They say love doesn’t always need grand gestures—it can bloom quietly, in the most ordinary of moments. Sometimes, it is found in the warmth of a shared smile… or in something as simple as a steaming cup of tea.
This is the love story of Afzal and Sabeena.
Afzal was just 21, Sabeena 19—two young souls in the bustling heart of Delhi, yet untouched by its chaos. They had known each other since childhood, and in each other’s presence, the world melted away. Their secret ritual? Sharing a single glass of hot chai, the steam curling between them like a whispered promise.
“Why one glass?” I once asked.
Afzal’s shy smile held the answer. “Because sharing makes us feel closer. And love, after all, is caring.”
Sabeena lowered her gaze, a soft blush on her cheeks, but her eyes sparkled with quiet agreement.
That evening, I first saw them sitting by a roadside chai stall in Sarai Kale. Afzal, in his black jeans and snug brown shirt, looked at Sabeena with the kind of gaze that needs no words. Sabeena, draped in a blue kurta and a floral dupatta that framed her face like poetry, glowed in his company. Simplicity had never looked so rich.
They had married for love—a decision that stirred storms in their families. Sabeena’s parents had objected; Afzal was “only a laborer.” But love does not weigh itself against status. It listens only to the heart.
When I asked what they cherished most about one another, Sabeena smiled shyly. “I like his hairstyle,” she whispered, “and the way he talks.” Afzal laughed softly, his eyes never leaving hers. “Where do I begin?” he said, echoing a line from the old classic Love Story. “Her nature, her kindness, the way she drapes her dupatta… everything about her is beautiful.”
Their life together is simple, yet full. In a rented room near their parents, they weave their days with little acts of love. Afzal returns from work, his hands rough from labour, but still he stirs the pot with Sabeena, helping her cook dinner. “He works so hard, yet he still helps me,” she says with pride. Afzal nods, his tone suddenly serious: “I earn only three hundred rupees a day, but she is my responsibility. My first duty is to care for her.”
Of course, they quarrel too. “She doesn’t listen to my advice,” Afzal chuckles. Sabeena laughs, insisting it is the other way around. But their disagreements never last long—one glance, one shared smile, one cup of chai, and all is forgiven.
Even their wedding was as tender as their love. No banquet halls, no chandeliers. They were wed in a public garden, beneath the open sky. Friends stood as witnesses, a Qazi blessed their vows, and they celebrated with nothing more than Pepsi and rasgullas. Yet in that moment, they were richer than kings.
As the sun dipped low the evening I met them, their chai was finished. Hand in hand, they rose from the bench, waved me goodbye, and walked home. A small room awaited them, a simple meal cooked together, and a life where the main ingredient was always love—pure, unadorned, and endless.
Because sometimes, love doesn’t need castles or diamonds. Sometimes, it only needs two hearts, one glass of tea, and a promise to share it for a lifetime.