After two weeks, my phone was finally given back to me. Amma thought the silence had tamed me, that I had let go. But she didn't know—I was only waiting.
This time, we didn't go back to the same platform. We found another way, a quieter corner of the online world where no one would suspect us. Our chats continued, careful and hidden, like whispers in the dark.
Every word was measured, every message cautious. I couldn't risk losing the phone again—not after everything.
And so, for two months, life moved in fragile peace. We talked, we laughed in small stolen moments, but always with an edge of fear. A single slip could destroy everything again.
It was late. I was finally asleep beside Amma.
Then my phone rang.
The sound pierced the night like thunder.
My eyes flew open, heart racing.
Before I could grab it, Amma's hand reached first.
She squinted at the screen, then answered.
"Hello?"
On the other end, a slurred voice stumbled through.
"H–Hello... it's me."
My stomach dropped.
Rao.
And worse—he was drunk.
"Don't you have brain?" Amma snapped, her voice ice. "I already told you—don't disturb my daughter!"
She cut the call and glared at me, fury burning in her eyes.
"Tomorrow, I'll tell your brother," she warned.
I didn't sleep that night. My whole body shook, my pillow wet with silent tears.
The next day, I asked him why.
"Why would you call me? Why now?"
He replied simply,
"I don't know... I was drunk. I'm sorry."
Sorry.
A word that stitched nothing.
He didn't realize that one careless call had nearly set fire to everything I had tried to protect.
In that quiet caution, our love survived yet no too long.