Like You

There's a gentleness to this song that feels almost conspiratorial, as though it was made for two people and you've stumbled into their private frequency. The production is spare and warm — acoustic guitar with the slight room noise left in, soft percussion that sounds more like suggestion than rhythm, synthesizer tones that hover at the edges like afternoon light through curtains. Parekh & Singh build their sound from the Kolkata indie underground's particular sensibility: influenced by 1960s British Invasion sweetness but filtered through a deeply Indian romantic restraint, where feeling everything is expressed through understatement rather than declaration. The vocals float rather than project — breathy, close-mic'd, as if the singers are slightly embarrassed by how much they mean what they're saying. That vulnerability is the song's entire emotional center. Lyrically it circles the specific tenderness of early romantic recognition, that moment when someone becomes legible to you as singular, irreplaceable. It doesn't reach for grand metaphor; instead it stays small and particular, which is why it lands so precisely. This is music for slow mornings in cities that haven't fully woken up yet — for the thirty minutes between first coffee and having to be anyone in particular, when feeling fond of the world feels manageable and real.