The sun rose lazily over Daman, casting soft amber hues over the town’s cobbled streets and Portuguese-styled villas. The scent of the sea mixed with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting through open windows. It was a perfect day for a journey—a day that didn’t need a grand plan, only a willing heart. Aaditya was already at the wheel, adjusting the seat of his Skoda Kylaq, an effortless part of his morning ritual. He ran his hand over the steering wheel with a quiet satisfaction, a motion not lost on Kavya. She had spent days contemplating what to do for him this Valentine’s Day. The usual ideas—gifting him a perfume, planning a candlelight dinner, or watching the sunset together—felt ordinary. And that was the thing about them; they never needed a special day to celebrate love.
So, she had decided on something else entirely. She would celebrate the one thing that made him happiest—driving.
The town slowly came alive as they rolled past colonial churches, pastel-hued bungalows, and street vendors setting up for the day. Aaditya loved these streets. He always said that driving through them felt like flipping through the pages of an old novel—every turn revealing a new story, a forgotten chapter waiting to be revisited.
Kavya adjusted her sunglasses and turned to him. “So, what’s Valentine’s Day to you?” she asked playfully.
He glanced at her with a smirk. “I don’t know. Just another day to remind you that you got lucky?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Right. I should be the one counting my blessings.”
The Kylaq cruised effortlessly, its quiet hum blending into the morning sounds of the town. It wasn’t just a car; it was their companion—one that had taken them on countless road trips, silent fights, loud singalongs, and long, winding conversations about everything and nothing.
They parked near a bustling street market, stepping into the maze of local vendors and colorful trinkets. Kavya tugged at his arm, dragging him toward a small perfume stall.
“Close your eyes,” she instructed.
Aaditya sighed dramatically but complied. She spritzed a new scent on his wrist. He took a whiff and nodded approvingly.
“Nice. Smells expensive.”
“It’s not,” she teased, “but you’ll wear it anyway.”
They wandered through the market, hands brushing, stopping to admire old postcards, handcrafted trinkets, and jewelry that glimmered under the morning sun. They weren’t tourists, yet every trip felt like a new discovery, a new memory folded into the map of their love.
A café called out to them next. It was one of those places they always passed but never stopped at. Today was different. She ordered their usual—two cups of coffee, one with a little too much sugar. As she handed him his cup, their fingers brushed, the briefest of touches, yet enough to send warmth coursing through them.
Aaditya took a sip and let out a satisfied sigh. “You know,” he mused, “maybe Valentine’s Day isn’t overrated after all.”
Kavya smirked. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”
As the day stretched on, they let the road decide where they would go. The Kylaq glided smoothly, the world outside shifting between golden fields, quaint houses, and winding coastal roads that disappeared into the horizon. It was the kind of journey that had no destination, yet felt perfect in its direction.
They found themselves at Jampore Beach just as the sun began its slow descent. The ocean shimmered, reflecting shades of pink and orange across the sky. Aaditya pulled the car to a stop, its silhouette standing bold against the backdrop of the setting sun.
They stepped out, letting their feet sink into the cool sand. The breeze tousled Kavya’s hair, and she turned to watch him. He wasn’t looking at the sea. He was looking at the car.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said, nudging him. “Who stares at their car when there’s a sunset happening?”
He shrugged. “Can’t help it. It’s been with us through everything.”
She looked at the Kylaq, at the memories they had built inside it—the late-night road trips, the fights that ended with silence broken only by the sound of the engine, the way he instinctively reached for her hand at every red light. She understood now. It wasn’t just about driving. It was about everything that came with it.
She reached for his hand, their fingers intertwining as the waves kissed their feet. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispered.
He turned to her, smiling. “To us.”
And there they stood, in the quiet comfort of love—the kind that needed no grand declarations, no extravagant surprises. Just a drive, a sunset, and the unwavering presence of each other.
And their ever-reliable companion, waiting patiently for the next journey.
The Skoda Kylaq didn’t just take them places. It held their stories, their silences, their laughter. It wasn’t just a car; it was a witness to their love.
And on this Valentine’s Day, that was more than enough.
