Morning arrived slowly, as if it was hesitating to wake me.
Maybe it already knew I wouldn't feel ready for the day.
When I opened my eyes, the fan above me spun lazily, slicing the silence into soft circular waves. For a few seconds, I couldn't understand whether I had slept or simply drifted in and out of thoughts the whole night. My body felt heavy, my mind even heavier, as if something was still sitting inside my chest from yesterday's conversation.
Her final message from last night repeated itself in my mind like a whisper:
"I have a boyfriend."
Even after hours, those four words still felt unreal…
or worse—unresolved.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, before forcing myself to sit up. The house around me was already awake: utensils clinking in the kitchen, my mother's soft footsteps, my brother coughing as he brushed, and my sister humming some song off-tune.
Life was normal.
Only I wasn't.
I dragged myself out of bed, washed my face, and tried to shake off the strange heaviness sitting under my ribs. The cold water helped a little, but not enough.
My mother called from outside,
"Niks, bring the water buckets."
"Coming," I replied, tying my hair quickly with my fingers.
The sun was already bright, spreading a warm gold over the courtyard. The hand pump was cold under my grip as I pushed it down, the metal squeaking in rhythm with my thoughts.
My mind refused to stay still.
Every second, her words from last night played again:
"We can be friends."
"I'm serious."
"I have a boyfriend."
The more I tried to ignore it, the louder it became.
I carried the buckets inside and helped my mother with the morning chores—washing utensils, sweeping the floor, arranging the water pots, feeding the cow, even helping my brother tie the string of his school bag.
But it didn't matter what I did.
My thoughts kept returning to the same place.
Her.
Everything about her felt like a quiet storm—soft on the outside, heavy inside.
She talked to me the whole night…
Then she told me she had someone else.
Why did she talk so long?
Why did she tease me?
Why did she message me first so late at night?
Was she telling the truth?
Or… protecting something?
I didn't know.
After breakfast, I tried to study. I opened my notes, stared at the same paragraph for ten minutes, and realized I hadn't understood a single word.
My mind simply wouldn't settle.
I shut the book and sighed deeply.
Enough.
I needed answers.
By afternoon, the sun had turned hot and sharp. Even the wind felt dry. I walked to my room, closed the door halfway, and dialed Prayag.
He picked up on the second ring.
"Bro?" he said, sounding sleepy.
I didn't waste time.
"I want to confirm something," I said quietly. "About her… and that boy… Davis."
He paused.
"Hmm. Okay. What do you want to know?"
"Everything," I replied honestly. "If they're actually together… if it's real… if she said the truth."
He inhaled slowly. "I'm not 100% sure. But listen, I know someone—he studied with her in the district-level school. He knows her batch, her class… maybe even her past."
My heartbeat steadied a little.
This was something.
"Then ask him," I said immediately. "And tell him Davis name so he doesn't get confused."
"Yes, I'll confirm everything," Prayag promised. "I'll update you as fast as possible."
"Thanks, bro," I said, though the fear didn't fully leave my chest.
We disconnected.
But his words stayed with me.
Someone from her class.
Someone who might know the truth.
Someone who might say something I wasn't ready to hear…
or something that would change everything.
I placed my phone on the table and leaned back.
Was I prepared for the truth?
I wasn't sure.
The day dragged like a slow-moving river. I helped my father in the dairy shop—from measuring milk to writing down entries, from handing out change to laughing with a few regular customers.
But every smile felt half-hearted.
Every laugh felt distant.
I was trapped somewhere between confusion and hope.
By evening, my phone buzzed again.
Shivis.
I answered instantly.
"Bro," he said, his voice full of energy, "tell me… what happened yesterday? What did she say?"
I told him everything—how she said she had a boyfriend, how she said they hadn't talked for months, how she refused to give details, how I couldn't understand anything.
He was silent for a whole second.
Then he said bluntly,
"Bro… maybe she lied."
I stayed still.
He continued, "Girls usually don't tell everything honestly. Maybe she just wanted to avoid something. Or maybe she didn't want to hurt you."
"Or maybe she told the truth," I said quietly.
"Maybe," he replied. "But you don't do anything impatiently. Don't rush. Don't push. Just go slow."
I smiled softly—even through all this, his advice felt like a hand on my shoulder.
"Anyway," I said lightly, "I already told her I want to talk."
He laughed loudly. "Of course you did! You're finished, bro."
I shook my head even though he couldn't see me.
Somehow his teasing made things less heavy.
We talked about exams, study, teachers, even some stupid jokes about our classmates.
After a few minutes, we disconnected.
But as soon as the call ended, the silence returned.
Night slowly wrapped the village.
Streetlights flickered on.
Dogs barked in distance.
The wind grew cooler.
I sat at my study table, pretending to learn.
I read the same line four times.
Nothing registered.
My eyes kept drifting to my phone.
I hated how much I waited.
I hated how much I hoped.
But I couldn't deny it.
And then—
the phone buzzed.
A single message.
From her.
"Hello."
My heart tightened.
I didn't open immediately.
I forced myself to wait a minute—to pretend I was busy.
But the truth?
I had been waiting for this message the entire evening.
I opened the chat.
I typed:
"Yes?"
Then I added,
"You always message like 'hello' or 'hi'. Why?"
She replied quickly:
"Yes. Any problem?"
I exhaled.
"No, nothing," I typed.
But inside, I was studying her behavior carefully, trying to understand her patterns, her distance, her closeness.
We continued chatting—small lines, soft replies.
Then I asked:
"Why did you message me?"
Her reply:
"How much did you learn?"
This girl.
I smiled without realizing.
"I studied a little," I sent, adding a teasing emoji.
She typed,
"Hmm."
A moment passed.
Then I asked the question I had been holding inside all day:
"How did you and Davis… become girlfriend–boyfriend?"
She paused.
A long pause.
Then she replied:
"When I was in 11th, I was the topper of my class.
But in second exam, I became second.
The boy who topped… I noticed him.
Not much.
Just that he existed."
I imagined her in that classroom—quiet, serious, focused.
She continued:
"Because of him, I studied more.
In the final exam, I became topper again."
Then came the part that made everything real:
"When I came to my village for summer vacation, he sent me a request.
My sister deleted it because he was unknown.
After a few days, he sent again.
This time the phone was with me.
And that day… he became my boyfriend."
I read the message twice.
So fast?
So simple?
So fragile?
Inside me, confusion rose like smoke.
I asked:
"How many days since you both met?"
She replied:
"8–9 months."
I felt something shift inside me.
Then I asked:
"And when did you talk last?"
Her answer:
"3–4 months ago."
Now everything felt off.
A relationship with no meeting…
no talking…
no presence…
Was that even a relationship?
Or was it a story she told to protect something else?
I didn't know.
I trusted her words, but my heart doubted the truth.
Still, we kept chatting—small lines, soft teasing, tiny collisions of conversation.
Finally, she wrote:
"Good night."
I replied:
"Good night."
Then I put the phone aside…
but sleep didn't come.
Not quickly.
Not easily.
My mind replayed everything—
her story, her pauses, her honesty, her distance.
I lay awake, wondering…
Was she telling the truth?
Or hiding something behind the name "Davis"?
The ceiling above felt too empty.
The darkness felt too wide.
And somewhere deep inside…
a thought whispered:
If she already had someone,
why did she talk to me with so much comfort last night?
Why did she message first?
Why did she tease?
Why did she reply fast?
Why did she stay awake till 3 a.m.?
Unless…
Unless her truth wasn't the full truth.
Unless the real story was still waiting in the shadows.
I didn't remember when sleep finally took me.
But when it did…
I was still thinking of her.
Still confused.
Still curious.
Still drawn toward her…
and still walking into a story I didn't understand yet.
---
QUESTIONS FOR READERS
1. Do you think Nikita is telling the truth about her relationship?
2. Why would she talk to Niks so late at night if she has someone else?
3. Is Davis real or a name she's using to hide someone?
4. Should Niks trust his feelings or her words?
5. What do YOU think Nikita truly feels?