The phone buzzed against my thin mattress.
The vibration was soft—barely louder than the fan humming lazily above me—yet it felt like thunder inside my chest. A single sound, but it shook every corner of my mind.
For a moment, I didn't touch the phone.
I just stared at it like it was something dangerous.
What if it's not her?
What if it is?
What if it's nothing at all?
My hand hovered over the device, then I flipped it face-down.
I couldn't look yet.
Not immediately.
Not with my heartbeat punching my ribs from the inside.
From the kitchen, my mother called out that I should help her bring water before sleeping. I took a breath, locked my phone again without checking the notification, and stepped out of the room. My mind wasn't in my body; it stayed behind with that little rectangle that had suddenly become the center of my entire universe.
As I picked up the steel bucket and walked outside, everything felt heavier than usual. The tap screeched softly as water poured into the vessel, splashing against metal. But all I could think about was that one question repeating inside me:
What if she finally replied?
What if she accepted the request?
What if she didn't?
I washed the utensils quickly, almost mechanically. My hands moved, but my thoughts were nowhere near them. My mind was roaming in a place made out of hope, fear, and something I wasn't ready to name yet.
By the time I returned to my room, the house had quieted down. My younger brother was already half-asleep, mumbling in his dreams, and my sister had wrapped herself like a burrito in her blanket. Outside, a dog barked at the darkness, and the breeze rustled the neem leaves near the window.
I sat on my bed.
Finally…
I picked up the phone.
The screen lit up.
One notification stood out like a burning flame.
"Nikita Rajawat – Message."
My breath caught.
My heart slammed upward so hard it felt like it touched my throat. For several seconds, my fingers froze. I couldn't move. I couldn't think.
So she accepted…
She actually messaged…
I tapped the screen, feeling like I was opening something I had waited years for, not days.
Her message was simple:
"You got my ID?"
Just four words.
But to me, they felt like destiny cracking open a door.
I typed back immediately, fingers shaking:
"Yes."
She replied almost instantly:
"How many Nikitas did you send requests to?"
A smile escaped me before I even realized it.
Of course she would tease me.
I wrote:
"Only one. And that's you."
There was a pause.
Those few seconds stretched like hours.
I stared at the typing dots as if they were the most important thing in the world.
She finally replied:
"Then how did you find me?"
I didn't hide anything.
"Through mutual friends."
Her next question came fast:
"How do you know Misha?"
I leaned against the wall, the pillow sinking under my back.
"We study in the same coaching. And… honestly… she was the first girl I ever messaged."
It felt like confessing a secret.
She typed:
"Ohh… so that's how…"
Then added:
"Okay."
The tightness in my chest loosened a little.
After that, the conversation flowed more freely—about coaching, teachers who talk too much, chapters that refuse to end, exams that feel like battles. For the first time ever, I wasn't imagining talking to her…
I was actually talking to her.
Time slipped through my fingers without me noticing.
When I finally asked:
"What are you doing right now?"
it wasn't because I had something important to say.
It was because I didn't want the conversation to stop.
She replied:
"Taking an online class."
I stared at the message.
This late?
I typed:
"You study at night? That's not healthy."
She sent a laughing emoji.
"Night works best for me."
Feeling bold, I wrote:
"Then you must have dark circles. Check your face in the mirror."
Her reply came instantly:
"Haha… maybe. But they disappear naturally."
I laughed silently.
Her sense of humor felt… warm.
I added:
"Still, you should sleep properly."
She replied with a soft:
"Okay."
A brief silence stretched between us, not awkward but thoughtful.
Then she asked:
"Why are you chatting with me?"
My fingers froze.
My heart started racing.
What do I say?
That I think about her every night?
That her voice echoes in my mind long after she leaves the exam hall?
That her calmness, her smile, her presence has pulled me in a way I don't understand?
No.
I couldn't say any of that.
After typing and deleting five times, I finally sent the safest truth:
"Because you teased me first about finding your ID."
She responded:
"So you are chatting with me only for my id and why are you wasting time on me ?"
I smiled again.
"No. I just wanted to talk."
A simple sentence.
But the truth inside it felt bigger.
There was a pause.
Then her message arrived—sharp, sudden, and heavy.
"First thing — listen."
My heartbeat stuttered.
I sat up straight.
She sent another message before I could reply:
"I have a boyfriend."
For a moment, everything inside me went still.
The fan above my head stopped existing.
The walls disappeared.
The air thinned.
All I could hear were her words echoing inside my mind:
I have a boyfriend.
My fingers felt cold, almost numb.
I wrote quickly:
"Are you joking?"
Her reply came too fast.
"No. I'm serious."
The world felt heavier suddenly.
I wasn't ready for this.
Not tonight.
Not like this.
Still, I typed:
"What's his name?"
"Davis."
A strange name.
Unfamiliar.
Unreachable.
I swallowed.
"Full name?"
She answered bluntly:
"I don't want to tell details."
Then added:
"If I tell about him… the same way you found me, you might also find him too."
Her words stung—not cruel, but distant.
A reminder of the line between us.
But something inside me refused to accept it.
Something felt off.
I typed:
"Are you telling the truth?"
Her reply:
"Yes. I'm telling the truth."
My shoulders sank.
My breath went shallow.
All the nights searching for her name…
The calls to Jayson and Prayag…
Asking Misha…
Creating Instagram for the first time…
Waiting till 3 in the morning…
And in one message, I felt like I had already lost something I never even had.
She wrote again:
"But we can be friends."
Friends.
The word hit harder than any rejection.
Not because it was bad.
But because it reminded me—
I was too late before I even began.
I forced myself to type:
"Okay."
But my heart rejected that word completely.
The chat began to fade after that.
Shorter replies.
Longer pauses.
Both of us drifting away from the edge of the night.
The clock at the top of the screen showed:
3:04 AM
She wrote:
"It's late. Good night."
I replied:
"Good night."
And just like that, the conversation ended.
The screen dimmed.
The room fell silent.
Only the fan hummed weakly in the darkness.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling that suddenly felt too far away. The questions began to fill every corner of my mind like slow-rising smoke.
Why did it hurt?
Why did my chest feel tight?
Why did her words echo so loudly?
I never told her I liked her.
I never promised anything.
She never misled me.
So why did it feel like something had slipped from my hands?
My eyes burned, but no tears came.
Just emptiness.
A quiet, suffocating emptiness.
I replayed everything:
The exam hall.
Her calm voice.
The way she passed the answer sheet.
Her soft smile.
Her short hair moving in the breeze.
Her confidence.
Her calmness.
Her presence beside me.
And then…
Her final message.
"I have a boyfriend."
I turned on my side.
Closed my eyes.
Opened them again.
Sleep didn't come easily.
But as sleep pulled me under, one truth kept echoing in my mind—
Even after finding her…
I still felt like I was chasing a distance that refused to end.
And somewhere deep inside, a question whispered:
Was her truth really the truth…
or a shield she built to keep me out?
Because something in her messages…
something in her pauses…
something in her sudden honesty…
felt incomplete.
Like she wasn't telling me the whole story.
Like there was a name she didn't want to say…
a past she didn't want to touch…
or a truth she was afraid to reveal.
And as darkness finally swallowed me, another thought hit harder than all—
If she really had someone…
why did she talk to me for hours in the middle of the night?
Why did she smile at my messages?
Why did she tease me?
Why did she sound… comfortable?
Unless…
Unless the truth wasn't what she said.
Unless the lie wasn't mine to discover.
Unless the real story…
was only just beginning.
------------
Is Nikita really telling the truth… or is she hiding someone else behind the name "Davis"?
If she already has someone, why is she talking to Niks with such ease and softness?
Is Niks ready for the truth waiting in the next chapter?