The Romantic Playlist

Suraj spent twenty-seven minutes choosing music for a journey he hoped would feel effortless. His fiancée, Ritu, was not supposed to know this. She was supposed to enter the car and discover that tenderness happened naturally around him.

Before setting off, while properly parked, he queued the playlist and adjusted the volume. The route was checked. The phones would remain out of his hands while driving. He had prepared the practical part and the emotional soundtrack with equal seriousness.

Ritu boarded, fastened her belt and noticed the music.

“Nice.”

Suraj nodded as if the songs had simply arrived through atmospheric compatibility.

They left Koramangala after dinner. The first track concerned devotion. The second suggested that time could stop for love. Time appeared willing to cooperate near a slow junction, though probably for unrelated reasons.

Ritu looked out of the window and smiled. Suraj felt pleased. The evening contained good conversation, familiar streets and no urgent schedule. There was no need to hurry.

Then a bus ahead needed space to complete its turn. Suraj slowed and waited appropriately, but his internal commentary briefly escaped.

“Where will you put that bus, brother?” he muttered.

The sentence landed directly between two lines of exceptional romantic sincerity.

Ritu turned towards him. Suraj kept his eyes on the road. The bus completed its manoeuvre. There was no horn, no aggressive move, only one unnecessary spoken review of a problem the bus driver was already handling.

The song resumed its promise of endless gentleness.

Ritu began to laugh.

Suraj waited until they were safely stopped again before asking what was funny.

“Your new verse.”

“What verse?”

“Eternal love, eternal love, WHERE WILL YOU PUT THE BUS, eternal love.”

He smiled despite himself. The musical arrangement had not considered contributions from his road personality.

“I did give him space,” he said.

“You did. That part was good. The commentary was just an unexpected feature.”

He accepted the review. They continued calmly. Ritu, as the passenger, handled a small adjustment to the volume after asking him. Suraj concentrated on driving rather than defending his lyrical choices.

The incident improved the playlist in an unexpected way. Suraj stopped treating every song as evidence of the perfect evening and simply enjoyed the music that was already playing. Ritu said this version of him was easier company than the one silently checking whether the atmosphere had reached the desired romantic specification.

At a suitable parking place near home, they stopped to finish their conversation before going upstairs. The playlist was still running. A particularly dramatic song began, and Ritu asked how long he had spent choosing it.

“Not long.”

She looked at the carefully ordered tracks and the absence of anything resembling an accidental selection.

“Twenty minutes?”

“Twenty-seven.”

She laughed again, more warmly this time. He admitted that he had wanted the journey to feel special. She said it had. A perfect soundtrack was less important than travelling safely with someone who could recognise his own ridiculous moment.

Suraj found this reassuring. It also saved him from preparing an apology playlist, which would have been an alarming use of the rest of the evening.

The following week, Ritu arrived with a playlist of her own, queued before they left. Its name was ROAD ROMANCE: ORIGINAL MOTION PICTURE.

Suraj read the title while parked and looked at her.

“No bus sounds?”

“No sound effects,” she promised.

They drove carefully. The music was good. At the first slow junction, a bus waited ahead of them.

Ritu turned towards the window to hide her smile.

Suraj left space, kept quiet and waited.

The song completed its entire chorus without an additional verse.

She gave him a small thumbs-up.

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