For Deepu · hand delivered · do not fold
Deepu,
a summons
concerning tea
There is a matter that cannot be settled over text. It requires a cup, a chair, and an agreed hour.
The question · asked once
Chai.
4 PM.
Deepu,
you in?
The kettle has been staring at me since two. I told it to be patient. It is not a patient kettle. Neither, honestly, am I.
Answer recorded
Yes!
I knew it. I'd already picked our table at Chaayos in my head — a small confession, but an honest one.
Some people say yes to plans. You said yes to me, and those are different sentences.
The quiet part · read slowly
Has anyone
ever asked
you like this?
Think about it honestly, Deepu. Has anybody ever sat down and wasted their evening building a whole thing — buttons, stamps, a running clock — just to ask you for one cup of tea?
That's the entire point. It wasn't wasted. You're the kind of person somebody spends their hours on and doesn't count them. Ten minutes of your day, that's all I'm asking for. I'd have built ten more screens for it.
You have a way of making ordinary evenings feel like they were worth staying awake for. I don't think anyone told you that this week. So — someone has now.
Some people you
invite. Some people
you hope for.
Step 01 · the hour
Four, or
name your
own hour
Four o'clock was my idea, not a law. Move it wherever it suits you — the clock at the end of all this will follow whatever you choose.
Kettle set for 4:00 PM —
Step 02 · what's in your cup
Name your
poison
Step 03 · venue already decided
Chaayos.
Pick your seat
The venue was never up for debate. The seat, however, is entirely yours.
Step 04 · terms of the cup
Sign here,
roughly
Admit one · non-transferable
Tea
confirmed
Bring yourself and approximately zero excuses. I'll handle the rest.
Bring yourself, Deepu. That's the whole guest list, and it always was.
1600 hrs
One last thing
This pass only exists on your screen. Send it back so I know what to put in the cup.
The wait · live
The kettle
is counting
Until 4:00 PM · Chaayos · Masala chai
That's the whole distance between now and a cup of tea with you. It's not very far. Don't make it further.
After · the honest part
After the
cup goes
cold
Here's what happens next, since you asked. We finish the tea. We say we should do this more often. And then — this is the important bit — we actually do.
That's it. That's the entire grand plan. No fireworks, no speeches. Just a standing arrangement with a person whose company I'd choose over almost anything else on a slow evening.
One cup now.
A hundred
after that.