"Menu?" Virat asked.

"Pulao 100 rupees, chicken biryani 200 rupees," Ashwin rattled off.

Virat hesitated. "Hmm, okay. I’ll let you know."

    As Ashwin moved on, Ashraa's father, Rehman, leaned over. "Sir, if you don’t mind, please share our food. We have plenty."

"No, sir, it’s alright," Virat replied politely. "I’ll order from the pantry."

Rehman shook his head. "Sir, the quality is so bad. It tastes awful. Better not to order from them."

Ashraa, already mid-bite, added, "Bro, my Ammi makes the tastiest food. Try it!"

Virat smiled and finally gave in. "Okay."

Rehman handed him a generous portion of vegetable biryani and a few pieces of fried chicken. Virat took it gratefully. "Thank you so much. I'm sorry to trouble you."

"It’s no trouble at all, brother," Ashraa's mother replied warmly.

As Virat took his first bite, his eyes widened. "Ma'am, this is incredible. You should really start a restaurant."

Ashraa and her brother, Amar, burst out laughing. "Bro, my mom and dad already run a hotel!"

    Virat laughed and turned toward Anvi, who was sitting across from them. "Would you like some?"

Anvi had clearly already fallen in love with the aroma of the homemade biryani, but her pride stood in the way. "No, thank you. I’ve already ordered the veg pulao from the railway."

Virat shrugged and went back to his meal, purposely making loud sounds of appreciation for the food, which only served to "burn" Anvi further. Eventually, Anvi’s railway pulao arrived. By then, Virat was finished with dinner and was deep into a game of UNO with Ashraa and Amar. Anvi looked at her tray and murmured, "The smell is okay. Some people just don't like to spend money."

    But as she took her first bite, her expression collapsed. Her happiness faded instantly.

Virat, without looking up from his cards, called out, "Uno reverse! I’m down to one card. UNO!"

He glanced over at Anvi, who was struggling to force down the bland, oily rice. It was a losing battle. Finally, she gave up and dumped the tray in the dustbin, her stomach still empty.

"I have some snacks in my bag," Virat offered gently. "Would you like some?"

Anvi turned her head away stubbornly. "No. I’m not hungry."

    Around midnight, the coach had fallen silent. Most passengers were asleep, but Virat noticed Anvi tossing and turning uncomfortably on her seat. Suddenly, she tried to sit up too quickly and banged her head hard against the upper berth.

Virat let out a small giggle as Anvi groaned, rubbing her head in pain. He reached into his duffle bag, pulled out a packet of chikki, and held it out to her.

"Take it. You're starving."

"No, I’m not," she insisted.

Right on cue, her stomach let out a loud, echoing growl that seemed to vibrate through the quiet coach. Virat laughed, and Anvi’s face went red. In the battle between her dignity and her hunger, hunger finally won. She snatched the packet and began to eat.

    Virat watched with a small smile as she ate the peanut brittle like a famished kid. She started to cough, and he immediately handed her his water bottle. She drank deeply and finished the entire packet in minutes. Realizing he was watching her, she snapped, "Don't look at me like that! I'll pay you back for the chikki, don't worry."

"No need for that," Virat laughed. He leaned back, getting comfortable. "So, what do you do? Studies? Work?"

"Studies. I'm doing my PG from IIT Kharagpur," Anvi replied. "I took a few days off for an 'important meeting'."

"An important meeting? Can I ask what it's about?"

    Anvi sighed heavily. "Arey, my dad is obsessed with finding a military man for me to marry. This is the third candidate I’m supposed to meet."

Virat questioned her, "Why only the military? Why not a doctor or a shopkeeper?"

Anvi shifted, looking pained. "Can I sit next to you? My neck is killing me because of the low clearance on this seat."

Virat shifted over to make room, and she sat down on the edge of his berth.

"What can I say, buddy?" Anvi continued. "My grandfather was in the Army, and before he took his last breath, the old man told my dad, 'My granddaughter must only marry a military man.' Then he died. My dad treats those words like the law. Now you tell me, what did I do wrong?"

Virat smiled. "Nothing wrong. But what about the first two guys? Why didn't they work out?"

Anvi rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Those two were pathetic. I simply asked them to introduce themselves, and it was a disaster."

"Are you asking me to introduce myself now?" Virat teased.

Anvi nodded.

Virat straightened his posture. "Myself Virat. I’m currently serving in the Indian Navy. I’m an optimist, and—"

Anvi interrupted him with a wave of her hand. "See? Look at how casually you said that. Those guys were like..." She stiffened her shoulders and barked in a fast, robotic voice, "My name is Anvi, sir! Kashmir Regiment! Expert in machine guns and excellent stamina, sir!"

She relaxed and looked at Virat. "I was like, 'Wait! I’m looking for a husband, not hiring for a military HR position!'"

    Virat burst out laughing at the "Military HR" comment. "Oh boy, I know exactly what you mean about those guys."

Anvi shook her head, still frustrated. "Seriously, I only gave them two lines of conversation. Can you imagine how I felt?"

Virat chuckled. "I think I’m getting the picture. But tell me—are you already in love with someone? Is that why you’re so annoyed?"

"Nah," Anvi replied quickly. "I’m not in love. To be honest, I think arranged marriages are the best way to go."

    Virat looked surprised. "Really? Why?"

"Look, let's say I love you," Anvi began.

Virat froze, his heart skipping a beat.

"Just as an example!" she added quickly, noticing his shocked expression.

Virat let out a breath of relief. "Right. Example. Go on."

"Okay, so we love each other. But what if our parents reject us? What do we do? Run away? Get married in a forest or some dusty registry office and live all alone? Our parents will cry, and eventually, we’ll end up crying too because we hurt them. There’s no real happiness in that. Am I right?"

Virat nodded slowly, considering her words. "I see your point."

"So," Anvi concluded firmly, "arranged marriage is better! It keeps everyone happy."

"But I’ve heard women usually have a specific image of their ideal partner in their minds," Virat countered. "Don't you have a 'type'?"

    "Of course I do," Anvi admitted. "I want a simple, decent-looking man. I want to be his first priority, and our parents should be his second. He should be a real person—not someone 'ideal' like a soldier. Soldiers are always so perfect, like they don't have any bad habits. I want my partner to be human. I want him to have a few flaws."

Virat interrupted her, teasing. "Bad habits? What, do you want your partner to be a drunkard or a heavy smoker?"

Anvi laughed and waved her hand. "Oh, come on! Who wants that? What I mean is, having a habit isn't wrong; it’s only wrong if you let it control you. For example, I love to drink vodka."

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But I’m very disciplined about it. Once a month, on the first Sunday, exactly 180ml. That’s it. My parents have no idea. I just tell them I’m going to a friend’s house for a 'study session' and come back the next morning. It’s my little secret. Do you have any habits like that?"

    Virat thought for a second. "Umm... during festivals, I’ll have a glass of wine. That’s about it for me."

Anvi nodded approvingly. "That’s great. Keep it that way! Well... look at me, I’ve been talking non-stop about myself. I don't even know why I’m telling you all this. Is there nothing you want to share? Any secrets?"

    Virat’s expression softened, and he looked out at the dark landscape rushing past the window. "It’s not that I’m private," he said quietly. "It’s just that my story isn't as lively as yours. I lost my dad when I was in the fourth standard. He was an electrician—died from a massive electric shock on the job. My mom couldn't handle the loss; she passed away soon after."

Anvi’s playful expression vanished. She went silent, listening intently.

"A sister from my village church took me in and raised me," Virat continued. "But she passed away this January. So... that’s it. That’s my story."

Anvi looked down at her hands, her voice soft. "Oh... Virat, I’m so sorry for asking."

"It’s okay," Virat replied with a small, sad smile. "No problem at all."

The conversation continued for a long time after that, shifting from their pasts to their plans for the future. Eventually, Anvi glanced at her watch and gasped.

    "Oh! It’s already 2:00 AM. I should probably try to get some sleep." She stood up, stretching her stiff limbs. "We’ll continue this tomorrow morning—or actually, today afternoon."

She climbed back toward her berth, pausing to look at him one last time. "Good night, Sir," she said playfully.

Virat just watched her, a lingering smile on his face as he turned back to watch the endless darkness outside.

To be continued…

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