Read an exclusive excerpt from Circle with No Center by Deepak Khurana
About the Book
Is life a circle with no single center? It was a restless spin for him―from brief romances to a safe but hollow job to a quiet longing for genuine purpose. For her, it meant heartbreak, then fierce independence, and finally, a passion that lit her every step. Each believed they would keep circling alone.
But when their paths unexpectedly overlap, they discover a new space―an unplanned center neither saw coming. Within that gentle overlap, old fears soften, and dormant dreams spark to life. Yet real closeness challenges everything they thought they knew: how to protect themselves, how to trust.
Can two people, each rotating in a personal orbit of past mistakes and new ambitions, learn to revolve together without losing who they are?
About the Author
Deepak Khurana brings his keen understanding of technology and interpersonal dynamics to the pages in Circle With No Center. Working in the fast-paced world of software and systems, he has witnessed how digital progress can mirror—and sometimes magnify—our most personal struggles. Fascinated by how people connect both online and offline, Deepak channels those observations into storytelling that explores the fragile balance between ambition, relationships, and self-discovery.
Excerpt from the Book
Thinking about all this, I finish my drink and pour another.
The alcohol relaxes me and dulls the edges of loneliness. I pick up my phone and open a dating app, half out of boredom, half out of a vague hope for connection.
I swipe through faces without much feeling, judging quickly who might be an easy match. It doesn’t sit well with me to treat people like a catalog, but I keep going.
Then I freeze, caught off guard by a face that jogs some half-buried memory. We were in the same friend circle in college, but our conversations rarely went past small talk—a polite smile here, a How’s class? there. She was usually with that boyfriend, a perfectly average guy who never did anything blatantly wrong, yet I always sensed she deserved more. Not that I ever did a thing about it; I barely knew her beyond a passing hello.
Now, staring at this photo, I notice tiny changes: the way her hair frames her face, the quietly confident tilt of her chin. My pulse quickens. It’s definitely her, but different somehow—like she’s grown into someone far more self-assured. And for reasons I can’t explain, just seeing her profile hits me harder than I’d expect.
Without overthinking, I swipe right. At first, nothing happens—just the usual loading spinner. I shrug, figuring she’s already vanished into digital oblivion. Another few minutes pass. I distract myself by scrolling Instagram, refilling my drink, and stealing glances at the phone with a mix of anticipation and dread. Then—finally—my screen lights up: It’s a match.
My breath catches, the whiskey buzz flaring into a burst of adrenaline. Heart thumping, I tap the alert, half expecting a generic “Hey” if anything at all. But she’s already messaged: Hey. Small world. I do remember you from college. How’ve you been? The casual tone sends a shiver of nostalgia through me, and I realize I’m actually smiling. I let the moment sink in, rereading her words, unsure how enthusiastic to sound. My fingers hover. Then I type: Wow, hi! Didn’t think you’d recognize me. Been ages—how’s life treating you?
Her reply dings about ten minutes later—just enough of a delay to keep me on edge: I hate texting if I’m honest. Prefer talking in person. Free at 5 p.m. today? Café Pots & Stones, near Connaught Place? It’s already one in the afternoon. I can’t resist checking her profile again—she’s changed, but there’s something unmistakably her in every photo. A ripple of excitement courses through me. Sure, let’s do it. 5 p.m., I text back, trying not to sound too breathless. She simply sends a thumbs-up with no further explanation. The abruptness is oddly thrilling. I stare at the clock on my phone, realizing I have just four hours to pull myself together. Even in my mild whiskey haze, I can’t deny the spark.
The drinks push me into a contemplative mood. I pick up Men Without Women by Murakami and reread my favorite story, “Drive My Car.” It revolves around unexpected connections. At some point I doze off. By the time I wake, it’s 4 p.m. I scramble to freshen up.
I choose a crisp white shirt, classic blue jeans, and an expensive watch—my go-to date uniform. I grab an Uber, not wanting to risk parking and losing time. By 4:55, I’m at the café she mentioned. It’s small, tucked away amidst some trees, with both outdoor benches and air-conditioned indoor seating. Late October in Delhi is still quite mild, so I opt for a seat outside and order a coffee while I wait.
At 5:00 on the dot, I spot her. She walks with casual confidence, wearing an oversized sweater, faded jeans, and black sunglasses that look stylish without trying too hard. She catches my eye and waves, and for a second it’s as if we’re back in college, except she’s grown into a new version of herself—more self-assured, more at ease.
I stand, considering a handshake or a hug. She beats me to it, giving me a quick side hug.
(Reprinted with permission from the author)
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