me?”

He chuckled. “Maybe I wanted to play the same game you started. Just for a while.”

That “while” didn’t last long. Soon, there were inseparable late-night calls, weekend trips, and endless laughter in metro rides. For the first time, Nithya felt love wasn’t as terrifying as she thought.

But then, Raghav changed. He stopped answering calls. Stopped showing up. A day turned into a week. A week into a month. And then, nothing for five long months.

Nithya panicked. Seetha and her boyfriend had no clue either. Raghav had vanished without a word.

Then one morning, fate repeated itself. Same metro. Same compartment. And there he was…Raghav.

Nithya’s heart leapt. She rushed to him, tears welling up, but he barely looked at her. Even when Seetha’s boyfriend tried to talk, Raghav quietly stepped off at the next stop.

The next day, he came to find her. “Nithya,” he said softly, “forget me.”

She froze. “What?”

“I’m married,” he confessed. “My grandparents insisted... it was my relative. I couldn’t refuse. I’m leaving for Australia next week. I’m sorry.”

Her world went silent. Words failed her as he turned and walked away.

That evening, in the same metro where it all began, Nithya broke down completely. Through her sobs, she whispered the words she once swore by—

“I was always right. All men are the same.”

By Subasree