Mismatched People 1 Villa and Zero Personal Space love story
A Shimla Error That Got Personal
Ever noticed how life doesn’t ask before tossing a complete stranger into your carefully curated bubble of peace?
Yeah. Like that cold weekend in Shimla. All I wanted was snow, soup, and some self-reflection.
Instead… [pause] I got a villa full of noise and a man who spoke exclusively in one-liners and bad puns.
This isn’t a love story. [laughs softly] This is about tolerating someone long enough to realize… they might just be your brand of chaos.
Day 1: The Arrival, The Eye-Roll, The Tea War]
Villa Whistling Pines. Looked like a Pinterest dream with commitment issues.
I, Meher Anand—literature professor, emotional introvert, chai snob—had arrived early. Claimed the best room.
Lit a candle. Wore socks that matched my mood—grey.
“Hello, Shimlaaaa! Your favorite disaster has arrived!”
Enter: Ishaan Kapoor.
suitcase dragging, exaggerated sigh.
Him: “Did someone order the human plot twist?”
Me: [without looking up] “Only if it’s gluten-free and quiet.”
**[Beat. Ha ha ha ha. , **
He laughed like he owned the air.
[He chuckles again:] ] that’s harsh
Tea time:
He dumped five spoons of sugar into one cup.
Me: [raising one eyebrow] “You making chai or dessert soup?”
He slurped dramatically.
[Slurp. Then, mock-serious:] “Sweetness is essential. You wouldn’t understand—you read books where everyone dies.”
Me: [short laugh] “And you look like the kind of guy who cries during ads.”
[He gasps dramatically:] “Only the ones with puppies, okay?”
[Both laugh, reluctantly. Then awkward silence.]
Later, at the fireplace, while everyone played Truth or Dare, he stood up.
[Ishaan, mock-announcing:] “What happens when a literature prof and a failed comic share a villa?”
Pause.
“Passive-aggressive chai fights and romantic tension with WiFi issues.”
[Crowd laughs. I roll my eyes. Someone claps. Ishaan bows.]
Then I found a sticky note on my journal:
“If you’re going to judge me silently, at least do it with snacks.”
I left one back:
“If you’re going to monologue, please charge rent for the oxygen.”
[Ha ha ha ha ha ha!]
And just like that… we became sparring partners.
In sarcasm. In silence.
In accidental smiles that lasted longer than they should’ve.
[ Day 2: Snowed In, Stuck With Feelings, and Other Natural Disasters]
Woke up to a snowstorm. Shimla hit “pause” on the world.
We were snowed in.
[Wind outside. Fireplace crackling.]
I was curled near the heater, journaling. Ishaan barged into the kitchen, wearing two different socks and confidence.
[He sings:] “Breakfast is ready… feelings optional, awkward glances included.”
I shot him a look.
He grinned like a five-year-old who just discovered sarcasm.
Later, while walking in the snow—accidentally of course—he suddenly asked,
“So, Professor Meher… why literature?”
Me: [sighs] “Because chemistry couldn’t explain idiots like you.”
[He burst out laughing. Loudly.]
“Ha ha ha ha ha! Okay, okay, fair. But like, for real?”
Pause.
Me: [softly] “Because stories let you rewrite endings. Life doesn’t give that luxury.”
He didn’t joke after that. Just walked quietly beside me.
Close enough to be comforting.
Far enough to respect my space.
That night, the power cut. Candles flickered.
Someone found an old typewriter in the attic.
I just… froze.
I hadn’t written since Dad passed. My words had dried up.
He found me there. Quiet for once.
“Writer’s block?”
[Soft background hum.]
Me: “No… heartblock.”
He didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease. Just handed me his old chipped mug.
It read: “Not funny, but trying.”
I smiled. Small. Real.
Me: “I wrote something. Want to hear?”
He nodded, pretending not to care—but holding his breath.
[🎤 Meher’s Poem – Soft, Vulnerable, Slight Wobble in Voice]
“To the man who laughs too loud
Who turns chai into syrup
Who flirts like he’s late for a deadline
But pauses when I need the silence…
You’re the worst kind of habit.
And I hope I never quit you.”
Pause. Deep breath. Silence.
He laughed. Genuinely this time.
[“Ha ha ha ha… oh wow…”]
Then, without saying a word, he passed me the same mug.
Now it had a new message written in marker:
“Keep Breaking Blocks.”
[🎙raming Narrator – Closing Words, Soft Chuckle]
Sometimes, all it takes is two days.
A snowstorm.
A villa booking gone wrong.
And someone whose noise… feels like home.
Love doesn’t always knock.
Sometimes, it barges in with a suitcase and five spoons of sugar.
And you?
You just roll your eyes…
and make space.
[Soft snow sound. Distant laughter. ]
This was 2 Mismatched People, 1 Villa, and Zero Personal Space.
Thanks to chaos for the love story. And to chai… for keeping us warm.