London in early November—grey skies, as usual, that constant drizzle making everything feel a bit quiet.
I was 24, fresh out of uni, handling social media for this event agency that books comedy tours. Nothing flashy, just snapping pics, posting clips, keeping the online buzz alive.
Ended up at Soho Theatre for her tour, phone in hand, capturing crowd vibes for the feed. She hit the stage like she’d built it herself—Urooj Ashfaq, all quiet, witty and killer timing. Laughter built slowly and then went high.
I filmed a bit, but mostly just watched, hooked on how she held the room without trying. Backstage was a mess—gear everywhere, people chatting loudly.
I was packing my camera when she walked by for water. Eyes met mine quickly. “Thanks for the posts,” she said, nodding at my phone like she’d seen the stories already. Her smile flashed briefly but was real. I mumbled something dumb, and scrolling pointlessly, hoping for another glance.
Didn’t happen, but it felt like destiny was planning something, me being a huge believer of destiny.
Chapter 2 – The Cafe near Soho
Slept like anything as I am so tired, her set looping in my brain. Woke up around 3 PM, and as usual, it is raining. At 4, hit this cafe round the corner from the theatre—fogged windows, wobbly tables, killer flat whites.
And to my surprise, Urooj is in that cafe. She was sitting in the back, notebook out, mumbling lines to herself, messy hair in a bun like she always liked. Fingers inked up, that focused look in her eye.
Looked real, and that hit me at once. She was confused about ordering. The waiter flubbed her order—mild spice mess. She clarified calmly, but I was right there, so I leaned over.
“Authentic hot, not UK mild, yeah?” Voice came out low, like we were in on it. Caught a whiff of her—warm and subtle.
She spun, eyes sparking. “Social media guy being my saviour now?” Teasing, but warm.
She pulled out the chair opposite. “Sit. I will repay you with bad company.”
I dropped in, knees bumping hers under the table. Stayed bumped. She doodled jokes; I am sipping my americano.
Eyes kept meeting—hers curious, mine probably too eager. Fingers grazed, passing her a napkin. Laughed over nothing, air humming close. And the day ended with a bye at the cafe!
Chapter 3 – Leeds
The tour went to Leeds.
My boss wrote an appreciation message for the engagement we were getting—likes pouring in on the reels I’d posted from Soho.
I was full-time on it now, handling social media for the agency: stories, reels, and fan chats. Felt good, like I was part of the momentum.
Backstage before the show, she spotted me. “Arre, café hero,” she said with a big grin, switching to Hindi since she knew I was Indian too—must’ve cracked it from my accent.
Her hand was lightly on my arm. The touch felt electric in the cold. The show rocked.
After, she grabbed my elbow. “Chal, walk karte hain?”(Let’s walk) Streets were empty, fog heavy. Shoulders bumped while walking, she is breathing heavy because of the cold.
She talked about a bad joke, her voice in my ear. I felt her relax when I said, “Your other 99 jokes went bomb.” She blushed hearing that.
Toward the end of the walk, as we looped back to the venue, she stopped and turned to me. “Waise, tera naam kya hai?” (What’s your name?) she asked casually, her eyes curious. It had just hit her that we hadn’t done names yet.
I spoke back, “Vicky!”
And age?
I’m 25!
Chapter 4 – Manchester
So, we became good friends after that walk in Leeds. Felt natural, like we’d skipped the awkward phase.
Train to Manchester. We were travelling together now, part of the same team buzz. Sitting facing each other, knees touching lightly through the jolts.
She looked easy in her casual vibe with a messy bun, listening to songs, until her AirPods died. I offered one of mine without thinking. Fingers fumbled connecting it, hers warm on mine—a small spark.
I was listening to Marshmello; she scrunched her nose and said, “Eww,” teasing, then shared her playlist with me.
First time we exchanged numbers. Hers was full of Hindi melody songs, felt like sneaking into her thoughts, soft and personal.
A girl from her team shifted seats, so she asked me to sit beside her—she wanted a nap. She scooted close, head dropping onto my shoulder, even nabbing a few fries from my fingers mid-yawn.
“Tu itna steady kyun hai?”(Why so steady?) she murmured in Hindi, breath tickling my skin, like it was already our little thing.
I’d never had a girl touch me like this before—I froze up as she rested on my shoulder. She noticed, chuckled softly.
“Relax,” she said, “lower your shoulder.” I’m 6’1″, she’s 5’4″, so I slid down a bit, making it comfy.
She drifted off quickly, and outside it was raining again, drops streaking the window. I wanted Manchester never to come—the feeling was just too great.
Chapter 5 – The Lost Bet
Manchester hit after that train nap. A crowd-packed show that day. I was buzzing from her head on my shoulder earlier, still feeling the warmth.
Backstage, during soundcheck, she pulled me aside with that mischievous grin. “Bet karte hain,”(Let’s bet) she said, eyes sparkling. “Predict kaise land karega mera opening joke tonight. Land karega ya nahi?” (Predict how my opening joke will go?)
I thought about it, shook my head.
“Nah, tough crowd—won’t land.”
She laughed. “Deal. If you lose, you’re under my command for the rest of the tour.”
The show went on; her opener killed—the room exploded. I lost the bet badly.
After, she found me in the green room, stepped close, chest almost brushing mine. “Ab tu mere saath stuck hai,”(You’re stuck now) she whispered, breath hot on my face—playful, not too forward, but enough to make my pulse jump.
Started right away—told me to grab her water, then sit next to her, no questions. Felt teasing but charged, her eyes holding mine longer. The commands kept coming light at first, like deciding where we’d eat, but the air shifted, pulling us tighter.
Chapter 6 – The Bristol Day
Headed to Bristol after Manchester, rainy drive down.
Her commands from the back kept things fun but closer: “Yahan baith mere paas,”(Sit here) on the bus, thigh to thigh, her hand casual on my knee now and then.
Felt the shift, like a play turning real. Pre-show, she commanded “Coffee la,”(Bring Coffee) with a wink. I did, and when I handed it over, our fingers lingered, her eyes soft.
Mid-soundcheck break, she leaned in close. “Mic adjust kar,” (Adjust Mic). Guiding my hands to her collar—skin warm, pulse quick under my fingers. Air got thick; she didn’t pull away fast.
Gig went solid, crowd loving her. After, she tugged my sleeve backstage. “Let’s go out,” voice. We skipped the group and found a quiet pub corner. Knee against mine under the table, talking deep—her opening up about tour fatigue, me sharing bits of my life.
Her hand slid across to mine, no command, just holding. Squeezed gently, thumbs circling. Felt intimate, like walls dropping.
Chapter 7 – The Bristol Night
Rain picked up outside the pub; we dashed to our hotel, laughing under shared coats. Door shut, room quiet.
She turned, eyes searching. “Idhar aa,” (Come here.) soft command, hand on my jaw. I cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek. Leaned slow; she met me halfway.
Kiss started gently—lips soft, parting slow, tongues shy, then bolder. Her Hands fisted my shirt collar; mine roved her neck, feeling her neck with my fingers. Broke gasping, foreheads pressed.
“Dheere,”(Slow) she panted against my mouth, nipping light. “Bahut time hai.”(We have time)
Deeper kiss, her sigh vibrating through me. We fell back to the bed, still clothed, tumbling down. Kisses turned urgent—mouths hungry, her fingers under my shirt, tracing skin hot, nails faint down my spine, pulling shivers.
I kissed her jaw, sucked softly at her pulse, her gasp filling the room. She arched, legs tangling with mine, hands roaming my chest, thumb teasing till I groaned low.
Tugged her collar aside, lips on collarbone, breaths ragged as we pressed tighter, bodies moulding. Slowed eventually, noses touching, her eyes glassy-soft in the low light.
Small, real smile.
“Tu.”(You)
“Tu.”(You)
She drifted to sleep right there, curled against me, as we were already down on alcohol. Bristol made it real, all in that one night. Yeah, we were both so drowsy after—the gig, the rain, the everything.
I wrapped her in the blanket gently, switched on the heater to chase the chill, and slipped out quietly to my own room down the hall. But damn, it was my first makeout like that—magical, heart pounding even now.
Chapter 8 – Edin and back to London
Edinburgh rolled in the next morning, with great crowds under those grey skies.
The Bristol glow stuck with us. I was unable to face her properly—embarrassed, replaying the night, wondering if this is all a dream. But I spotted a hickey on her neck and confirmed!
She pulled me aside pre-show, eyes teasing but soft.
“Why did you go?” she asked in Hindi, “Room share kar sakte the na? Such a gentleman you are.” (We can share a room.)
Laughed lightly, bumping my shoulder, making it feel okay. Then, with a naughty glint, she added, “Have I bullied you so much last night?”—referring to all the commands. Her voice was playful, making me blush harder but grin. The set was rough, and it left her drained.
After, she found me on the couch.
“Hold kar mujhe,”(Hold me), tired whisper. Curled right into my chest, hand flat over my heart, like feeling the beat. I pulled her close, arm around, fingers slow through her hair.
“Thak gayi hoon,”(I am so tired) she breathed out softly.
Our breaths fell in together, no need for talk. It hit deeper, like Bristol had opened a door we weren’t closing. From there, southbound, the tour fades out. Stormy roads rocked the van, but we stayed huddled. Her head back on my shoulder, fingers woven tight with mine.
Chatted low about the after: her Mumbai flight looming, me sorting next steps.
Air thick with unsaid—tour wrapping, but this? Alive and growing. As London’s lights crept up on the horizon, she squeezed my hand hard. “Yeh end nahi ho raha.”(This is not ending)
Grinned back. “Bil kul nahi.”(Not at all)
I’ll write the next chapters in Part 2, and yes, this is a purely fictional story. Over the last month, I’ve really loved Roo’s vibe—I saw her standup recently, and listening to her just felt so nice. I liked her so much. Maybe it’s just a fanboy admiration.
I ended up writing this one, which is of pure feelings. I’d never disclose who I am to her, as I have my share of trust issues.
Hope you all loved it! Roo, if you’re reading this, let me know if you’d like a Part 2.