Just Call Her
When cows, autos, and love all collide — one man’s proposal ends in slaps, police, and the worst advice he never took.
"Whose ring is this?"
My mother’s cracked voice, mixed with her constant nagging, yanked me out of sleep. I was already dead tired after the week-long wedding of my friend Vipin. Honestly, I wanted to sleep for a week straight.
But courtesy of my mother, who treated sleep as a crime, I opened my eyes for half a second, then immediately shut them and pulled the blanket tighter.
“Wake up! It’s 12 p.m.” She snatched the blanket away and threw a glass of water on me. “Whose ring is this?” She shoved a shiny ring in my face.
I squinted. It was definitely a girl’s ring. But what was it doing on my bed? I wasn’t Prince Harry that girls would just leave rings lying around for me.
“I don’t know, Mom. Must be someone’s from the wedding.”
Her nostrils flared so hard I could feel the hot air on my face. “Did you get engaged to Pooja?”
“What? No, Mom.” I sat up and snatched the ring. “This isn’t Pooja’s.”
I had met Pooja just a few days ago at Vipin’s wedding. Not that I liked Pooja… she was pretty and all, but my eyes were on Neha. All the bloody time. Like a bald man staring at another person’s hair. Still, Pooja stuck to me for the entire marriage — like gum on a slipper.
Whenever possible, I flirted with Neha. She laughed at my jokes, sat beside me during meals, even offered to come to the mall with me. We had a great time. I wanted to tell her how I felt, but Pooja never left my side.
Neha’s train to Delhi was scheduled early in the morning, but she’d left late at night to visit a friend. Before she left, we exchanged numbers, shook hands, and that was it. It was just me and my feelings, abandoned… with Pooja. The clingiest girl alive.
Then it struck me — the ring. I remembered seeing it on Neha’s finger. Did she come back and leave it for me? Did that mean she liked me too?
My heart jumped. I checked the train’s running status. Delayed by 8 hours. This had to be a sign.
But first, I had to do the hard thing: break up with Neha. I called, but my courage dissolved. So I sent a text instead:
I don’t love you at all. I’m in love with someone else. She left me her ring and I’m going to her. It was never nice with you, but thank God it’s over. Bug off and don’t try to be in touch.”
Yes. Brutal. But love makes you do things you can’t even dream of. And when someone’s clingy, something inside you snaps… and pushes you to go the distance.
Pooja called immediately. I ignored her. I was now a man on a mission. To reach the station and confess before Neha's train left.
But life, like a bad Bollywood director, never sticks to the script.
***
Vipin had chosen a hill station for his wedding. He didn’t just want to marry, he wanted his guests to die climbing mountains.
Since I had no car or bike there, I flagged down a local auto.
“Station! Quick!” I jumped in and tapped the driver’s back to motivate him.
He didn’t move. It was like trying to convince a rhino to run. I kept tapping, but nothing. Finally, he looked back. “If you want me to speed up, you need to pay double the fare.”
I wanted to double-slap his face. But then Neha’s gorgeous smile popped into my head. So I nodded and tapped his back again.
The driver got so motivated he started driving like he was actually kidnapping a rhino.
I checked my watch: 12:30 p.m. “Come on, drive fast!”
He drove so fast the ride reminded me of the merry-go-round from my childhood. My stomach churned, but I held on to my dignity—and the random chain hanging inside the auto.
Why did he even have a chain? Did he really kidnap rhinos?
Suddenly, the auto stopped with a loud thud. My head almost smashed into the rod.
I stepped out and tried to figure out where we were. Tall trees surrounded us, not a human in sight. Then I walked to the front and froze.
The auto had rammed straight into three giant cows.
Now, you can hit people in India and get away with it. No one cares. But cows? That’s like hitting gods.
Before I could say anything, the driver shoved me aside, jumped in, and sped away. He didn’t just abandon me—he stopped a few feet away, threw a ten-rupee note on the road, and then vanished into the trees.
I stared at the cows. They looked mighty pissed. One chewed like she was planning to chew me next. Another looked hornier than before. The third just peed on the spot, as if she wanted me to slip and die. Thankfully, they were too lazy to even stand. They just mooed like old men groaning in their sleep.
I checked my watch again. 2 p.m. already.
Then my phone buzzed. It was Pooja. I stared at her name flashing on the screen. Swear to God, if she were standing in front of me, I’d have thrown her straight to the lazy cows.
I could either answer her call and explain, or stay here and get killed by cows. Honestly, dying by cow felt easier.
So I cut the call and started thinking of my next move.
***
After exactly one hour of begging random people for a lift, one gentleman finally stopped.
What convinced him wasn’t my face. It was the 500-rupee note I waved in the air like a traffic signal. Money always works like a charm.
At 3 p.m., I was inside Mr. Sharma’s car.
“Station!” I said, tapping the seat like I was back in an auto.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t speed up either.
I tapped again. “Please, sir, I need to reach quickly. I’ll pay you more.”
Again nothing. No words. No speed. Just that calm, middle-aged face. Honestly, the cows on the street had shown more emotion than this old turd.
I tapped once more. He suddenly braked, and my head almost kissed the dashboard.
“This is not an auto,” he said, turning his head slowly, like a villain in an 80s show. “If you’re in a hurry, kindly book one.”
I gritted my teeth, remembering the auto ride with the cows. My soul was tired, so I swallowed the irritation and apologized.
“Sorry, sir. My girlfriend is leaving soon. I need to meet her and tell her I love her.”
He looked at me flatly. “Just call her.”
Call her? Was he kidding me? Is this how I’d tell my grandkids the story of my proposal?“Children, I called her on the 5G network. That’s how romance lived in 2025.”
Bloody unromantic uncle.
“I prefer to say it in person.” I said.
“Why?” He turned his whole body towards me now, eyes curious, like I was about to reveal the secret of life. Or worse, Why Harry Met Sally.
“Sir, I’ll tell you… if you drive.”
That worked. He turned back and pressed the accelerator.
For the next 23 minutes, I tortured myself by narrating a fake love story. How we met. How we kissed. How we made love. None of it true, all of it cooked up in my head, but Mr. Sharma nodded along like he was watching some romantic porn..
Finally, we reached the station. Just then, my phone rang. Both of us leaned to check the screen.
He smiled. “Neha?”
I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. “No. A bug that doesn’t leave me. Her name is Pooja.”
I cut her call, thanked the uncle, and jumped out of the car.
The station clock glared back at me: 5 p.m.
But I still wanted to take my chance.
***
I checked the display board. Neha’s train was on Platform 5.
I ran like my life depended on it. My lungs had never worked so hard. Not even when I was fornicating. By the time I reached the platform, I was bent over, coughing like an old dog after humping a young one.
When I finally looked up… the train was gone.
My knees gave up. I slumped onto a dirty plastic chair. Some sympathetic—but opportunistic—vendor shoved a cola in my hand. It tasted like sewer water mixed with sugar, but I drank it anyway. That was my rock bottom: me, a flat cola, and no Neha.
Then Uncle Sharma’s words echoed in my head: “Just call her”
So I pulled it out. Before I could dial, Pooja’s name flashed on the screen.
I stared at it. My thumb hovered. For a second, I thought of throwing the phone under the next train, then jumping on the train myself just to crush the phone flashing Pooja’s name. Instead, I cut the call and dialed Neha
She picked up instantly. ‘Hi, Rahul.’ Her voice was so soft, I swear I got multiple mental orgasms at once.
“I’m so sorry, Neha,” I panted. “I just reached the station… but your train already left. I wanted to meet you and—”
“You came to the station for me?” she asked.
I paused as the train thundered past. "Yes!" I said. ‘I wanted to tell you in person, but…"
There was silence. My heart thumped so loud I thought people on the platform could hear it.
Finally, she said, “I’m still at the resort. I missed the train. I want to talk to you too.”
That was it. Confirmation. She wanted me.
I didn’t even reply. I just ran out like a man possessed, straight to the nearest auto. I kicked a passenger out, threw a thousand-rupee note at the driver, and tapped his back like a coach sending him to war.
This time, he didn’t argue. He just drove.
***
By the time I reached the resort, it was 6 p.m. I had spent the entire day running, begging, bribing, almost dying by cows—and yet, my heart was thumping with hope.
This was it. The moment.
I straightened my shirt with my palms, used my fingers as a comb, and checked my reflection in the glass door. Sweaty, tired, borderline criminal—but love makes you blind, right?
I knocked.
***
“Come in,” Neha’s voice floated out.
I entered. She stood up from the bed and smiled. A soft, calm smile. For a moment, all the chaos of the day melted. This was the reward.
My throat went dry. My knees felt weak. But my hands still found the ring in my pocket. This was it.
Then my phone buzzed. Pooja’s name again. I cut it immediately. For once, I wanted to shut the world out.
I went down on one knee. My heart was hammering so hard I thought she could hear it.
“Neha… I found your ring. It’s a—”
Before I could finish, the door slammed open.
A blur stormed in. Heels clacking. Hair flying.
Then—Slap!
My head jerked to the left.
I blinked. Tried to process.
Another slap! This time to the right.
Through the swinging hands, I caught her face. Pooja.
My brain froze. How do you even shift gears from “romantic proposal” to “domestic violence demo” in three seconds?
“I never thought you would steal my ring!” she screamed. Slap! “Do you know how precious it is?” Slap!
By the fourth one, I swear my cheeks were hot enough to fry samosas.
I tried to speak. Nothing came out. Just drool.
Then—bang. The door opened again. Two policemen walked in, calm as if they were invited guests. They grabbed my arms before I could even get up from my knees.
“Neha, listen!” I shouted, voice shaking. “I didn’t steal it. It was on my bed. I thought you left it for me!”
Neha’s face tightened, as if weighing my words.
Pooja was already breathing like a dragon ready for round two. ‘This is my ring, idiot! I’ve been calling you all day for it!’ Her scream was so loud I’m sure the entire resort went deaf.
“I saw it on Neha’s hand yesterday!” I cried. “I swear!”
Neha stepped forward. Her voice calm, almost innocent. “I was wearing it because Pooja asked me to.”
My head spun. Why would one girl wear another girl’s ring? Girls confuse me when they just switch seats at a wedding table. Rings? Impossible.
“I didn’t steal it,” I begged. “I just wanted to give it back and… and tell you that I like you.”
For a second, Neha’s eyes softened. She stepped closer. Inches from my lips. I thought maybe—just maybe—this was turning into a filmy climax.
Then—smack.
Her hand landed harder than Pooja’s.
“Idiot. Didn’t you see my husband at the wedding?”
My eyes widened. “H-husband?”
“Anand!” she called.
Out of the washroom stepped a middle-aged man wiping his face with a towel. I remembered him. I thought he was some weird uncle orbiting around her. Turns out he was the actual owner of the orbit.
The policemen tugged me harder. One smirked. “Now we’ve got two charges— theft and adultery.”
I patted my pockets for money. Empty. I’d spent it all on bribing drivers and cows.
As they dragged me out, my face stung, my heart sank, and my ears rang with Uncle Sharma’s advice: “Just Call her.”
Damn those romantic movies.
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