After his first heartbreak, Aahan didn't know how to sit with silence. The weight of being left behind was too heavy, and his chest kept searching for a distraction. He wanted to move on, maybe prove to himself that he could still feel something, still be wanted.
That's when he made a group—randomly, impulsively.He called it "Balaks."
There wasn't any purpose behind it, just a bunch of strangers and half-known names thrown together. Aahan added random peoples —Kamal, Himanshu from Instagram comments. The group wasn't really alive. People texted once in a while, dropped memes, maybe a joke or two. But it never felt like home.
And yet, from that group, one name started pulling Aahan's attention—Khwaish.Or as she was known in the chat, Kiki.
At first, she didn't stand out. She wasn't the loudest one, not the one always dropping voice notes or flooding chats. She barely talked, in fact but maybe that's what made her different. She wasn't trying to be noticed—and somehow, that's why Aahan noticed her the most.
He started replying to her messages, little by little. Then one day, without even thinking, he slid into her DMs with a reel. Something random, nothing special.
She replied,"Why are you sending me reels?"
Aahan paused. He didn't even have a real answer. But he typed back anyway,"Just a bad habit, maybe."
And that "bad habit" slowly became the beginning of something.
Day after day, Aahan kept sending her reels. Silly ones. Funny ones. Sometimes couple reels, though he never admitted why. She didn't always reply. Most of the time, she just reacted with an emoji—or ignored them completely.
Still, he kept sending.
And eventually, conversations began.Not about the reels, not about the group—but about life.
She shared pieces of her world. He opened up about his. Their chat wasn't loud, wasn't constant, but it was honest. For Aahan, that was enough.
It felt like a new beginning.Or maybe just the hope of one.
It didn't take long before the late-night chats turned heavier than Aahan expected.At first, it was small talk—memes, reels, teasing about silly things. But slowly, the words carried weight. She started telling him about her day, her friends, her moods. And Aahan? He found himself waiting for her replies more than he wanted to admit.
He wasn't in love—at least, that's what he told himself. He just wanted to move on, to feel something again.And yet, whenever his phone lit up with her name, he felt lighter.
One night, while they were talking about random things, the chat took a sudden turn.
"Do you like me?" she asked.
Aahan stared at the screen, caught off guard. He wasn't ready for this question—not so soon, not like this. His mind raced. Maybe this was it, maybe he could finally close the door on his past. Maybe if he said yes, everything would start to heal.
So he typed back,"Yes."
There it was. His confession—short, simple, almost careless. But in his heart, it meant something.
Aahan waited for her reply, his chest pounding. The typing dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again.
Finally, her message came.
"It won't work…"
He blinked at the screen, confused. What?
She continued:"Because of… religion. And distance. I don't think we should even try."
The words hit him harder than he expected. He wanted to argue, but deep down he knew she was right. Reality was cruel, and he hated how powerless it made him feel. Still, he couldn't just accept it. He didn't want to.
So he kept trying—sending her good morning texts, asking about her day, reminding her that maybe… just maybe, they could make it work if they wanted to. But with time, her replies grew shorter. Less emojis. More delays. More silence.
One evening, she finally told him something she hadn't before."I did have a boyfriend once… in real life."
Aahan froze.
She explained. How her father had even supported that relationship. How she had gone on a cafe date with him. How she believed it was real, only to find out later that he wasn't just hers. He had two—maybe three—other girlfriends at the same time.
Her trust was shattered. And since then, she carried insecurities like scars no one else could see.
That night, Aahan swore to himself he would never, ever do that to her. He promised her, even without being asked, that cheating wasn't in his blood. He wanted her to feel safe, wanted, chosen.
But she wasn't convinced. One night, she asked him directly:"Do you… have attachment issues?"
The question caught him off guard. He had never thought about it. Without a second's hesitation, he typed back:"No."
It was a lie—not because he meant to lie, but because he didn't even understand what it meant.
Still, something shifted after that conversation. She softened, just a little. She let him stay. But with a warning.
"This… whatever this is… it won't last long. So you better prepare yourself."
And just like that, they weren't in a relationship. They weren't strangers either. They were something in-between—something fragile, unsteady, undefined.
A situationship.
But not everything went smoothly.Once, while scrolling through reels, Aahan left a stupid, careless comment on a random post: "Any mommy girl?? Wanna join grp chat???"
She saw it.
Her reaction was instant—hurt, distance, disappointment. Aahan panicked. He spent the entire day, apologizing. Message after message, voice after voice. Not because he had done something unforgivable, but because he couldn't stand the thought of losing her over something so stupid.
And strangely, that became a sweet moment. She didn't admit it, but she liked the way he kept chasing her apology, how desperate he was to fix it. For a while, it felt like she mattered to him more than anything else.
Days turned into weeks, and their bond grew like something fragile yet stubborn—like a flower pushing through a crack in the pavement.They laughed, they fought, they made up.But always, beneath everything, hung her warning:"Don't expect forever."
Still, sometimes she slipped.Sometimes she sent long paragraphs at night, words so raw they made Aahan's chest ache.
One night she wrote:"I don't know why you're still here. I'm scared you'll see the real me and leave. Everyone does. You deserve better than my mess."
Aahan stared at that message for minutes, then typed slowly, carefully:"Maybe I don't want better. Maybe I just want you."
She didn't reply for hours.When she finally did, it wasn't with words—it was with a ten-second voice note. Her voice cracked halfway through as she whispered,"Don't say things like that… I might believe you."
That was the first time he realized how deep she had already let him in.
But with closeness came friction.The jealousy returned, sharp as ever.Aahan noticed the remnants of her past online—likes on old posts, traces of guys she once knew. His mind spiraled. He imagined replacements, betrayals, the same story playing again like it had with others before her.
She noticed the shift in his tone and snapped:"Stop punishing me for things I never did. If you can't trust me, then maybe we shouldn't do this."
His heart dropped. For a moment, he thought it was over.But then, softer, she added,"I'm not them, Aahan. Believe me when I say I only care about you."
That reassurance saved him.It wasn't a promise, but it was enough.
And so, the cycle continued.Fear, reassurance, laughter, silence, warmth.
Every time she pulled away, Aahan stayed.Every time he stumbled, she forgave.It wasn't perfect, but it was theirs.
For now.
The night before her birthday was supposed to be special, but instead, it turned sour. Her words felt sharp, her tone cold, and Aahan—hurt and exhausted—fell asleep without wishing her. When he woke up, it was already too late. Four minutes past midnight. He quickly typed his wish, but her reply stung even more.
"My father already did…"
The guilt ate him from inside. He apologized again and again for being careless, trying to make up for the distance his silence had caused. And she, though distant at first, softened a little.
They began to dream again—making plans about what they would do if they met. Long walks, ice cream dates, small silly adventures that sounded larger than life because they imagined doing them together.
One evening, she confessed something that shook him.
"You know, I only talk to you. You're the only guy in my life."
But soon after, her eyes caught something else."Why are you following other girls?"
Aahan's heart sank. He explained softly, "I was just giving follow-backs… nothing else."
Her silence carried disappointment. And because he didn't want to repeat the mistakes of his past, he unfollowed them all. Every single one. She was too pretty, too special to risk losing. To him, it wasn't a sacrifice—it was protection. Protection for something fragile yet beautiful.
And then came a new step.They finally called.
For two hours straight, her voice filled the line. She talked and talked, her laughter spilling into his ears, while he listened quietly, soaking in everything. She teased him once:"You're such a dry texter… but on calls, you feel nice."
It felt like progress. It felt like they were getting closer.
But life twisted the plot again.
She left town with her aunt, and for seven days, silence became her gift to him. When she finally returned, something had changed. She spoke less, avoided conversations, and no matter how much Aahan tried, she didn't let him in.
And then, the final blow.
"Let's break up."
His heart trembled. He tried to stop her, begged her to reconsider, but she had already made up her mind. The girl who once admitted he was the only one… no longer wanted to stay.
So, with a heavy heart, Aahan let her go.