Rain streaks down the window of a bustling Mumbai cafe, blurring the neon lights outside. He sits alone at a small table, nursing a lukewarm chai. Across from him, an empty chair. A half-finished plate of vada pav sits untouched. He keeps glancing at his phone, the screen reflecting the cafe’s warm glow, but no new messages appear. He traces a pattern on the condensation with his finger, a small, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips as he watches a couple laughing together at a nearby table. The scent of cardamom and rain hangs heavy in the air, a bittersweet reminder of shared evenings and promises whispered over steaming cups.