The First-Date ETA

At 5:56, Kunal texted Maya that he was five minutes away. He was in the back seat of a cab, wearing a carefully chosen shirt and trying to look relaxed for a person who had not yet met him.

The app had briefly shown five minutes. He accepted this number with the speed of a man encountering information that supported his preferred version of events.

Maya replied that she was at the café. She had chosen a table, ordered water, and decided not to judge anybody based on the first small delay.

At 6:07, Kunal remained five minutes away in the emotional sense. Geographically, the cab had reached a queue with a strong commitment to continuity.

He considered sending another update. Then he worried that too many messages would make him seem anxious. This concern was defeated by the fact that he was now anxious about seeming anxious, a process with no transport benefit.

His driver, Stephen, explained that the approach ahead was slow. They could stay on the agreed route and reach normally. There was no useful shortcut worth improvising.

Kunal thanked him. The date was important, but not important enough to turn the driver into an unwilling participant in a romantic emergency.

At 6:12, Maya sent: Still five?

Kunal looked at the phone. Then at the queue. Then at the shirt, which was handling the situation better than he was.

He replied honestly that he was delayed and gave the latest estimate without promising it would obey him. He apologised and said she should order whatever she liked rather than waiting hungry.

She replied with a photograph of a sandwich.

This was both reassuring and a clear sign that life had continued without his arrival.

At 6:20, the café was visible across a stretch of road and an inconvenient approach. Kunal could see the sign. The remaining distance looked tiny. The available route remained less impressed.

He sent: I can see the café.

Maya replied: Lovely. The sandwich can see me.

He laughed aloud. Stephen smiled at the mirror while safely stopped and asked whether things were all right.

“Possibly improving,” Kunal said.

Rather than asking to stop in a live lane, Kunal checked with Stephen about a suitable drop-off point reachable by the proper route. They agreed on one. When they arrived, he ended the ride, checked his belongings and walked safely along the pavement to the café.

Maya looked up as he approached. He began apologising. She held up one hand.

“Before anything else: was it ever actually five minutes?”

“For one glorious moment.”

She laughed. He relaxed enough to sit down without accidentally introducing himself twice.

Maya said she had appreciated the honest update more than the first confident number. Kunal admitted that he had been trying to sound organised. She pointed at the sandwich and said she preferred information she could make useful decisions with.

The date went well. They talked about work, films, family habits and the different ways people used estimates to comfort themselves. Maya admitted that she also said almost ready while searching for an earring she had last seen in another financial year.

Kunal considered this useful reciprocity.

They ordered coffee. She recommended the sandwich. He accepted, grateful that the meal had completed preliminary testing while he was unavailable.

When they arranged a second date, they chose a place they could both reach more comfortably. Kunal promised to send an honest update after leaving, not a hopeful announcement from a location that only looked nearby on a map.

On the evening of the second date, Maya’s phone buzzed.

On the way. Current estimate twenty minutes. I respect its right to change.

She smiled and replied: Excellent. I respect my right to order.

Read when you’re a passenger or safely off the road. Never while driving.