*Never date a flatmate.”
That was Jhanvi Rathore’s golden rule. Her non-negotiable. Her North Star. It was the one unbreakable rule Jhanvi had lived by ever since she moved to Mumbai. She had it taped to her fridge, scribbled in the back of her planner, and mentally reinforced every time her flatmate—Kabir Awasthi—walked out of the shower with wet hair, towel slung low and humming old Kishore Kumar songs.
In a city like Mumbai—where strangers became roommates and privacy was a myth—this rule kept her life uncluttered. Peaceful.
Until Kabir Awasthi, barged into her life with his oversized mugs of chai, his off-tune singing in the bathroom, his habit of calling her ‘Teacher Ji’ every time she organized the kitchen racks by expiry date.
Kabir was the exact kind of chaos she didn’t want in her life: spontaneous, charming, and the poster boy for ‘just one coffee turns to three beers and a chaat trail’. A wedding photographer by profession, he was also annoyingly photogenic, with a smile that could launch a thousand Instagram reels.
Jhanvi, in contrast, was all about structure. A research analyst at a fintech firm, her life was measured in spreadsheets, early morning jogs, and weekly calls with her nani. She believed in discipline, Kabir in detours. And yet, somehow, they coexisted peacefully in their 2BHK in Andheri West.
They were polar opposites—Jhanvi, the structured analyst who even planned her grocery runs like a military operation; and Kabir, the impulsive wedding photographer who often forgot where he kept his lenses, but remembered how she liked her toast: with generous amount of butter, ah! Only Salted butter.
But rules—especially the unbreakable ones—exist only to be broken, even Jhanvi’s strong unbreakable rule started faltering eventually without any deliberate effort.
++++
Jhanvi, shifted a little more, trying to save herself from rain. She checked her watch, its been 2hrs she is waiting for a ride, she has an important client meeting, she definitely gonna be late. She hated Mumbai downpour, the kind that turns Ola drivers into philosophers and brings the city to a standstill. Jhanvi’s rickshaw had broken down near Lokhandwala, her phone was dying, and she had exactly two percent battery left and zero patience.
“Call Kabir,” her best friend Simmi had texted. “He owes you for finishing your Nutella.”
Jhanvi, looked at street two blocks away, where in a building 20 floors above, Kabir has his studio, he is just a phone call away but she had sworn she wouldn’t call him. They are just flatmates, not friends or in terms where they can help each other. They are just room mates, who share the flat living a peaceful, co habitation relationship, communicating through passive-aggressive Post-its, and occassional long rants about their landlord.
It was safe. Familiar. Untouched by complications.
But between her pride and the monsoon, the latter won. 15 minutes later, Kabir showed up on his Bike, a borrowed umbrella in one hand and two rolls of Vada Pav in the other.
“Rescue mission complete,” he grinned, offering her the food like a knight presenting a sword.
She tried not to smile. Failed.
++++
The real shift came a month later—Kabir’s birthday, which he was planning to spend it alone, editing wedding pictures with a tub of his favorite chocolate ice cream and old SRK songs.
“No,” Jhanvi said, marching into his room, snatching his ice cream tub “You’re turning thirty. That’s a milestone. You can’t celebrate it like a mopey Karan Johar heroine.”
Kabir chuckled. “I was thinking more Imtiaz Ali tragic lead.”
Still, he let her take charge, as she pulled him out of his room. They ended up on a midnight bike riding at Marine Drive, cutting his favorite black forest cake and opening champagne, with Kabir teasing after years he is “popping the bubbly”. Enjoying their chocolate mousse from Indigo Deli and laughing over Kabir’s childhood memories.
Somewhere between stories of school pranks and heartbreaks, Kabir looked at her differently. She noticed and when he said softly, “You know, Jhanvi… I’ve never really thanked you for tolerating me all these months,” her heart did a small somersault.
She didn’t respond. Not with words. She kissed him. It was brief. Unexpected. Sweet. And stupid. Should she blame the champagne.
Because it broke The Rule.
++++
The next morning was awkward. Jhanvi pretended it never happened. Kabir made omelets with too much chilli and called her “boss lady” like nothing had changed. But things had.
She noticed how he lingered in the kitchen longer when she was there. How he’d send her voice notes at work with random jokes. How he started taking her morning coffee order without asking.
Worse, she noticed her own heart skipping beats. That was not part of her plan, atleast not in near future.
Simmi, ever the meddler, said, “Just date him already. You’re clearly halfway in love.”
“I don’t date flatmates,” Jhanvi repeated, sipping her cappuccino.
Simmi sipped her mojito and deadpanned, “Sweetheart, that ship sailed when you kissed him on Marine Drive.”
++++
Things came to a head when Kabir invited her to his cousin’s roka in Delhi.
“Come na, just pretend to be my date. My bua’s obsessed with setting me up.”
She agreed, convincing herself it was just a trip. Nothing else.
Until --his mother called her “beta” and handed her a saree to try on. As she didn’t packed anything traditional to attend the Roka.
Until--his cousin whispered, “I haven’t seen him this happy in years.”
Until--Kabir pulled her into a dance during sangeet practice, held her hand a second too long, and whispered, “You really look like trouble in that saree.”
Her heart didn’t skip. It did full-blown cartwheels. The air was thick with mehendi and marigolds, laughter echoing through the venue. Jhanvi, reluctantly wearing a borrowed saree, was clearly out of her comfort zone. Yet when Kabir saw her walk into the courtyard, he stood still—like his entire frame was trying to capture her, not his camera.
He kept sneaking glances throughout the evening, during the dance, while she struggled with her saree or When she laughed with his nieces. He simply cudnt take his eyes off.
++++
As the ceremony ended and night quieted down, Kabir found her at poolside, with her feet dipped in cool pool water.
“You hate being here, don’t you?” he teased.
“No. Just… not used to being part of families anymore.”
His gaze softened. She rarely spoke about her past.
They ended up talking for hours—about her parents, her hostel life, how her nani raised her. And at some point, the silence between them turned tender.
Until—Kabir confessed.
That night, in the middle of night, with fairy lights reflecting in pool, Kabir finally said it.
“I like you, Jhanvi. I probably liked you from the day you yelled at me for leaving my towel on your yoga mat. And if you give me a chance, I’ll be the reason you break that dumb flatmate rule of yours.”
She laughed, nervous and breathless. “It’s not dumb.”
“It is, if it keeps you from happiness.”
She kissed him first. Or maybe he kissed her. She couldn't remember later. But she remembered the way his touch felt, it gave her butterflies, as he carried to his room. His hands trembled slightly, how he paused to ask, “You okay?” before every next step.
They ended up tangled in bedsheets, under a quilt that smelled of rose water and childhood. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect. But it felt like… something deeper.
+++++
Back in Mumbai, the high faded. She returned to Mumbai quieter. Distant. The intimacy that bloomed in Delhi now felt like a spotlight she didn’t ask for.
For some reason, her heart & mind were not in sync. Kabir and his mother’s conversation still echoed in her ears.
His mother sounded so happy and cheerful. “Do I hear wedding bells…first time in life you brought a girl to meet me. Means you are serious? After your cousin, should I start prepping up for your wedding too?
Kabir’s happiness could be felt in his response, which was quiet but clear.
“Only Maa knows their kids best, always told you, day I find a Girlfiend, it’ll be for lifetime. No games or breakups”
Jhanvi froze. Lifetime. That word echoed louder than it should have. Because she didn’t think in forever. It should’ve made her feel secure. Instead, it triggered fear. She had lived alone all her life. She didn’t know how to share space, let alone a future. She wasn’t sure she knew how to be someone’s “forever.”
And she wasn’t ready to lose the friendship they had built so beautifully. She’d always thought in one day at a time.
Kabir noticed the change, but didn’t push. He went back to being her annoying, thoughtful flatmate. Let her take her space. And Jhanvi… she drowned herself in work.
++++
Jhanvi received a job offer in Singapore—double the pay, better role, new life. It was the kind of opportunity people dreamt of. She didn’t tell Kabir immediately.
On Weekend, Kabir cheerfully placed her favourite breakfast, as he chatted about his upcoming assignments, for which he will be leaving this week.
After a long silence, she finally told him. It took him few minutes to respond.
“So… this is it?” he asked quietly.
“No. I mean… I don’t know.”
“Do you want to go?”
“I should,” she said. “It’s the smart thing.”
Kabir nodded, smiled tightly. “You always do the smart thing.”
A flicker of something passed through his eyes, but he didn’t argue. “I’m happy for you.”
That hurt more than she thought it would. She wanted him to stop her. He didn’t.
“You’re not going to say anything?”
“What do you want me to say, Jhanvi?” His voice was sad but gentle. “That I want you to stay? I do. Every damn day. But I also know you, your dreams, you want to achieve them. You need to choose this on your own. Without any guilt. Its gonna be your choice, your decision. As for Me, you know my feelings. I won’t force you to make any decision.”
She didn’t answer.
Kabir left to his room, he has early morning flight to catch.
++++
At the airport, she was early. Alone. Her gate hadn’t even opened yet. She kept thinking of all the ‘what ifs’ her brain had locked away. She checked her phone, no message no call from Kabir.
Its been over two weeks since she informed him. He was supposed to return from his assignment yesterday but he didn’t came back. She had left him a WhatsApp, informing her schedule.
Her thoughts broke as boarding announcement was made. She was about to move towards the gate, when she saw HIM.
He was out of breath. Still with his bagpack. Holding a tiny blue box.
“I wasn’t going to come,” he said. “But then I realized, if I let you go without telling you this, I’d regret it every single day.”
She opened the box, No ring inside. Just a folded piece of paper that said:
“Break the rule again. Choose us.”
Jhanvi laughed. And cried. “That’s not how proposals work.”
“Good. Because you’re not the kind of woman I want to work with rules. I want to live with you. Even if it means long-distance, time zones, and a hundred awkward video calls.
Jhanvi replied tearfully, “I’ve been alone all my life. I don’t know how to share a life with someone. I don’t know how relationships work.What if I mess it all up?”
Kabir smiled faintly. “Then we’ll clean up the mess together.
She nodded.
“Only if you still make me toast when I land.”
Kabir hugged her for one last time, as final boarding call was announced.
++++
7 months later.
Sunlight crept through the sheer white curtains of their bedroom—their first morning as husband and wife.
Jhanvi stirred awake, the scent of freshly brewed ginger chai sneaking into the room before Kabir did. Wrapped in the warmth of the moment—and missing the warm arms of her very new husband—Jhanvi stirred awake. Her bangles clinked gently as she reached for her phone.
Wrapped in the soft cotton comforter, her chooda still tinkling as she rubbed her eyes, she found herself smiling. The events of the last day felt like a fever dream—the pheras, the teasing cousins, Kabir tripping during the jaimala, her Nani crying during bidaai, and their slow dance under a sky full of fairy lights.
And now…this peace.
She slid into her slippers and padded to the living room, expecting chaos. But instead, she found Kabir standing near the window, sipping chai, wearing his favorite faded “Don’t Disturb, I’m Editing” T-shirt—except now it had a small red heart stitched on the sleeve. His wedding gift from her.
Jhanvi stared at her heena-covered hands, the dark orange patterns drying slowly. The mirror reflected a version of herself she still hadn’t fully wrapped her head around—a smile she didn’t need to fake. Everything feels like a dream, though getting married in her 30s was never in her scheme of things, that’s why she had that unbreakable rule.
But Seven months of long-distance, surprise visits, Zoom fights, and late-night poetry readings had brought them here.
Kabir had kept his promise. He waited. He encouraged her to grow, to explore, to chase her dreams—even if it meant being apart. And Jhanvi? She’d found her way back. Back to a man who never made her feel small for being scared. Who never made her choose between love and freedom.
She looked at the dried henna again, tracing the tiny camera hidden in the pattern—something Kabir secretly requested the artist to include.
“Breaking the rule,” she whispered to herself “was the smartest decision I ever made.”
He turned as she felt his wife hugging him from back “Morning, Mrs. Awasthi,” he grinned.
She leaned on the doorframe, smirking. “No toast today?”
“First day of marriage you deserve a special breakfast”
Walking towards dining table, she noticed the envelope, . Before she could ask, he handed it over, eyes dancing with excitement.
“What’s this?”
“Something I’ve been planning since you left for Singapore.”
Inside was a simple set of papers. She scanned the first line and froze.
“Sale Deed” of their rented apartment….correction !! Now its not rented anymore, She & Kabir are owners. The walls that witnessed their friendship, awkward silences, burnt toast mornings, and one kiss that changed everything.
Kabir nodded, pride and mischief twinkling in his eyes. “Thought we could start our forever right where it all started.”
Her eyes flew to his.
“You bought…our old flat?”
Kabir nodded. “With my savings, a few extra weddings, and some bargaining with our ex-landlord. He thought I was nuts.”
“You are nuts!”
“But a romantic one.” He took her hand, gently pulling her toward the kitchen.
The fridge stood exactly where it used to—new magnets, new pictures, but one familiar old spot where a note had always lived.
The yellow Post-it that once read: “Never date a flatmate.
Was now neatly replaced with a laminated note in bold letters, in Kabir’s handwriting underlined twice, and decorated with a stick-figure drawing of a bride kissing her husband.
Never stop romancing your sexy husband—
and NEVER ever leave for work without kissing him
Jhanvi burst into laughter, tears welling at the edges of her eyes
“You’re such a sap,” she whispered.
He leaned down. “Only for you.”
She kissed him. Right there in the kitchen, toes curled against cold tiles, arms sliding around his neck.
Because some rules aren’t made to be broken. They’re made to be rewritten—together.
Her own rule might have been broken, but Kabir’s rule gonna be the “Unbreakable Rule” for both of them.
{``She made the Rule. He made her rewrite it.``}
++++++The End++++!+
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