A Sunday I Went Out Alone

A quiet walk through food, strangers, and unexpected versions of myself

It was a Sunday, and I had plans — or at least, I tried to.

I asked a few friends to join me at DLF in Hyderabad, a place I had never been to but had always been curious about. One by one, they all said they were busy. No one could make it.

I stayed home for a while, trying to study, but I felt restless. Weekends had started to feel like a strange kind of cage — where I had the freedom to go anywhere, yet no one to go with.

Weekends have a strange way of doing that. They give you freedom, and then quietly ask what you plan to do with it.

At some point, I walked up to my mom and told her how restless I felt. She didn’t overthink it. She didn’t analyze it. She just said, almost casually, “Then go out. Even if you have to go alone.”

So I did.

I headed toward DLF — the most talked-about spot in Hyderabad — but somehow, the evening didn’t begin the way I expected. Instead of bright lights and crowds, I found myself standing on a long road lined with a few rustic dhabas.

It wasn’t what I had imagined.

But I stayed.

Nestled among those dhabas, I noticed a small pasta stall. Without thinking too much, I ordered red sauce spaghetti. It arrived glistening with oil, coated in a fresh tomato and garlic sauce, and topped with a single basil leaf that made it look almost too pretty for that roadside setting.

The first bite was… intense.

It was overwhelmingly tangy — so sharp and singular that it completely took over my palate. There were no layered flavors, no subtlety — just pure, unapologetic sourness. It wasn’t something I would normally enjoy, and yet, I didn’t regret it. For once, I wasn’t choosing comfort. I was choosing experience.

As I sat there, twirling long strands of steaming spaghetti, gently blowing away the heat before each bite, I realized something quiet but important — I was trying something new without judging myself. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just curiosity.

And despite everything, I finished it.

Before leaving, I picked up a creamy pink sauce pasta for my brother — something familiar, something safe. A quiet contrast to my own choice. Which turned yummy.

Afterward, I walked along a dimly lit street, guided more by curiosity than direction. I had seen a place trending online and thought I’d explore. Just a couple of minutes in, I stumbled upon a lively crowd — cheers, noise, energy filling the air. A large screen was playing an IPL match, and people were completely immersed, celebrating every moment.

I stood there for a while.

I’ve always liked the vibe of such crowds, especially as an RCB supporter. But this time, I felt slightly out of place. I didn’t know the score, the context, or even who was playing. It felt like there was an invisible line I hadn’t crossed.

And maybe that’s what solitude feels like sometimes — not loneliness, but a quiet distance.

Wanting to change the lingering tangy taste in my mouth, I stopped at a small popsicle stall. To my surprise, I found a sugar-free chocolate walnut popsicle. It was subtle, not overly sweet, and exactly what I needed — something gentle, something balancing.

Soon after, I booked a bike ride home.

While waiting, I noticed that small shop — the kind that goes viral on social media. Curious, I walked in and quickly ordered a hazelnut chocolate brownie, asking them to prepare it fast.

By the time it was ready, my ride had arrived.

And then came my favorite moment of the night.

Like an impatient child, I opened the box right there, asking the driver to wait just a second. Without thinking, I took a generous spoonful of the brownie, soaked in hot chocolate sauce and topped with hazelnuts.

It was warm, rich, and immediate.

And honestly? I didn’t like it.

It was overwhelmingly sweet — so sugary that the chocolate itself seemed to disappear. But strangely, that didn’t matter. What stayed with me wasn’t the taste, but the moment — the excitement, the impatience, the inability to wait.

I closed the box, got on the bike, and started heading home.

Halfway through the ride, I opened it again.

Yes, I completely abandoned my diet that night. And yes, I still ate half the brownie.

By the end of the night, I wasn’t thinking about the places as much as I was thinking about myself.

I realized I can be unapologetic about trying something — even when I already know I might not like it. Like that tangy pasta. I knew the flavor wouldn’t suit me, and yet, I chose to experience it anyway.

At the same time, something I expected to love — the brownie — turned out to be overwhelmingly sweet, almost as if my own taste resisted it. It made me smile, how quietly expectations and reality switch places.

I also found myself standing at the edge of a lively crowd, feeling like I didn’t quite belong — not because I wasn’t allowed to, but because I lacked the context to feel part of it.

And yet, in between all of this, I discovered something simple and honest about myself.

I like trying different things.

I am curious — almost childlike — especially when it comes to food, desserts, and new experiences.

That curiosity showed up in the way I explored, the way I tasted, and even in the way I couldn’t wait to open a box of dessert.

Maybe that’s who I am — someone who feels deeply, hesitates sometimes, but still chooses to experience life anyway.

And yes, this was my own little solo date experience. And I have a feeling it won’t be the last.