"That’s impossible," Tejaswini whispered. "We haven’t taken a group photo in years."
Kenith, who’d become a travel blogger with a restless soul, leaned back. "Let me guess. Someone’s getting married."
They did. No photo. No memory of last week. But the physical print was warm, as if freshly developed.
A sudden gust blew the café doors open. The lights flickered. The barista wasn’t at the counter anymore. Neither were the other customers. Neelam Rajsi Kenith Tejaswini 20 March Mega Ful...
The table went cold.
Kenith stepped forward. "We don’t need a ghost to remind us. We’re here. Right now. That’s real."
"Check your phones," Neelam said.
The manager laughed. "Me. I’m the promise. I’m the friendship you abandoned when you chose careers, distances, and silence. I’m the ghost of what you could have been — together."
He offered his hand to the manager. "Sit with us. Tell us your name."
And on the back, in four different handwritings: "We’ll meet here every 20th March. Always. Mega Ful of love." That night, they didn’t leave until the café closed. And for the first time in years, none of them checked their phones. "That’s impossible," Tejaswini whispered
They were already exactly where they needed to be.
Kenith snorted. "The one with our ‘future predictions’? I said I’d own a private island."
Rajsi, ever the artist with paint-stained fingers, pushed a cup of chai aside. "You called us here, Neelam. You start." Someone’s getting married
It was the 20th of March, and the small café in Bandra, "Mega Ful," was buzzing with an energy that Neelam, Rajsi, Kenith, and Tejaswini had never quite felt before. The name "Mega Ful" — a quirky, misspelled take on "Mega Full" — felt oddly prophetic tonight.