A night like this

Mansi's patience was as thinly stretched as the threads of her designer gown. "I can’t wait to get out of this place," she whispered to her co-worker.

Siddarth passed by with a glass of red wine, catching the tail end of her complaint. He didn’t stop. Just raised an eyebrow and kept walking, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.

“What is it with this place? No one gives a damn that we’re here,” Mansi’s friend muttered. “We should’ve ditched this thing and gone out on our own.”

“To where? Times Square? Central Park? I’m done playing tourist in New York City,” Mansi said, twisting the stem of her wine glass and watching the condensation trail lazy circles on the napkin beneath. Her ring caught the light, a faint glimmer that drew her thoughts to places she'd rather not dwell. The metal against her skin felt foreign now, a reminder of choices waiting in the quiet corners of her mind.

Siddarth didn’t care much for the small talk. He refilled his glass with the only interesting thing, Malbec, and made his way to the patio a few minutes later. The heavy doors gave a slow creak as he pushed through, the chatter from inside muffling behind him. Out there, the air at least felt less rehearsed.

The spring breeze greeted him with a quiet edge, sharp enough to cut through the warmth of the wine. Yellow cabs slid through intersections, and lights blinked without pause, like the skyline was trying to stay awake.

She was there, alone now, her red scarf fluttering in the wind like a loose thread, the night not yet settled. Her hair moved with the breeze, strands catching the streetlight like burnished thread. From that angle, he could finally see her face.

He moved closer, slow enough not to startle the moment, and leaned casually on the railing beside her, letting the chill press against his skin. He didn’t look right away. Just stood with her, eyes on the city.

“Unusually cold for a day that looked so warm,” he said, like it was the only line the evening had left.

Mansi turned, getting a proper look at him for the first time. He didn’t belong to the sea of suits she’d avoided all evening. A little unshaven, with eyes that didn’t dart or linger. His face was easy to look at, not polished, but lived-in. Present.

There was something unhurried in the way he stood beside her. Like silence didn’t need filling.

He wasn’t movie-star handsome. Thank God. But there was a pull to him she couldn’t explain.

“Is this how men in the city start conversations?” she asked, one brow lifting. “The weather?”

“No, that’s just me,” he said. “Most guys would start by telling you how beautiful you are. Even if they didn’t mean it.” He paused. “Probably the wine,” he said, glancing at her. “Though my dry sense of humor shows up uninvited sometimes.”

She smiled, this time without effort or agenda. It didn’t feel rehearsed, polite, or meant for anyone else. For a brief second, she wasn’t tired or stuck or trying to escape the night. She was just intrigued.

“That smile deserves a drink. What’ll it be?”

“I’m good, thanks,” she said, though her smile lingered. She turned back toward the street, tapping her fingers against the railing once, twice, before letting them still.

“It’s an open bar,” he said. “Feels wrong to let generosity go to waste.”

She laughed. “Cheapskate.”

“No shame in it. Welcome to New York City.”

“New York, New York,” she murmured, half to herself. “It always looks better in movies.”

“And that translates to... you can’t wait to get out of here?”

She didn’t respond. Just kept her eyes on the crowded street below, then tilted her chin upward toward the Chrysler Building. Its spire lit like the city was trying to impress her.

Siddarth watched her quietly. There was something in the way she looked at the skyline. It wasn’t awe and not quite detachment either. Like someone trying to feel something and failing. In that quiet moment, something stirred within her. The fear of settling into a life she didn't choose gnawed at her, pushing her to the brink of a decision she wasn't ready to make.

“It’s like love or hate at first sight,” he said, not taking her silence for a response. “If the city doesn’t win you over right away, it probably never will.”

Mansi nodded, eyes still on the skyline. “Maybe.”

“Come on,” he said, voice low. “Let me take you out for a drink. Somewhere that isn’t trying so hard.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him, gaze steady.

“Trust issues,” he said, letting the words hang. “I can see it in your eyes.”

A smile threatened, but didn’t quite win. “Not really. Just wondering if I’ll have to buy the drinks or if you will.”

“Ah,” he said. “Don’t worry about that.”

She let out a breath. Maybe a laugh. Maybe not. “Gentlemanly. Finally.”

He smiled. “No, I meant we’ll split it.”

She knew, somewhere beneath the buzz of wine and banter, that she wanted to spend her last night in the city with someone like him. Siddarth. Someone who didn’t belong in boardrooms or routines.

But then came the flicker. A face. A ring. A promise made before she even knew what she wanted. Her fiancé. The thought of him tugged at her like a misbuttoned coat. Mostly uncomfortable, hard to ignore, and suddenly out of place.

“Strange, isn’t it?” he said after a beat. “We haven’t even exchanged names.”

She adjusted the strap of her purse, buying herself a second.

“What’s in a name?” she said, half-smiling.

“Maybe there’s nothing in a name,” he said. “But in a city like this... how would I call you if you slipped away?”

“I don’t get lost that easily,” she said, her voice light but certain.

But as soon as the words left her mouth, something twisted.

She had been lost once. She said yes to a man she barely knew, simply because the timing looked right on paper. That yes had felt like stepping into a room and locking the door behind her.

She blinked the thought away and looked back at Siddarth, who was still waiting for a name.

He noticed the pause. Just a flicker in her expression. A breath held a second too long, a shadow passing through her eyes.

He didn’t ask. He just smiled, like he saw it. Those unsaid things people carry in their eyes when they think no one’s looking, and decide to leave them alone.

“So what about you?” she asked. “What’s your name?”

He grinned. “Let’s say... something forgettable. That way, if this night goes badly, you can pretend I never existed.”

She laughed. “Tempting, but no. I need something to put in the diary.”

“How about you make one up?”

“Alright,” she said. “You look like a... black coffee with a splash of trouble.”

“Fair. I’ll take that.”

Their eyes held for a moment longer than necessary. Then he gestured toward the patio door.

“Shall we?”

They slipped out quietly, unnoticed, like a side plot exiting the stage.

In the elevator, Siddarth loosened his tie, his fingers brushing against the silk with a soft, almost imperceptible sound that mingled with the faint scent of her perfume floating in the confined space. "Mind if we make a quick stop?" he asked, glancing at her with a hint of mischief. "I want to get out of this suit. Starting to feel like your chauffeur."

She shot him a look. Not quite disapproval, not quite consent. The subtle rustle of her dress against the elevator's walls seemed to amplify the pause between them.

"I know that look," he said, raising his hands in surrender as the elevator chimed softly. "You can wait downstairs with the doorman. I’ll be five minutes, promise."

She shrugged. “As long as your doorman isn’t creepy.”

“Only mildly bitter. But he scratches less if you don’t make eye contact.”

“Where do you get this sarcasm from?”

“Chinatown. Bargain rack. Throw in a few more bucks and you get the dry humor package.”

The lobby was quiet, sleek, and far too polished to feel personal. A man in a charcoal suit stood near the front desk, nodding at them as they walked past.

Mansi smiled back. He was handsome in a curated way. The kind of face that usually belonged on magazine ads, not behind a concierge desk.

“Rude,” she whispered. “You didn’t smile back.”

“He gets paid to look approachable,” Siddarth said under his breath. “That’s our doorman.”

She glanced back, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? He’s a little too GQ for a doorman.”

“So,” Siddarth said, pausing near the elevator. “You want to stay here with him, or come upstairs with me?”

She made a show of thinking. “Tough call.”

“If he’s already got you smiling,” he said quietly, “maybe I should leave you with the better view.”

When Siddarth returned to the lobby, he found Mansi standing by the front desk, deep in conversation with the doorman. She was laughing at something he’d just said, one hand resting lightly on the counter.

“No, I’m serious,” the doorman insisted. “Best doner kebab truck in the city. Just around the corner. You’ll thank me at 2 a.m.”

“Is this insider intel?” she asked. “Or are you just trying to keep me from leaving?”

Siddarth lingered by the elevator for a moment, watching the scene with an unreadable smile. It wasn’t the conversation. It was the ease. The way she fit into the moment like it had been waiting for her.

She noticed him finally and turned with a half-smile. “Took you long enough. We’ve already made dinner plans.”

“Great,” he said, joining them. “Guess I’ll be third-wheeling my own night.”

A short cab ride later, they found themselves outside a narrow club tucked between a row of old brick buildings. The sidewalk pulsed with bass spilling out the front door. A line stretched down the block, people shifting in place, tugging at light jackets, and checking their phones.

Mansi stepped out and took in the crowd. “This is the part where I pretend I like standing in heels for thirty minutes?”

Siddarth handed the driver a few bills, then turned to her with that same half-grin. “Worth the wait. Promise.”

Inside, the club was thick with bodies and light. The bass throbbed through the floor, and the air was tinged with sweat, citrus, and spilled tequila.

They edged their way to the bar. She leaned in, fingertips tapping once on the counter before going still.

“What are you having?” he asked, glancing sideways, voice close to her temple.

“Dark rum, splash of ginger, wedge of lime,” she said. “No straw.”

He gave a slow nod. “Precise.”

“It’s not my first night in a city,” she said.

He turned to the bartender. “Gin and tonic. Tanqueray. Lots of ice. And can you float a cucumber slice in it?”

Mansi arched an eyebrow. “Cucumber?”

“Non-negotiable,” he said. “Without it, I’m just a guy with trust issues and a sad glass.”

She chuckled, and this time, it wasn’t guarded.

The lights behind the bar painted everything in electric color, blues and violets bleeding into gold. Siddarth watched her from the corner of his glass, her drink in hand, eyes scanning the room like she was browsing a city she had no plans to buy.

It wasn’t her smile or her hair or her eyes. It was the way she moved through the world, carving silence out of the chaos around her. She turned to him, rolling her shoulder like she was shaking something off. A thought, a memory, maybe even him.

“It’s a different world out here,” he said, almost to himself.

She nodded, raising her glass. “You never see sad faces here, do you?”

They left their empty glasses on the bar and slipped into the moving tide of people. Around them, the dance floor pulsed with strangers and lovers and friends drawn thin by drinks. The music wrapped around them like sweat, like smoke, like something that used to be air.

A man kissed a woman near the exit like he hadn’t seen her in years. Two women danced with their eyes closed, heads tipped toward each other, lost in something neither of them said. A boy spun on his heels like joy came from somewhere beneath the floor.

Mansi walked ahead of him, disappearing for a breath, then reappearing under a red light like a trick the room was playing on him.

Siddarth followed, hands in his pockets, watching the way she slipped between shoulders and spilled drinks and camera flashes, untouched.

He didn’t know what this was. But he knew it didn’t feel borrowed. It felt like something he hadn’t been offered in a very long time.

The floor pulled them in. No stage, no spotlight, just bodies caught in a rhythm they didn’t need to understand.

Mansi danced like the night had peeled something off her, and she didn’t mind what it left behind.

Siddarth kept close at first, just enough distance to give her space, just enough presence to let her know he hadn’t gone. He didn’t try to lead. She didn’t need it.

But then, slowly, she began to unspool. She let herself drift and caught the wrist of a stranger mid-spin, then slipped toward another, laughing at something only the music heard.

She wasn’t showing off. She was shaking something loose.

Siddarth stepped back. Not out of jealousy. Out of recognition.

He had done this before. Watched someone unravel beautifully and wondered if he’d still be there when they came back together.

He stayed at the edge of the crowd, hands at his sides, the lights blinking across his face like signals he didn’t know how to read.

She danced through strangers like she didn’t owe anyone anything. And for a moment, he let himself wonder what it would feel like to move like that, without history, without consequence.

And then, like nothing had changed at all, she returned.

Her steps slowed as she neared him, hair damp at the temples, her breath high in her chest.

She didn’t say a word. Didn’t reach for him. Just looked.

Siddarth didn’t move towards her. He just nodded, something small, something real, and let the beat take them again.

They danced, not together, not apart. Just in the same story now, for whatever time it had left.

Eventually, they slipped toward the outer rim of the dance floor, where the lights softened and the crowd thinned into scattered groups and half-finished conversations. The music still throbbed, but something in the night had quieted.

Siddarth leaned against the bar, swirling the ice at the bottom of his glass. Mansi stood beside him, adjusting the strap of her dress like she needed a second to feel her body again.

“It’s a merry world here,” he said, his voice low. “Alcohol, strangers, music. They blend well in places like this.”

Mansi glanced at the crowd, eyes tracing the shimmer of bodies still moving without thought.

“Bars are a great place to meet strangers in this city,” she said.

“Sure,” he said, watching the crowd. “But most of them stay strangers. Even after the drinks, the dancing... they vanish the moment the music stops.”

She looked over at him.

He chuckled. “I mean, come on. You wake up the next morning, and all you want is coffee. The alcohol and the strangers just give you a hangover.”

“I’m not going to debate that,” she said, taking another sip. “I’m not great with alcohol or strangers.”

“So I’m an exception?”

She gave him an amused look. Wary even. “Don’t flatter yourself. We still have to see each other in meetings.”

He smiled, sipping the last of his drink. “So... I’m technically off-limits?”

“Technically,” she said, eyes back on the dance floor. “But I’ve always been bad with policies.”

There was a pause. Not awkward. Just long enough to let the question slip in.

“So... are you seeing someone?” she asked, too quickly.

She regretted it immediately. Not because it was too much, but because she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer it herself.

Siddarth stared into his glass. “It’s... complicated.”

It didn’t make sense to her, but she didn’t ask. Some answers don’t belong to strangers, even the ones you start to care about.

They stepped out sometime after 3 am. The music behind them dulled to a low throb as the door swung shut and traded instantly for the sharp, restless noise of the city.

Outside, the rhythm was different. Louder in its own way. A cab screeched past with a horn leaning too long. Somewhere down the block, a couple argued under a flickering streetlight. A delivery truck reversed into an alley, beeping as if it were tired of warning anyone.

Mansi zipped her jacket to her chin. Siddarth shoved his hands into his pockets. They didn’t say much. The sidewalks pulsed with leftover Friday of stumbling heels, slurred laughter, the smell of hot pretzels, and damp concrete. A girl sobbed quietly into her phone. Someone shouted the wrong name into the backseat of a cab.

They kept walking.

Somewhere around the 23rd, Siddarth nodded toward a deli lit like a convenience store confession box.

“Food?”

She gave a slight nod and followed him in.

Inside smelled like scorched oil, old coffee, and synthetic lemon cleaner. The guy behind the counter didn’t look up. Ten minutes later, they stepped back out with sandwiches and curly fries, steam curling from the bag into the chill.

They found a low stoop near a shuttered nail salon. Siddarth unwrapped the food and handed it to her without a word.

She took it, biting in like she hadn’t eaten in days.

“What do you want to do next?” he asked.

She wiped her lip with the back of her hand. “I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Times Square,” he said, chewing. “Did you bring your camera?”

She groaned. “No. Not again. I’m sick of that place.”

“Already?”

She turned to look at him, fries in hand. “So... are you that cheesy guy who has a ‘special spot’ he takes all his dates to?”

“Ooh, I love sarcasm,” he said, holding out his box. “How about sprinkling some of that on my fries?”

She smiled. “How about you sprinkle some of your dry sense of humor on mine?”

He chuckled, and for a moment, they sat like strangers with warm hands and nowhere to be.

They sat for a while in that odd, calm lull with laughter still clinging to the air, and the night was not ready to give them back to their lives.

She glanced at her phone.

“I should probably head back soon,” she said.

He took another bite. “Back where?”

“My hotel.”

He looked over. “Why? Is your room about to turn into a pumpkin?”

She gave a half-laugh but didn’t meet his eyes. “No. I have a flight.”

He paused. “Tonight?”

“Later today,” she said softly. “One p.m., JFK.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.” She looked down at the sandwich in her lap. “I haven’t packed yet. Should probably get back, shower, maybe nap for an hour.”

He didn’t speak right away. Just leaned back against the cool glass behind them and stared out at the street like it might offer a better version of what she’d just said.

“Let’s go!” he said, and the next thing she knew was that they were in a cab.

The cab smelled faintly of mint gum and old leather. Siddarth had slid in first and told the driver an address she didn’t catch. Mansi followed, the warmth of her half-finished night settling into the seat beside him.

It took a block before she asked.

“Why are we going to Brooklyn?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even turn. Just stared out the window as the city spilled past graffiti-streaked storefronts, traffic lights swinging in the wind, someone smoking alone under scaffolding.

She studied his profile in the glow of the passing streetlights. Strong jaw, stillness in his shoulders. She wasn’t sure if he was angry or just somewhere else entirely.

Siddarth wasn't mad. He just didn't trust his voice.

It's complicated.

The words had come out like a reflex. He hated how flat they'd sounded. It wasn't a lie, but it also wasn't fair. What would he have said instead?

The taxi driver glanced at them through the rearview mirror, as if sensing the tension. "Tough night? New York's a beast, ain't it?" His voice sliced through the silence, pulling Siddarth momentarily out of his thoughts. Outside, a car honked sharply, its sound bouncing off the streets, impatient and sharp. The world around them was moving at its own relentless pace.

I’ve been with someone for years, and lately I feel like I’m sleepwalking through it.

He hadn’t planned to say anything tonight. But then there she was, laughing into the noise, asking him questions like she already knew the answers.

He shifted in his seat and glanced at the street again.

Mansi watched the blur of buildings in her window.

She wondered what the airport would feel like later. If she’d be alright, or if the ache would kick in the moment she saw her gate.

She imagined fastening her seatbelt, looking out over the wing, trying to replay this night before it slipped away.

What would she even call it?

A glitch?

A detour?

A dream she wasn’t supposed to remember this clearly?

She leaned back, letting the silence stretch between them. It wasn’t awkward. Not yet. Just thick with things neither of them had figured out how to say.

Neither of them spoke. Fifteen minutes passed like that. Two near-strangers in the back of a cab, chasing the tail end of something they couldn’t name, while the city refused to sleep outside their window.

A few moments later, they were at a cafe in Dumbo. They didn’t sit inside. Instead, they took their coffees to the outdoor patio, where a single overhead heater glowed amber above two empty tables. The chill pressed in from all sides, but the warmth above them made it feel like they were sitting inside a thought. One they weren’t ready to finish.

In front of them, the East River moved slow and dark, like it didn’t want to wake anything. The Brooklyn Bridge cut clean lines across the water, its cables glinting softly. To their left, the carousel sat silent behind its glass shell. Its lights were off, but the horses still gleamed faintly in the spill of Manhattan’s reflection, as if they were frozen in motion, mid-story.

They sat quietly, their coffee cups small and too warm against their cold fingers.

Mansi stirred two sugars into hers, watching the swirl spiral then vanish.

“That’s a lot of sugar,” Siddarth said, his voice quieter now, but without judgment.

“And that bothers you because…?” she asked, still watching the swirl.

He didn’t answer. Just gave that small, unreadable smile. The one that made her feel like he was holding something he didn’t plan to let slip.

The silence stretched, but not unkindly. They weren’t out of words. They just didn’t know which ones would survive the morning.

“Isn’t it strange?” she asked finally, her voice softer than it had been all night.

He turned to look at her.

“What is?”

“This,” she said. “Us. Coffee. Bridges. Four in the morning.”

He didn’t speak right away.

“It’s the kind of strange you don’t want to explain,” he said. “Because then it stops being what it is.”

She nodded, and for the first time all night, she didn’t smile.

Siddarth stood and zipped up his jacket, eyes on the bridge in the near distance. The wind had picked up slightly, brushing hair into her face.

“I want to show you one last place,” he said. “If you have a little time left.”

She hesitated. Looked at her phone. Looked at the horizon, where the city was beginning to pale at the edges.

“I really should…”

He turned to her, quiet and steady. “Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”

She met his eyes. There was no insistence in his voice, but something else like the kind of ask that doesn’t come twice.

She exhaled through her nose, half a sigh, half a smile. “You’re that guy, huh?”

“What guy?”

“The one with a special spot and just enough charm to make it feel like I’ll regret it if I say no.”

He shrugged, lips curving. “Only if you’re allergic to metaphors.”

She shook her head once, then nodded. “Fine. One last place.”

And she meant it even if she already knew it wouldn’t feel like enough.

They walked the last few minutes in silence, the city peeling back around them until it was just water, wind, and the slow hum of everything unspoken.

When they turned the final corner, the river opened up, and the Brooklyn Bridge rose like a story told in stone.

Mansi stopped walking.

The bridge stood quiet, lit just enough to outline its grace. Behind it, the skyline hovered soft and unguarded. Light caught on the water in long, broken streaks, and far off, a ferry cut through the dark like a rumor.

She didn’t say anything. Just stared.

Siddarth stood a few steps behind her, hands in his jacket pockets.

He didn’t bring people here. He didn’t really know why he was doing it now.

Maybe because this place silently carried the weight of his own thoughts. The things he didn't say, the people he never chased, the versions of himself he'd left behind like soft echoes in the quiet night. And maybe he wanted someone to stand beside him while he acknowledged them, no words needed, just a shared glance to let him know they were seen.

She turned slightly, not to speak, but to let him in. They were shoulder to shoulder now, watching the bridge like it was holding something they hadn’t asked for.

Siddarth exhaled, slow and quiet, the cold curling out from his lungs.

She didn't reach for his hand. He didn't offer. But in that pause, something settled between them. It wasn't closure. It wasn't certainty. Just something true. Mansi finally turned to him, slow and reluctant, as if she knew the view would still be there, but this version of the night wouldn't.

She met his eyes. Siddarth saw the glint in hers.

He wanted to freeze the moment. To step outside of time for just long enough to make it stay.

But the cold was creeping in again, and the air was starting to thin.

“I had the best night,” she whispered.

He lifted his hand gently, touched a finger to her lips before she could say more.

“Don’t,” he said softly. “No farewell speeches.”

She smiled around the silence.

“It’s not a farewell,” she murmured.“Whatever this night was… I needed it more than I thought.”

He nodded and let the words land between them, unchallenged.

Then, quietly, without ceremony, she leaned in and wrapped her arms around him.

They hugged like people who knew time was running out, not rushed, but not loose either. It was the kind of hug you give when you’re not sure what comes after, so you let your body say the thing your voice can’t.

They stayed like that for a long time. The wind didn’t push them. The river didn’t interrupt.

When they finally pulled apart, neither said the word goodbye.

They rode back in silence.

Not because there was nothing to say, but because everything left would only make leaving harder.

The city looked different now. Softer, maybe. Less like a place and more like an afterimage. The lights were still on, but the edges were losing their glow. Somewhere above them, the sky was just beginning to shift.

When they reached her hotel, the driver didn’t need directions.

They stood at the curb, the building behind her tall and half-asleep. Inside, a receptionist was printing something. A bellboy leaned on a luggage cart, scrolling on his phone.

Mansi turned to him one last time.

She didn’t say thank you. Or I’ll miss this. Or write to me. She didn’t ask for his number. Didn’t offer hers. Just looked at him, like that might be enough.

He looked back with a smile that didn’t try too hard to hide what it really was.

Say something, she wanted to say.

Do something, he wanted to say.

But neither moved.

“Send postcards,” he said finally.

She laughed that beautiful, exhausted kind of laugh that comes when you’ve run out of guardrails. Then she turned and walked through the revolving doors.

He waited until she disappeared behind the glass before turning back to the street.

The sun was nowhere in the sky yet, but he could feel it coming. Not light, but clarity. That cruel morning honesty that makes everything look a little too sharp.

He walked toward the subway, hands in his pockets.

Behind him, Mansi stepped back outside for one last look.

But he was already gone.

Later that evening, Siddarth sat on the steps by the East River.

He had come here more times than he could count. On nights he couldn’t sleep. After conversations that didn’t go where they should have. With people who never stayed long enough to leave anything behind.

He used to think of this place as a kind of undoing. Somewhere to let things fall out of him without needing to be caught.

Memories dropped like pebbles. Small, quiet, weightless by morning.

But tonight felt different.

He thought of her smile. The one that wasn’t polite. The one that wasn’t trying.

He thought of the way she danced away, then came back. The way she stirred her coffee. The way she didn’t ask for anything but still gave him more than he’d expected.

He picked up a pebble and turned it in his hand.

There was nothing to regret. Nothing to chase.

And yet.

He dropped it into the water.

The sound was too soft to echo. But it landed.

He watched the ripples spread and thought about their dance. As the waves extended outward, he imagined her somewhere above the clouds, head tilted toward the window, savoring the memory of a shared toast and thinking about bridges.

We meet, we part. In between, we fall in love. For just a while.