The little bell on the door of Nisha's Brews jingled gently.
Aarav looked up from the coffee machine, steam rising like ghosts from the cup he was preparing. The air smelled of roasted beans and quiet dreams. This coffee shop wasn't just his livelihood—it was a love letter to the woman he lost and the daughter he was raising alone.
He had named it after her. After Nisha.
Each cup poured had a prayer in it.
Each sugar stir held a memory.
Each table cleaned carried the weight of a broken past trying to stand again.
Then she walked in. Loud. Bright. Vain.
An influencer.
Selfie stick in hand, face painted in filters, followers counting in the thousands.
"Hey guys!" she chirped to her camera. "Today I'm in this rundown town, checking out this super aesthetic but probably dirty little coffee shop!"
Aarav looked up and smiled politely. "Welcome. Please, take a seat."
But kindness, in her world, wasn't content. She wanted drama.
She filmed the walls and scoffed.
Mocked the menu prices.
Zoomed in on a slightly cracked mug.
Took a photo of his daughter's tiny drawing hung beside the counter — and laughed.
Then, a carefully edited clip went viral:
"Rude barista insults me for vlogging!"
"Yelled at me and refused service!"
"Worst coffee shop experience ever!"
She cut his calm words. Twisted his gestures. Turned his silence into guilt.
And the internet believed her.
The next day, hateful comments spilled across his page like poison.
One-star reviews.
Abuse in his inbox.
A TikTok trend mocking his shop's name.
His regulars stopped coming. His chairs stayed empty.
His daughter's drawing was torn off the wall by someone he didn't see.
And in the middle of it all — Aarav sat behind the counter, heart shattered, trying to stay composed as his daughter clutched his apron and whispered:
"Baba… did I make the customers go away?"
He knelt, hugged her tightly, and kissed her head.
"No, my angel. The world just forgot how to listen."
Weeks passed. No one entered. Not even for water.
Aarav sat in the silence of the once-lively shop. Only the smell of cold coffee lingered — like a love story gone bitter.
And one night, under the dim yellow light above the counter, he wrote one last note:
"Sometimes, the world doesn't deserve your truth. So you leave… with your truth intact." – Aarav"
He took nothing but a bag, a photograph of Nisha, and the tiny hand of his daughter wrapped in his.
They left before dawn.
The coffee cups remained. So did the memories.
But Aarav did not.
He was now Anup.
A man not running away… but quietly beginning again.