The afternoon sun in Uttar Pradesh was bright but not unbearable, softened by the winter breeze that carried the smell of roasted peanuts and frying jalebis.

Sanya stood in the doorway, adjusting her dupatta, when Yuvraj called from the veranda.

“Come on. We’re going to the market.”

She blinked. “The market?”

He glanced at her shoes. “Yes. Or should I get the vegetables to walk here themselves?”

She bit back a smile. His sarcasm was sharp, but it wasn’t cruel — more like an unpolished habit.

---

The Walk to Town

The market was barely a ten-minute walk from the house. Narrow lanes bustled with rickshaws, scooters, and the occasional goat wandering lazily in the middle of the road. Vendors called out in sing-song voices, trying to tempt buyers with fresh produce, fabric, and cheap bangles.

Sanya had to keep pace with Yuvraj’s long strides, weaving through the crowd. Once, when a cycle-wallah swerved too close, his hand instinctively reached out, wrapping around her wrist to steady her.

The warmth of his fingers stayed long after he let go.

---

The Vegetable Vendor

At the first stall, Yuvraj examined tomatoes like he was inspecting gold at a jeweller’s.

“These are too soft,” he told the vendor. “Give me fresh ones.”

Sanya tried to be helpful and picked up a basket of green chilies — only to have a few spill onto the ground.

“Careful,” he murmured, crouching to pick them up before she could. His fingers brushed hers briefly, and she looked away quickly, pretending to study a pile of coriander.

---

Street Food Detour

Once the vegetables were packed, they passed a small cart where golden golgappas glistened under the sun. The smell was irresistible.

Her eyes lit up before she could hide it. Yuvraj noticed.

“Want some?”

She hesitated. “I… don’t want to trouble you.”

Without a word, he handed the vendor a note.

“Two plates,” he said.

The vendor served them quickly, the crisp shells bursting with tangy water and spicy potato. Sanya tried to eat neatly but ended up with a drop of tamarind water running down her wrist. She laughed softly and wiped it away, feeling oddly… free.

“Good?” he asked.

She nodded. “Better than any restaurant.”

For a moment, his eyes softened — just a flicker — before he looked away.

---

The Bangles

On the way back, they passed a small bangle shop. The glass bangles shimmered in the sunlight, reflecting pinks, greens, and golds. She slowed her steps, drawn to them.

The shopkeeper noticed and said, “Bhaiya, these will suit your wife. Try them for her.”

Yuvraj opened his mouth to refuse — but then he glanced at her, still lingering near the display.

“Show her the red ones,” he said.

The shopkeeper slid them over her wrist, the glass clinking softly. They were simple, inexpensive — and perfect.

She looked at him. “Why—”

“You stared at them like a child stares at sweets,” he said simply. “It was obvious.”

---

The Walk Back

They walked home in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The vegetable bag swung lightly from his hand; the bangles chimed softly on hers.

Somewhere in the middle of the lane, she realised — he hadn’t smiled much, hadn’t said much, but today, in small ways, he had noticed her.

And that, to her, felt louder than any grand gesture.

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