It was the kind of college fest where the music gives you a headache before it makes you dance. Loud DJs, louder outfits, and food stalls pretending to serve world peace through chaat and momos.
I was there. Not for the fest. Not for friends. Just… there.
And that’s when I saw her.
wearing a jacket on a tshirt . Blue jeans. Eyes searching.
She looked like a heroine in a movie. Except, instead of looking for true love, she was looking for—wait for it—salt.
“Our chaat stall has everything except salt,” she said, frustrated.
I don’t know why, but I left my Coke on the table and started walking. Stall to stall. Until I found it — a small pink packet of Tata Salt. Basic. Perfect.
I walked back, held it out like it was a rose.
She took it like it was one.
She smiled. I smiled back. And maybe, just maybe, something salty turned sweet that day.
Chapter 2: Number Pe Number
“You’re officially my Salt Savior,” she said.
“Cool title. I accept. What’s my reward?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Your number would be nice. Or maybe a plate of chaat. But preferably the number.”
She laughed. Typed something into my phone. Saved as: Nikitha – Salt Girl 🧂.
That night, I texted her.
“Did your stall win?”
“Nope. Blame it on the late-arriving salt.”
That turned into…
“Missed your chaat today. Tried to make it. Fail. No magic. No you.”
And somehow, every night after that, we pinged.
Texts became routine. Good mornings. Good nights. Memes. Emojis. Sarcasm. No confessions. No big moves. Just comfort.
Sometimes, love doesn’t come with violins. Sometimes, it comes with typing dots on WhatsApp.
Chapter 3: Coffee, Confusion & Confession
Our first date wasn’t a date. It was coffee. Brew & Bean Café. Too bright. Too crowded.
“You’re late,” she said.
“Blame the traffic. And also, I changed three shirts.”
She laughed. “For me?”
“No. Weather. But maybe a little for you.”
We talked. About the worst professors. About our favourite subject: food. About that one guy in college who wears sunglasses at night.
We didn’t hold hands. But our eyes met, and didn’t hurry to leave.
Later, under our usual gulmohar tree, I told her.
“Nikitha… I think I’m in love with you.”
She blinked.
“Oh.”
She stood up. Adjusted her dupatta. Walked away. No drama. No tears. Just silence.
Three days. No replies. I kept texting. Memes. Pings. Waiting.
Then one evening, my phone lit up.
“So… do Salt Saviors usually wait this long?”
I replied instantly. “Only when it’s worth it.”
She sent a red heart. No words. And that one emoji — it said everything.
Chapter 4: Of Beaches and Beginnings
We went to Goa. Not as a couple. But not just friends either.
It was supposed to be a group trip. But it slowly turned into our trip.
One night at the beach, she disappeared. Phone left behind. No calls answered. I panicked.
Ran around. Checked the water. My brain imagined everything.
And then, she walked back. Calm. Holding a seashell.
“I found this. Thought you’d like it.”
I didn’t reply. Just hugged her. Tight. Like I never wanted to let go.
Back at college, nothing changed. Except us.
We still sat under that tree. Still shared Perk bars. Still didn’t post selfies. Love didn’t need filters.
And then came placements. Jobs. Life.
One evening she asked, “Where do you see us five years from now?”
“Still looking for salt,” I smiled.
She rolled her eyes and rested her head on my shoulder.
We didn’t talk about marriage. But we talked about forever. And sometimes, that’s enough.
Because not every love story needs a mandap. Some just need a chaat stall, a gulmohar tree, and a pink packet of Tata Salt.
