The next morning came without enthusiasm. It crawled across the sky with a tired shade of silver, brushing its light through my window as if unsure whether it wanted to enter my room at all. I woke slowly, the weight of yesterday still hanging behind my eyes. That weight was not heavy like grief. It was heavy like confusion. Like unfinished thoughts. Like someone whispering my name from far away.
I sat on the edge of the bed, rubbed my face, and told myself I needed fresh air. A walk would help. A walk could clear anything.
Maybe even her.
The street outside felt washed clean from last night's faint drizzle. The wind carried a chilled calm that made my steps lighter than usual. I liked mornings like this. They didn't ask anything from me. They didn't question. They didn't expect answers I didn't have.
For the first part of that walk, I tried to keep my mind quiet. I watched people opening shop shutters. I listened to birds on the wires. I even stopped near a tea stall just to breathe in the warm ginger scent drifting in the air.
But thoughts are stubborn things.
No matter how many corners I turned or how many deep breaths I took, her name kept surfacing like a leaf returning to the top of water.
Nikita.
What did she want? Why did she message me again and again? Why did her words feel like tiny threads pulling at something inside me that I didn't even know existed?
I kept walking until the sun slid toward evening, and only then did I head home. I pushed open the door, kicked off my shoes, and told myself, Don't check your phone immediately. Don't do it.
I lasted barely ten seconds.
A notification glowed on the screen.
A message from Nikita.
My chest tightened in a way that made no sense to me. I opened it slowly, almost afraid of what I'd see.
"What are you studying now?"
I frowned. Out of all the things she could ask, she picked study again. So I answered honestly but casually:
"I learn what I want to learn."
But my mind didn't rest. I typed another message.
"Why are you messaging me?"
For a few seconds nothing came. Then her reply popped in:
"I just want to know about your study. What you learn or not."
A normal answer. Simple. Straight. Yet something about it felt unusual, like she cared for a reason she didn't want to say.
So the thought slipped out of me before I could stop it.
"Do you want to be friends or not?"
Her reply arrived fast.
"Obviously. We are friends."
My breath softened. I hated that it affected me, but it did.
We kept talking. She said she was listening to songs while solving questions. I asked her favorite song. She said "A Thousand Years, Twilight."
I had no idea about that song. Never heard it. So I typed a simple, "Oh, that's good."
But then she flipped the question back.
"And your favourite song?"
My fingers froze.
What favourite song? I barely listened to music with any emotional connection. I googled quickly, but everything felt fake, like choosing answers from someone else's life.
So I told her the truth:
"I don't know."
She didn't let it go.
"I asked you. Which is your favourite song?"
This time the pressure felt real. Not from her, but from myself. So I typed:
"I like all songs when I listen, but honestly I don't know. I never talk to anyone on social media like this."
There was a long pause.
Then she replied:
"Okay. I give you another ID. You message me there. This one is also used by my sister."
I didn't show anything on the outside, but inside something lit up. A quiet warmth. A subtle excitement.
Why give me another ID? Why only me?
I didn't ask. I didn't want to ruin whatever this was.
She wrote, "We will talk later. Bye."
I put the phone down and tried to calm myself. Tried to remind myself that exams were coming in two days and I needed focus.
But at night, when the lights go off, the mind doesn't listen to reason.
It listens to feelings.
I lay on the bed replaying every word she said, like a movie repeating itself. My brain wouldn't stop imagining meanings behind her messages. Maybe she trusted me more than before. Maybe she wanted to talk privately. Maybe she found comfort in me. Maybe…
Maybe I had started to care too much.
Then a message formed in my mind. I fought the urge for minutes, but finally I gave in and texted her.
No reply.
Her real account showed online, and that spun my thoughts even faster. Was she ignoring me? Or did she simply not check the other ID?
The longer I stared at the screen, the louder the silence grew.
Finally I lost patience and messaged her real ID.
This time she answered instantly.
"Why are you messaging this ID?"
I shot back:
"Why are you not replying to my message?"
She said she forgot. She asked me not to message her real account again. I forced myself to reply politely.
Inside though, a hundred questions churned.
Why hide?
Why two accounts?
Why mixed signals?
Why me?
She didn't message after that. Hours felt longer than usual. The night deepened. And something in the air felt strange, as if the quiet itself was watching me think.
Just before sleep dragged me under, a thought entered: maybe she was confused too. Maybe she wanted something but didn't know how to ask. Maybe she was testing where I stood.
Or maybe I was the only one thinking this deeply.
I slept.
Morning came rough. I woke late and hurried through chores. My mother had to go somewhere, so I joined her. The day was busy. Moving through crowds, helping with bags, waiting in lines. But even while doing all that, a small part of my mind kept checking the silence between us.
By afternoon, my phone buzzed.
A message from her.
A simple one at first. Usual chat. Normal tone. Then a line that cut straight through me.
"We will not become friends, right?"
My steps slowed. My chest tightened again.
What did she mean now?
Inside my head: What happened? Why are you saying this now?
Outside, I kept calm and replied:
"Why?"
She answered:
"I think boys and girls can never become friends."
Everything inside me reacted at once. Confusion. Irritation. A kind of helplessness.
Yesterday she was fine calling us friends. Today she wasn't. What changed? What was she afraid of?
A moment later she sent another message.
"If our parents know, what will they think about us? I never want to go down in my parents' eyes."
I stared at that message for a long time. I didn't want to argue. I respected fear. I respected boundaries. But something about her words didn't match the girl who gave me a second ID last night.
Something felt hidden under her sentences. Something she wasn't saying directly.
I typed the simplest answer:
"Do what you want. I never force anyone."
But inside my thoughts were louder.
Yesterday you said you have a boyfriend. Where is that concern now? How does this fit? Why do you say one thing and act another?
Still, I kept those thoughts to myself. Everyone has their own choices. Their own values. Their own fears.
Trying to shift the topic, I asked her birthday. She told me. Then she asked for mine.
I didn't want to give it. A strange feeling inside told me if I shared it, she might never wish me. Or maybe she'd forget. I didn't know.
So instead I said goodbye.
She said goodbye too.
I lay down, only intending to rest for a few minutes. Instead, sleep pulled me in for two full hours. When I woke, the room looked dim and quiet.
My phone blinked with notifications.
Four or five messages.
All from her.
I opened them carefully.
"Sorry."
"Ignore me then."
"Why are you ignoring me?"
Another small line. Another question. Another hint of panic.
My heart reacted before my mind.
I wrote back fast.
"I am not ignoring you. I was sleeping."
Her reply came immediately.
"Oh."
Then:
"I have to go temple. We talk later."
And then silence again.
But this silence felt different.
Heavier.
As if she left something unspoken between her words.
I sat there staring at the screen long after her message faded. I could still feel that same strange pull she had over me. Something about her kept me thinking, guessing, hoping, doubting. All at once.
It didn't feel normal. It didn't feel simple. It didn't feel clear.
It felt like standing in a room where one door kept opening and closing on its own.
Was she confused about me?
Was she testing me?
Was she scared of her own feelings?
Or was I just reading meaning where there was none?
I didn't know.
But I knew one thing.
Tonight felt different.
A soft wind pushed against my window. The sky outside had turned darker than usual, as if a storm waited just beyond the horizon. The air felt charged. My heartbeat felt louder than the clock ticking on my desk.
Something was changing.
In her.
In me.
In whatever this was becoming.
And even though I didn't understand it, I could feel it.
A shift.
A tension.
A new thread tying us together, even as she tried to cut it.
Maybe I should leave it.
Maybe I should wait.
Maybe I should walk away before I fall deeper.
But then again…
Why did she message me so many times?
Why did she worry when I didn't reply?
Why did her words feel like she was protecting something she refused to admit?
As I set my phone aside, a final question rose inside me, strong enough to freeze me in place.
What if I am the only one trying to stay away…
and she is the one trying to come closer without saying it?
The night didn't answer.
It only waited.
---
Questions for the Reader:
1. Do you think she is hiding something from him?
2. Is this just friendship, or is something deeper forming on her side too?
3. Why does she keep messaging, then pulling away, then messaging again?
4. What would you do if you were in his place… reply, wait, or walk away?
5. And most importantly, what will happen when he finally faces his own feelings?