The U-Turn Anniversary

Ajay had booked a restaurant with soft lighting, rooftop seating, and a menu that made ordinary vegetables sound privately educated. It was his fifth anniversary with Ritu, and he intended to demonstrate growth, thoughtfulness, and the ability to make one reservation without her involvement.

He had also ordered a small cake. The bakery printed HAPPY FIVE, TEAM on it because he thought the phrase captured their relationship. Ritu thought it sounded like a cricket coach thanking a reduced squad, but she appreciated the effort.

They booked a cab so neither needed to drive. The cake sat safely inside its box at Ritu’s feet. Ajay sent the destination, checked the booking, and settled beside her in the back seat.

“Everything arranged,” he said.

This was the sort of sentence Bengaluru liked to examine.

Near Hebbal, a turn was missed. The driver, Naveed, realised immediately and continued safely rather than making a sudden correction. He apologised, checked the permitted route while stopped, and explained the detour. Ajay looked at the updated arrival time.

Ritu put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay.”

“The restaurant holds the table for fifteen minutes.”

“Then call them.”

He called. A cheerful host informed him that the table could be held a little longer. Ajay relaxed. Ten minutes later, the same host called him with a less cheerful but still professionally upholstered voice. How far away were they?

Ajay gave the arrival estimate. The host inhaled the way people do before explaining company policy.

The reservation email still displayed a cheerful little heart. Ajay found this unnecessarily provocative under the circumstances.

They lost the rooftop table. Ajay stared at his phone as if the confirmation email had personally betrayed him. Ritu looked out at the road, then at her husband’s expression.

“You know, our first date was in a food court.”

“Yes, but that was before I had standards.”

“You ordered extra mayonnaise.”

“I was developing.”

Naveed smiled faintly without taking his attention from the road. He asked whether they would prefer a different destination. Ritu suggested a familiar restaurant closer to the route home. Ajay agreed after one final, silent farewell to the privately educated vegetables.

They were still travelling when their phones announced the anniversary date. Ajay’s mother sent a message with roses, folded hands, and a photograph of a cake unrelated to any cake in the family. Ritu’s brother sent, “Five years? Brave.”

Ritu opened their cake box to check that it had survived. HAPPY FIVE, TEAM remained intact. She laughed, finally and completely, and Ajay began laughing too. The evening had become too far removed from the plan to be treated as a minor defect.

When Naveed later stopped in a suitable parking area near their replacement restaurant, they asked whether he minded waiting while they cut a small slice in the parked cab. He agreed and accepted a piece after securing the vehicle. The bakery had supplied exactly two plastic spoons, creating an immediate problem in hospitality.

Ajay gave Naveed his spoon and used the edge of the cake card. Ritu said this was the most convincing demonstration of commitment he had offered all evening.

They ate slowly, talked about the first food-court date, and remembered other plans that had gone wrong but improved in the retelling. Naveed wished them many more anniversaries and suggested they record the restaurant address carefully next time.

Dinner was excellent. The lighting was ordinary. Someone’s child was loudly negotiating over a papad. Ritu preferred it to the rooftop.

The next morning, Ajay added a reminder to his calendar for their sixth anniversary. He labelled it BOOK EARLY.

Ritu added another beneath it.

CHECK THE TURN.

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