Meera, an IT professional in her early 30s, lived her life on a neatly coded schedule — early mornings, late nights, tight deadlines, and minimal social contact. A proud introvert, she cherished her solitude like a rare vintage wine. So, when she finally decided to take a well-deserved week off from work, her plan was simple: pajamas, comfort food, books, and absolute silence.
But peace, as she would soon learn, was not on the agenda.
It was a quiet Sunday morning when the doorbell rang. Meera paused, frowning. She wasn’t expecting anyone. And nobody just showed up at her door.
She cracked the door open and blinked.
Standing there was a man in his mid-30s — tall, well-built, with an annoyingly charming smile. His hair was slightly tousled, as if styled by the wind on purpose. His eyes, a warm hazel, seemed to twinkle with amusement, and he wore a perfectly casual outfit that screamed, “I woke up looking this good.”
“Hi,” he said cheerfully. “I’m Sunil. Your… ‘Friend for the Week.’” He added finger quotes and stepped in, as though invited. “Well, you can call me friend, cousin, colleague, well-wisher — whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
Meera stared at him in horror as he made himself at home, sitting comfortably on her sofa like it was his own.
“Excuse me?” she snapped. “Who are you, and why are you in my house?”
Sunil looked around and smiled. “Your grandmother sent me.”
“My what?”
“She signed you up. And… I’m afraid you can’t send me back.”
Without another word, Meera stormed to her phone and dialed her grandmother.
“Ajji, what is happening?! Who is this man? Some random guy just walked into my house and claims you sent him here!”
Ajji’s voice on the other end was as calm as ever. “Oh, Sunil’s there already? He’s quite good-looking, right? I found him on this new app where you can rent people for the week. I thought he was a nice match for you!”
“Rent—what? Ajji, have you lost it?”
“Meera, your life is so… dull. No friends, no parties, just home and office. You needed a little spark. Enjoy some company for once!”
“I’m sending him back right now.”
“You can’t. It’s non-refundable for seven days.”
“I don’t care! I’ll pay you back.”
“It doesn’t work that way, dear. Just try to have fun. Okay, bye!”
Before Meera could argue further, the line went dead.
She turned slowly to find Sunil still sitting there, utterly at ease, sipping the water he’d helped himself to.
He offered her another disarming smile.
“So… what’s for breakfast?”
Meera glared at him like he was a glitch in her peaceful system — and she was already searching for the reset button.
Sunday came and went with Meera actively dodging her uninvited guest. Her strategy was simple: ignore him until he got bored and left. Surely by Monday, he’d be gone — even Ajji wouldn’t stretch a prank this far.
But Monday morning shattered that hope.
As Meera groggily walked into the kitchen, she froze.
The table was set like a café spread — fluffy pancakes topped with whipped cream and banana slices, a side of scrambled eggs, freshly cut fruits, a tall glass of pomegranate juice, and a steaming cup of coffee.
“You made all this?” she asked, stunned.
Sunil looked up from the stove with a grin. “Yes, ma’am. What are friends for?”
Meera blinked. “I usually eat cereal… straight from the box.”
“I know. That’s why I thought I’d treat you to a real breakfast. You’ve had a hectic life — figured you could use something nice.”
Reluctantly, Meera sat down. She had to admit, it smelled divine. And tasted even better.
“So,” she said between bites, “how long have you been in this… line of work?”
Sunil chuckled. “Honestly? I started the company a couple of years ago. It began as a startup idea — companionship without pressure. And at some point… I realized I was lonely myself. So I signed up as a volunteer.”
Meera raised an eyebrow. “Do all your clients get that speech?”
He laughed. “Nope. But you can check the website if you think I’m bluffing.”
“I just might. I have no idea how Ajji found it before I did.”
“She’s impressive. Tech-savvy and determined. She didn’t even blink before booking me.”
“She’s a force of nature,” Meera agreed with a smirk.
They started chatting — cautiously at first, then with growing ease. Topics shifted from startup struggles to coding bugs, from office politics to the horrors of online meetings.
By lunchtime, the conversation had flowed naturally into the kitchen.
“What would you like to eat?” Sunil asked.
“Something simple.”
He nodded and made a comforting bowl of dal khichdi — soft rice and lentils simmered with a hint of ghee, cumin, and ginger, topped with crispy fried garlic. On the side, he served chilled buttermilk with a sprinkle of roasted cumin powder and fresh coriander.
“Okay, I’m impressed,” Meera admitted. “Are you secretly a chef?”
“Just a man with YouTube and no fear of burnt pans.”
They watched a movie together — something light and old-school. Meera hadn’t laughed like that in weeks.
As the sun began to set, Sunil stretched. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Meera frowned. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Why not?”
“I just… don’t feel like it.”
Sunil tilted his head. “Because you think people will gossip?”
Meera folded her arms. “It’s not that.”
“Oh, so you don’t care about the neighbours.”
She gave him a look. “Don’t push it, okay? This whole thing is temporary. You’re here for a few more days, and then it’s over. So let’s not pretend this is normal.”
Sunil held up his hands. “Got it. No pressure. But fresh air never hurts anyone.”
After a beat, Meera sighed. “Fine. Just a short one.”
They stepped out into the evening. As expected, curious eyes peeked from behind the windows. Some neighbours whispered, a few smiled too widely. Meera kept a straight face, though internally she was composing a very long text to Ajji.
They reached the nearby park. The trees rustled gently, birds chirped in the background, and a pleasant breeze played with Meera’s hair. She inhaled deeply — the air felt different. Lighter.
“How’re you feeling?” Sunil asked.
Meera hesitated. “Good. Honestly… it’s been a while since I felt this relaxed.”
“Glad to hear that.”
For once, she didn’t want to run away from the moment. It was simple, unexpected — and strangely comforting.
The days that followed slipped by faster than Meera had anticipated. What started as an awkward arrangement gradually turned into something comforting. Meera and Sunil settled into a rhythm — breakfast banter, mid-day movie marathons, spontaneous shopping sprees, and long evening walks.
They laughed more. Talked about everything and nothing. Meera found herself looking forward to his silly jokes, his perfectly timed coffee, and the way he never tried to “fix” her life — just added a little sparkle to it.
By the sixth day, there was an unexpected knock on the door — again.
Ajji stood there, all smiles and mischief. “I came to inspect my investment,” she announced as she breezed in.
Sunil grinned and brought her tea while Meera stood awkwardly, unsure what to say.
Later that evening, Ajji cornered Sunil in the kitchen. “She likes you,” she whispered.
Sunil raised an eyebrow. “She said that?”
“No. Which is exactly why I know it’s true. She’s my granddaughter.”
Sunil hesitated, unsure whether to believe it or not. But Ajji gave him a reassuring nod. “Tell her. Before it’s too late.”
On the final morning of his stay, Sunil stood by the door with his bag, rehearsing his words. As Meera approached, he cleared his throat.
“Meera, I just wanted to say—”
“It was… nice knowing you,” she said quickly, cutting him off. “Thanks for everything.”
Before he could respond, she turned and walked away.
Sunil stood still for a moment, his heart sinking, then silently left.
Later that evening, Ajji tried one last time. “Why are you pretending you didn’t feel anything?”
“Because it’s foolish,” Meera replied. “It was just one week. He was meant to leave, Ajji.”
“But what if he didn’t want to?” Ajji asked gently.
Meera stayed silent.
A month passed. The house felt a little too quiet again, the cereal a little too soggy. But Meera said nothing.
Then, one quiet Sunday morning, she did something unexpected — she stepped out.
Meanwhile, in a small apartment across town, Sunil sat in his living room with a mug of coffee, absentmindedly flipping channels. The doorbell rang.
He opened the door… and froze.
Meera stood there, slightly out of breath, a tiny smirk playing on her lips.
“Hey,” she said. “Do you… do you have any openings?”
Sunil blinked. “What?”
“I was wondering if I could rent you,” she said, biting back a smile. “For
the rest of my life.”
Sunil stared at her — and then broke into a grin. They both laughed.
And then, without another word, Meera stepped into his arms — no app needed this time.