A crispy dosa and freshly roasted filter coffee story by Priya Srivastava

 
We recently organized a short story writing competition in which Priya Srivastava gave her best and offered us a tasty story on our plate, which brought water in our mouths, so let's share this story with you as well, so that you can satisfy the virtual hunger. 

It was 1:30 a.m., that quiet hour when dreams feel heavier than reality and even worries loosen their grip. Priya was fast asleep, wrapped tightly in her blanket, when a whisper brushed her ear. 

"Let's go to Shimla tomorrow." 

She frowned without opening her eyes. "Nilanshu, let me sleep. Stop joking." 

Shimla sounded impossible at that hour, too far, too sudden, too dreamy. Within seconds, she slipped back to sleep. 

But Nilanshu stayed awake. 

While Priya dreamed, he booked the bus tickets, checked routes, packed snacks, and quietly planned everything. He loved surprises, the kind that didn't ask permission, only created memories. 

Morning sunlight crept through the curtains when Priya's phone buzzed again and again. Still half asleep, she picked it up and froze. 

Booking confirmation: Delhi to Shimla - Today 

She sat up instantly. "Nilanshu, what is this?" 

He stood near the window, calm and smiling. "Our tickets. We will leave in three hours." 

Shock melted into excitement. Packing became chaotic, sweaters thrown into the bags, hair tied hurriedly, chargers forgotten and remembered again. Within minutes, the room looked messy but alive. 

The bus ride slowly replaced city chaos with mountain poetry. Buildings faded. Pine trees appeared. Curvy roads hugged the hills like a secret. Priya rested her head on Nilanshu's shoulder and watched the mist dance outside the window. 

By evening, the cold air welcomed them like an old friend. Their breath turned into tiny clouds, and Priya laughed every time she spoke. 

Mall Road glowed with warm lights and slow footsteps. People walked without rushing. The cold automatically pushed their hands closer until fingers interwined naturally. 

Then hunger arrived soft and demanding. 

They expected noodles or momos. But while wandering through a narrow lane, they spotted a tiny cafe glowing with warm yellow lights. A wooden board outside read: 

Crispy Hot Dosa & Filter Coffee 

Priya laughed in disbelief. Dosa? In the mountains? 

Nilanshu grinned. "Adventure means unexpected food." 

Inside, the cafe was perched right on the top of the hills. When they found a window seat and sat down, Priya froze for a moment. From there, the entire Shimal valley stretched endlessly below them. Houses clung to the hills like the scattered stars. Road curled like silver ribbons. The sky slowly deepened into shades of blue and gold. 

“It feels like we’re sitting inside the sky,” she whispered.

They held hands across the table, fingers tightly intertwined, both shivering from the cold and secretly loving it.

The sizzling sound of batter hitting the hot tawa filled the café. Soon, a golden crispy dosa arrived. Edges thin like paper, center soft and warm, steam rising gently. Coconut chutney and hot sambar waited patiently beside it.

Priya took a bite and closed her eyes. “This… is the best dosa I’ve ever had.”

Nilanshu smiled. “Because it comes with this view.”

Two steel tumblers of filter coffee followed—frothy, aromatic, strong. Warmth travelled from their palms straight to their hearts as they sipped slowly, watching the town lights blink awake beneath them. Outside the window, the cold wind brushed the glass. Inside, their laughter created warmth.

They talked about childhood dreams, future travel lists, and silly promises. Old Hindi songs played softly in the background. Time slowed down as if the hills had paused the world just for them.

When they stepped outside, the evening sky had turned deep blue. Lights shimmered across the valley like a blanket of stars. They walked a little ahead until Priya stopped near a railing overlooking the glowing hills.

“Dance with me,” she whispered.

“There’s no music,” Nilanshu said.

She smiled. “There is. You just have to hear it.”

He pulled her closer. In the freezing mountain air, under quiet stars and glowing streetlights, they swayed slowly—no music, no audience, just heartbeats keeping rhythm.

“This place,” she whispered, resting her head on his chest, “I’ll never forget this place.”

He kissed her forehead gently. “Whenever life feels heavy, we’ll come back to dosa and coffee in the hills.”

Priya laughed softly. “Deal.”

That night, wrapped in blankets and mountain silence, Shimla stopped being a place. It became a feeling they would carry forever.