The Rooftop Café on Neugal Khad

The sky over Palampur had just begun to blush, the Dhauladhar peaks turning a quiet shade of pink as the sun began its slow descent. It was that golden hour—when the hills hum with stillness and the world feels like it's pausing to breathe.

Ansh glanced up from his laptop, stretching his tired arms as he sat at his desk in the small PRWeb office at Maranda. The faint sound of autos and the scent of chai from the nearby stall reminded him of everything he loved about this sleepy little town—except one thing. Or rather, one person.

Anamika.

She was back. After two years of wandering through Himachal as a travel blogger under her handle Story Scape, she'd finally returned to Palampur. And though Ansh had promised himself he wouldn’t text her, his heart wasn’t listening to his logic.

"Are you busy?" he typed.

Seconds later, the three dots appeared.

"Not anymore. Rooftop Café? 6 PM?"

He smiled.

The Rooftop Café near Neugal Khad wasn’t fancy. It didn’t need to be. Perched just right to give you an uninterrupted view of the river below and the snowy Dhauladhars beyond, it was their spot—one that held whispers of old laughter and unsaid things.

When Ansh arrived, Anamika was already there, camera beside her coffee, hair loose and wind-kissed.

"You’re late," she teased, not looking up from the mountains.

"You’re early," he replied, slipping into the chair across from her. "That’s cheating."

She laughed. That laugh—he didn’t realize how much he’d missed it.

They sat for a while without saying much. The air carried the scent of pine, rain, and freshly brewed coffee. Below, the Neugal Khad murmured in its steady rhythm, like background music to a moment neither of them wanted to break.

“You’re glowing,” he said finally.

“Must be the altitude,” she grinned, then paused. “Or maybe the peace I found while being away.”

“And yet here you are,” he said, gently. “Back where it all started.”

She sipped her coffee slowly. “I came back to write about home. I think I finally figured out what that means.”

Ansh studied her. The girl who once couldn't stay still was now grounded. Softer, perhaps. But her eyes still carried that wild spark. That same fire that first pulled him toward her back when they were just two students meeting over shared stories and roadside momos.

“You know,” she continued, “all the mountains I’ve climbed, all the stories I’ve written—they’ve all led me back here. To this view. This table. You.”

The words lingered in the air like steam above their coffee cups.

He leaned in, heart quickening. “I waited.”

“I know.”

Their hands brushed on the table—tentatively at first. Then, deliberately.

The waiter arrived with another pot of coffee and a slice of walnut cake they hadn’t ordered.

“Compliments of the café,” he said with a smile, and left.

“Looks like someone ships us,” Anamika laughed.

Ansh smiled, but there was something serious in his eyes now. “Why’d you really leave, Anu?”

She looked away, toward the peaks, as if the answer was hidden there.

“I was scared,” she admitted. “Of growing roots. Of becoming ordinary. I thought if I kept moving, I’d matter more.”

“And now?”

She turned back to him, eyes softer now. “Now I know it’s not about being everywhere—it’s about being somewhere completely. I want to write stories not just about places—but about people. About us.”

He reached across the table and took her hand.

“I never stopped believing you’d come back,” he said. “And not just to Palampur. To me.”

A long silence settled between them—but the comfortable kind. The kind that only comes when two souls finally speak what they’ve kept hidden.

As the sun slipped behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of lavender and rose, Anamika took out her camera.

“One photo?” she asked.

He nodded.

She clicked the shutter—but not before catching the way he was looking at her. Like she was more beautiful than any sunset this town had ever seen.

She glanced at the photo, then at him.

“This is going to be my next blog story,” she said, grinning.

“Title?” he asked.

She leaned across the table, eyes sparkling.

“The Rooftop Café on Neugal Khad.”

Some stories don’t need big cities or dramatic endings. Sometimes, all they need is a cup of coffee, a shared sunset, and someone who waited.