That night, lying on her bed, she stared at the ceiling again.
The office scene replayed in her mind—not what he had asked for, but how quietly everything had slipped away afterward. His calm. His silence. The way he hadn't followed her when she left.
She couldn't sit with it anymore.
She picked up her phone and texted him.
Aakrati:
I came today.
The reply didn't take long.
Arsh:
But you said you wouldn't come. I wasn't ready. I didn't plan anything today.
She read the message twice.
Arsh:
It could have been our moment. It all went in vain.
Her chest tightened.
Aakrati:
Yes… maybe.
There was a pause.
Then—
Arsh:
So when can we do it next?
Her fingers froze.
She didn't like how that sounded. Too planned. Too rushed.
Aakrati:
Don't plan it.
She quickly changed the topic, hoping to bring things back to normal. Work. Random things. Anything safer.
But his replies turned dry.
Short. Uninterested. Forced.
She felt it immediately.
Then another message came.
Arsh:
You were looking hot today. I noticed. Your figure is quite good.
Her breath caught.
She had heard compliments before—pretty, cute, sweet.
But this felt different.
It made her nervous.
Aakrati:
Please don't talk about my figure.
A moment passed.
Arsh:
Then what should I say? The things I like, you don't like. So what am I supposed to talk about?
She swallowed.
Aakrati:
Anything you want. Let's just be good friends.
The reply came slower this time.
Arsh:
Okay. Then hugging, kissing, touching will start from tomorrow—no matter what.
Her heart dropped.
"What?" she whispered to herself.
For her, even standing close meant something. She believed in slow love, old-school love—the kind that grew through trust, not pressure.
This wasn't that.
She didn't reply.
The clash sat heavy between them—unsaid but loud.
No more messages came.
She lay back, phone resting on her chest, thoughts racing until exhaustion finally pulled her into sleep.
But even as she drifted off, one question stayed with her:
Was this still about connection… or had it become something else entirely?