(The Conversation That Wasn't Meant To Go Deep (Yet))
The days rolled forward like tired pages of a diary—ink smudged, corners bent, nothing dramatic, nothing new.
Honey and Priyanshi talked the way two quiet people do: softly, without urgency, like the world would wait for them.
It started as nothing.
Just a normal evening.
Just the usual texts.
Just the familiar glow of the phone screen on Honey's face.
"Did you study?"
"A little… you?"
"Same."
The kind of talk that feels like water dripping from a tap—slow, steady, harmless.
But somewhere between those small exchanges, the tone shifted.
Not loudly.
Not suddenly.
Just… quietly.
Honey typed, paused, erased.
Typed again.
Deleted.
Stared at the blinking cursor, as if it could tell him the right thing to say.
And then finally:
"Can I ask you something… serious?"
Three dots appeared. Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Priyanshi replied:
"Depends. What is it?"
Honey's fingers trembled slightly ...not fear, not excitement, something between both.
"About you… your past. Why you're always so quiet. Why you stay away from everyone."
A long pause followed.
Too long.
Honey almost regretted sending it.
Then her message came:
"Honey… that's not something easy to talk about."
He felt a knot tightening in his head
"I know. I'm not forcing."
"I just… want to understand you better."
Silence again. A heavier one.
Priyanshi replied slowly:
"Give me time. Two days? I'll tell you. But not today."
Honey exhaled.
Relieved that she didn't shut him out.
Scared that he opened something he wasn't prepared for.
"Two days is fine. Take all the time you need."
"Okay."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
And then the conversation drifted back to normal topics—
study, food, a joke about Uday, a meme she sent half-heartedly.
But the atmosphere had changed.
Something unspoken hummed between them like a quiet electric current.
Honey typed once more, hesitant:
"Don't forget… after two days."
Priyanshi replied:
"I won't. I said I will tell you. I will."
The tone wasn't dramatic.
Wasn't emotional.
It was… steady.
Like someone gathering strength.
They talked a little bit more light, normal, surface-level.
But beneath every sentence, Honey could feel her promise like a trembling thread waiting to be pulled.
And somewhere deep inside, he already knew:
Whatever she was going to tell him…
was going to change something.
In her.
In him.
In both of them.
The next day when Honey went to his class he noticed that Priyanshi is not on her usual spot, she was absent , Honey thought he triggered her because he had forced her to think of her past..The day was too quiet, nothing serious happened. The day passed to quickly. As Honey reached home after school he didn't text her but he sent some reel to her just to start a conversation .
Sher was not online that time so he put her phone do2n and took a nap ...When he woke up his phone was filled with messages of Priyanshi
He checked them , those were messages of telling about her past , I think she didn't wanted to talk directly about this so she sent when he was not online ..
Honey started reading the messages....quietly, his heart was already beating fast ...
(The messages)
It was a normal day at school, Honey…
the kind of day that feels copied-pasted from the last one.
Corridors full of noise, juniors running like someone lit fire under their feet, seniors pretending they're tired of life at sixteen… you know how it is."
She paused for a breath — not dramatic, just remembering.
"At 8:50, the bell rang. And like every cursed morning, Shradha ma'am walked in with her big bottle and bigger attitude. She took attendance, didn't smile even once, and started teaching Coordination Compounds.
New equations… new nomenclature… new ways to torture us.
It felt like that one class stretched longer than my whole life."
She let out a small breath — half a laugh, half exhaustion.
"One class ended. Another began.
Then another.
And another.
By the fourth, I wasn't even hearing words… just noise.
By the fifth, I wanted to dissolve like KMnO₄ in water.
It was… a tiring day."
Her voice softened.
"When school finally ended, I just wanted to go home, lie down, eat something, forget everything.
I sat in the bus, window seat, watching the trees pass like green blurs…
The air smelled like soil — that sweet, soft smell that comes right before the rain.
There were faraway mountains, blue like someone painted them with watercolor.
Even a faint rainbow forming between two clouds.
It was peaceful.
Almost calming."
Then her tone changed.
Barely.
But enough.
"Everything was fine… until he came in."
She didn't exaggerate.
She didn't increase pace.
Just continued.
"This one man climbed into the bus — drunk, swaying, smelling like his whole body was made of alcohol.
He didn't even put out his cigarette, Honey.
The smoke filled the whole space.
Kids coughed.
The conductor looked away, like he didn't want to get into trouble."
She swallowed.
"And you know… sometimes you don't need something bad to happen.
You just feel it.
Even before it starts."
Outside, the rain touched the window in small drops.
"It was around 5:10 PM…
The rain got stronger, tapping softly on the glass.
The atmosphere cooled…
trees looked alive, leaves washed clean…
everything felt fresh…
like the world was trying to calm me down before the storm."
She continued slowly:
"I got down at my stop.
Like always.
I had to walk 3–4 km to reach home — through that jungle trail you already know.
But for the first time, I heard someone walking behind me."
She paused.
"I turned.
It was him.
The same drunk man.
Same steps.
Same trail."
Her breath trembled — not out of fear now, but memory.
"I told myself he must be going to the same village.
I didn't want to panic.
Didn't want to assume."
Rain grew heavier around her words.
"My uniform was soaked.
Hair dripping.
Shoes filled with mud.
So I stood under a tree for a minute…
Called mom.
Told her I'd be late.
Hung up."
A silence.
A heavy one.
"And I thought… I was alone under that tree."
Her voice dropped.
Very soft.
Very small.
"But the smell of alcohol came again.
And I knew.
He was standing right behind me."
Her breath shook.
"He was breathing heavy…
really heavy.
I pretended to check the weather app so he wouldn't notice that I noticed."
Then her tone broke—just slightly.
"And then… Honey…
I felt a hand.
Out of nowhere.
Fast.
Hard.
He grabbed my waist so tightly it hurt.
Before I could even scream, his other hand went down—
to my thighs—
trying to lift my skirt."
She didn't cry.
But the silence afterward… felt like tears.
"I panicked.
I froze for a second.
Then my body just… reacted.
I kicked him. Hard.
Right where it hurts the most.
And I ran.
I didn't look back.
Not once."
A long pause.
"That was the first time something like that happened to me.
And that's why…
I told you, Honey…
my past is not good
I will wait for you to read these and then decide that you want to hear more incidents like this or not
OK bye Honey....