Story By Ayan
Before I even knew her name, my friend Ishu was already talking about her. It all started on YouTube. They had a small interaction in the comments of an old video. A simple reply, just a few words, but that little exchange turned into longer conversations. They began to talk more often, and Ishu felt a comfort in her presence. That's how their relationship began, but who knew how it would end.
I still remember that evening when Ishu called me out of nowhere and said, "Insta aa, apni bandi se milata hoon." (come online, I will introduce you to my girl.) That was rare because there were no girls in our group.
He added me to a group, and that's where it all began. From there, conversations flowed every day. Honestly, I wasn't looking for someone. But slowly, when I saw that everyone around me had a "girlfriend" while I didn't, a little jealousy crept in. Maybe that's what nudged me to talk more.
Things were normal until one day Ishu called me with a shaky voice. He said, "Broo, I won't be coming online anymore. Papa got hold of my chats. He's taking away my phone. He even said I should end this thing… just tell her, okay? Let her know it's over."
He was just a teenager caught in something fragile. His online relationship ended not by choice but because of his circumstances. Since I was the one who met her through him, it became my responsibility to explain. I told her everything—that his father had found out, that Ishu wouldn't be able to continue, and that the breakup was sudden and not his wish.
And that's how one story ended.
But amid this ending, a new beginning formed quietly. Where Ishu's thread snapped, Aahan's thread was waiting to be tied. This was his chance—the start of his own story.
When Ishu left, it felt like someone pulled the plug on the whole connection. She didn't know why it ended so abruptly, so naturally, she turned to me for answers. I told her everything—about Ishu's father seeing the chats, about him being forced to end it. She listened quietly, and after a while, just typed, "Okay."
But an "okay" never really means okay.
Maybe that's why, even after the closure, the conversations didn't stop. At first, it was just updates—me checking if she was fine and her asking small questions. But gradually, she started spending longer periods in the chats. One night became two, two became weeks.
Somewhere along the way, Aahan slipped from jealousy into something else. He found himself saying, "Main dhoondh bhi nahi raha tha kisi ko… lekin sabke paas koi tha, aur mere paas nahi." (I wasn't even looking for anyone... but everyone had someone, and I didn't.)
That feeling, that emptiness, quietly pushed him forward.
So, he kept talking. Sometimes they laughed over small things; sometimes, she shared how strange it felt after Ishu left. Aahan would listen carefully, not rushing, not trying to replace anyone—just being there. And without realizing it, that "just being there" started to mean more than anything else.
Where Ishu's chapter had closed in silence, Aahan's opened with presence.
Aahan didn't notice it at first, but he had begun waiting for her replies. If she took longer than usual, he would keep checking the screen, restless.
They shared songs—sometimes old Hindi, sometimes trending reels audios. She would send one with a shy note, "Yeh tumpe suit karta hai." He would reply with another, pretending it was random, but every lyric was chosen for her.
Slowly, the walls between them thinned. She told him about her day, her school fights, her little insecurities. And Aahan—who was never the type to open up—found himself sharing about his moods, his friends, even the jealousy that had pushed him there in the first place.
One evening, when the chat stretched too long, she sent, "I don't even know why I tell you all this. Shayad tum samajhte ho." (I guess you understand all this.) That's when it hit him. This wasn't just casual. She trusted him. She was leaning on him in ways she hadn't leaned on Ishu.
Aahan realized he was no longer just filling the empty space—he was becoming something more.
Days turned into weeks. By now, their routine wasn't just chatting—it was a rhythm. They laughed, shared secrets, fought playfully, and made up even faster.
Then came that night. It was late, almost midnight. The chat window was still open, both typing and deleting, typing and deleting.
She suddenly sent, "Aahan… ek baat bolun? Par promise karna tum hassoge nahi." (can I tell you something? But promise me you won't laugh.)
"Bol na," he replied.
There was a pause, those three little dots blinking. And then—"I think I like you."
For a few seconds, Aahan just stared at the screen. The boy who once felt jealous of others now had someone confessing to him, and that was it.
In reality, it was different—I didn't really like her because I thought she looked horrible. I just wanted a girlfriend, that was it. Somehow, I convinced myself and said, 'It's fine, let's just start this relationship.'
That night, Aahan got his first official girlfriend online.
At first, Aahan didn't feel much, but still, the relationship began. It was strange how fast things changed once he said yes. From that day, they started talking regularly—good morning messages, silly chats during the day, and long conversations at night. Even though he had stepped in only because Ishu had left, now it was his turn to carry the story forward.
Initially, Aahan treated it casually. He didn't expect much, but their talks slowly became a routine. She started sharing small details about her day, what she ate, where she went, even the fights she had at home, and Aahan, without realizing, was always there listening.
At first, everything looked fine to Aahan. But soon, doubts began to creep in. It wasn't entirely her fault, but it wasn't his either. She never wanted to call. Not once did she say, "Chalo baat karte hain call pe." (Lemme call you babe.) She avoided it, offered reasons, sometimes said she was busy, and sometimes just dropped the topic.
For Aahan, that was confusing. This was his first relationship, and he had no idea how these things were supposed to work. All he knew was what he saw in others' stories—late-night calls, shared photos, voice notes that made everything feel closer—but with her, none of that happened.
She didn't send photos, not even casual ones. No voice notes, no effort to strengthen the bond through small things. Just texts. Even in texts, she sometimes disappeared because of her "toxic" group of friends. She had male friends too, and though she said, "Woh bas dost hain," (they are just friends) Aahan couldn't help but overthink.
Every time she mentioned another boy, something twisted in him. He didn't want to admit it, but jealousy was eating him up. His mind whispered, "Tu toh uske liye bas ek option hai… woh seriously tujhe pasand bhi karti hai kya?" (I'm just an option, does she really like me?)
And yet, he stayed quiet. He didn't know how to express what he was feeling. Instead of saying, "Mujhe insecure lagta hai," (I feel insecure) he kept it inside, which made it worse. He wanted to feel special, to feel chosen, but everything she avoided—calls, photos, voice notes—made him question if he really mattered.
For her, it was normal. She was like this with everyone, maybe hiding her comfort behind walls. But for Aahan, it felt suffocating. It was his first taste of love, and instead of flying, he felt trapped in a cage of doubts.
After that night, silence settled between them. Neither apologized, neither tried to fix it. Their texts became shorter—"hmm," "ok," "acha." The warmth that once made Aahan feel alive was now fading like smoke.
Inside, Aahan wanted to say sorry, to pull her close again, but his ego held him back. "Kyun hamesha main hi jhukoon?" (why should I apologize?) he thought. On the other side, she was just as stubborn. "Agar usse meri comfort samajh nahi aati, toh main kya kar sakti hoon?" (If he doesn't understand my comfort, what can I do?)
Just when the distance was growing, a new name entered their chats—Akash.
She mentioned him casually one evening. "Aaj Akash ne bahut hassaya. Uska sense of humor hi alag hai." (Akash made me laugh a lot today. His sense of humor is different.)
Aahan's stomach tightened. "Who's Akash?" he asked quickly.
"Mera ek dost hai college ka. Hum kabhi kabhi baat karte hain. Chill Aahan, tu itna possessive kyun ho jaata hai?" (I have a friend from college. We talk sometimes. Chill, why do you get so possessive?)
That word—friend—echoed in Aahan's head all night. He had never even heard her voice or seen her picture properly, yet there was a boy out there making her laugh in ways he couldn't. For the first time, he felt like an outsider in his own relationship. The worst part? He couldn't tell her how much it hurt because the last time he tried, it turned into a fight. So Aahan stayed quiet, silent, burning inside.
Aahan's jealousy was consuming him. He wanted to test her to see if she cared like he did. So he followed one of her close friends online and started a light chat.
It didn't take long for the friend to tell her, "Dekha? Tumhara boyfriend mujhse baatein kar raha tha." (See, your boyfriend is talking to me.)
Her reaction was fiery. "Block her, Aahan. Abhi!" she demanded.
Aahan smirked to himself—her anger proved she felt something. But instead of relief, it led to another fight.
"If you are so possessive, then why do you follow Akash? Block him." "Tu itni possessive ho toh phir Akash ko kyun follow karti hai? Usse block kar na." (If you're so possessive, then why do you follow Akash? Block him,) Aahan snapped.
She hesitated but eventually blocked him. For a moment, they both thought it was settled—like balance had returned. But only a few days later, Aahan noticed she had followed Akash again. Seeing that broke something inside him. All his efforts, all his rules, meant nothing. His interest began to fade. The chats that once stretched until dawn shrank into plain, dull replies. She got busier with her exams, and Aahan felt lonelier than ever. His insecurities mixed with his anger, creating a storm he couldn't control.
One night, unable to hold it in, he typed the words he had been swallowing for weeks:
"Bas karo. Yeh rishta khatam karte hain." (I'm done, let's end this.)
There was no long fight this time. Just silence. The kind that drowns more than words ever could. Surprisingly, she didn't try to stop him.
Deep down, she knew it. She had hurt him too much already. So she let him go.
But Aahan didn't know what attachment issues were back then. He thought walking away would mean forgetting. Instead, he found himself missing her more and more. After two months, unable to bear the emptiness, he tried to patch things up.
She agreed. But she wasn't the same girl anymore.
The girl who once proposed to him had changed. Now, she had ego, attitude, and the attention of "2 kaude ki lode" (Penny Boys) proposing to her, which made her feel superior. Aahan felt it. Their connection wasn't the same. That patch-up didn't last long.
After a month, she herself said, "Let's end this properly."
So came the final goodbye.