Eventually, Sharanya Rajgopal’s ‘Musafir Cafe’ settles into the cosiness of a novel found in a railway station bookstall. Those unintimidating 200-page paperbacks, which one buys for an overnight journey. Here, it happens in the seventh episode of this eight-episode series. Sudha (Vedika Pinto) is a pretty, impulsive, recklessly-ambitious girl from Bhopal – a version of a metropolitan idea of a small-town firebrand. The kind who discovered ‘Carpe Diem’ in her adolescence and never looked back. She has a job offer from Mumbai, which she reluctantly accepts.

Unfortunately, she’s in love with Chander (Vikrant Massey), who she met a few months ago, and is currently vacationing with, in Mussoorie. Chander, a US-returned engineer who harbours dreams of owning a cafe on a hill station, is the opposite of Sudha. He’s excited about Mussoorie, his boss has agreed to become his loan guarantor, and he might have also found a business partner.

Sudha hasn’t told Chander about her plans yet. And when she does – he quashes his plans, and talks about moving with her to Mumbai. This disappoints her. In a rather pragmatic moment in the show, Sudha shames Chander for flippantly giving up on his dreams, and choosing to follow her instead. Some of her respect diminishes for him. This scene is what the entire series is building towards – and it reveals a sincere relationship drama embedded within the glossy design of a staple Netflix rom-com.

Based on Divya Prakash Dubey’s novel of the same name, Rajgopal’s series doesn’t begin with the same assurance. There’s an inherent clash between the show’s earthy source material and the frothy, urban Netflix aesthetic (that makes Bhopal look like Andheri). The actors, Pinto as Sudha and Massey as Chander, look (and sound) very protagonist-y. They’re not ‘ordinary’ by any measure.

Chander has been asked to meet with Sudha at a cafe, as an arranged-marriage prospect. Sudha is transparently cruel as he tells him marriage is not on her radar, and that she does this to please her mother. Chander, a pragmatic nerd with low self-esteem, finds himself charmed by her lack of filter. An unsuccessful arranged marriage meet-up improvises into an unintentional first date.

Directed by Ruchir Arun, who spearheaded the walk-and-talk relationship dramas on India’s Youtube (like Little Things), even ‘Musafir Cafe’ has plenty of the genre’s ‘relatable’ affectations. Massey, usually an effortless actor, initially looks at sea with the narrative sparseness. There’s very little to Chander beyond his desire to get married, and his infatuation with Sudha. A quirk added for effect, where he’s particular about his coffee, never feels like an innate part of him. Pinto is unconvincing as a girl from Ratlam, especially with that body language that belongs in Soho House.

The humour, and the abrupt relationship expediency, feel contrived at first.

Things become more easy-going in the third and fourth episode

However, things become more easy-going in the third and fourth episode, when Chander’s mother (Anubha Fatehpuria), shows up unannounced. A scene featuring Sudha’s roommate, a staple scene in such shows, when the two girls giggle over Sudha’s brand-new partner, is cute.

Even though they’re hopelessly in love, they’re both aware it could be a fleeting thing. He wants to settle down in the hills, she wants to go to Mumbai and afford a life many only dream about. They’ve fundamentally opposite goals in life, something one will invariably have to ‘adjust’ for.

The more mature track unfolds in the present, (Chander & Sudha’s love story is shown to have taken place eight years before), where Chander has realised his dream of Musafir Cafe, in Mussoorie. It’s run by him and his partner, Preeti (Manisha Makhwana). It looks 3-D printed out of Instagram, given how there’s not a single smudge on the cafe’s table cloths.

The surprising detail here is that Preeti knows about Chander’s lack-of-closure with Sudha. She’s the generous lover, who rationalises her partner’s flaws on his behalf, and doesn’t allow any form of negativity. It’s an interesting relationship dynamic, where a woman patiently waits for her man to leave behind his past.

Preeti is so close to an ideal, and so plainly characterised, I’m tempted to call her an invention of the male gaze. Which is not to say, she’s not disarming. Makhwana plays the stoic Preeti using a light touch, who would rather silently suffer for her lover, than show signs of jealousy. When Sudha visits them in Mussoorie late in the show, she puts up a brave front as a host, and then weeps at home.

Like Preeti’s sadness here, the show fetishises some other things too. A writer character (Rajeev Siddhartha), who talks like he’s writing prose. Always dressed immaculately in dark overcoats, sipping tea/coffee as young girls (his fans) giggle around him, he doesn’t miss a beat flirting with Preeti (an aspiring writer, we’re told).

Also, the dream of owning a cafe in the hills feels like a very city-bred fantasy. There’s nothing to indicate that Chander and Preeti are struggling at all, as the cafe appears to be running itself. People come in, and speak in Instagram affirmations. ‘Musafir’ assumes an Imtiaz Ali metaphor for many, who look forward to the journey, rather than the destination. Most of them appear to be in search of themselves.

It could seem laughable from a distance, but I found myself smitten by the fantasy. It’s the kind of show where a business partner signs away his palatial chalet to Chander and Preeti before moving back to the US for good – which they can use for expansion.

After trudging along cliches of the will they/won’t they rom-com, ‘Musafir Cafe’ becomes the strongest version of itself in the final two episodes, when an older couple enters the picture. Played by Adil Hussain and Sadiya Siddiqui, they become the (high) benchmark for Chander.

As Sudha visits Chander one last time, before moving abroad for good, they have an awkward at first, but ultimately cathartic conversation, bringing closure to both of them. It’s a rare sight of exes being shown as both graceful and grateful around each other. If not for the relationship, they wouldn’t be the people they are today. Each failed relationship is also a coming-of-age tale. That’s a realisation few relationship dramas seem to have.

Arun and Rajgopal take a good call of ending things on a crescendo of ambiguity, rather than a neatly-tied climax with a slate of ‘The End’. It mimics the beats of a life that goes on long after the ‘story’ has concluded. I’d love for them to just leave it at that, instead of using the open end for a season two. Sometimes closure isn’t about certainty, it’s about knowing when to let go. Let’s hope Netflix does too.

Published in special arrangement with TheWire.in