5.The typing game

I kept staring at that message.

Hello.

One word. So simple. So… loud.

My thumb hovered above the keyboard. My brain was already ten steps ahead, imagining every possible reason why he sent it. Was he bored? Curious? Regretful?

I locked my phone. Then unlocked it again.

Locked it.

Unlocked.

I sighed and flopped back onto my bed. My heart was racing like I'd just run a marathon, even though I hadn't moved from my room all day.

I opened Instagram again. His message stared back at me like it was mocking my silence.

My fingers slowly started typing.

Hey…

Then I erased it.

Hi.

Deleted.

I rolled onto my side and groaned into my pillow. What was I doing? Why was I even thinking so much about this?

It was just Vishal.

Just the boy who broke my heart.

Just the one person who knew exactly how to reach the parts of me I thought were untouchable.

I scrolled through his profile—like I hadn't already memorized every photo. His last story was a black screen with a single song lyric:

"Some feelings don't fade, they just stay quiet."

Great. Now he was doing the emotional boy act. Classic.

I opened the chat again.

And this time, I typed:

What do you want?

But I didn't send it.

Because that wasn't what I really wanted to ask.

What I really wanted to say was:

Why now? Why not earlier? Why not when I needed you the most?

I threw my phone to the other side of the bed and got up. I needed a distraction. Water. Food. Fresh air. Anything.

I walked into the living room—empty. Mom had already left for the relatives' place. Diya probably went with her. The house was eerily quiet. Peaceful, yet heavy. Like the calm before an emotional storm.

I returned to my room with a glass of water and hesitated before picking up my phone again.

New notification.

Vishal is typing…

I froze.

He was online.

Typing…

Then it disappeared.

Came back.

Gone again.

Seriously, Vishal? Are we both just playing typing tag now?

And then finally…

Vishal: Can we talk? Just for a minute? Please.

I stared at those words like they might explode if I touched them.

He wanted to talk.

But after everything he did… did he really deserve to?

I didn't know.

But I also knew one thing:

A part of me had been waiting for this message for far too long.

I took a breath, gathered whatever was left of my courage, and typed:

Riya: hy

He started typing instantly.

I didn't even want to talk to him. But I can't ignore someone for too long. And then—like a movie flashing back—every memory came rushing in. All the things that had happened between us.

Then his message popped up.

Vishal: How are you?☺️

What the hell? That emoji didn't suit him. It was weird. I looked at it with disgust.

Still, I replied.

Riya: Good.. what about you?

His reply came faster than light.

Vishal: I am also good.

Okay, good for you. So what now? Live your life. Why are you disturbing mine?

Vishal: What are you doing?

Riya: Nothing. I was just sleeping.

Vishal: You were sleeping at this time?

Ugh, yes. Why can't I sleep at this time? What is his problem? What does he even want?

Riya: I'll talk to you later.

Vishal: Why?

Riya: Because I have to sleep.

Vishal: Okay, then we'll talk later.

Riya: hm

Vishal: BTW when will you wake up?

Riya: Why?

Vishal: I'll message you then. I know you won't text first.

I stared at the time on my screen—7:05 PM.

Should I tell him? Should I just ignore him?

Riya: I'll wake up at 7:40.

Vishal: Okay, then I'll message you at that time.

Riya: Ok bye

Vishal: Okk Byee❤️

WHAT THE HELL?!

A heart? Seriously?

No, Riya. Don't fall for this. He's just playing the same old game. And you're not a fool this time.

I threw my phone on the bed and tried to sleep, but my mind wouldn't shut up. I kept thinking about Vishal.

Why did he message me?

What does he want from me now?

What's going to happen?

Eventually, I fell asleep—lost in all those thoughts.

I woke up at 7:46.

Great. I was already six minutes late.

I sat up, groggy, the imprint of sleep still clinging to me. The first thing I did, of course, was reach for my phone.

One new message.

From Vishal.

Sent at exactly 7:40 PM, just like he said.

Vishal: Good morning sleepyhead. I kept my promise :)

Ugh. That smiley. That cheesy line. I wanted to roll my eyes so hard they'd get stuck.

I didn't open the message. I just walked to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and stood there for a moment—staring at myself in the mirror.

You are not falling for him again, Riya.

I kept repeating that sentence in my head like a mantra.

I went downstairs to check if Mom and Diya had come back. Nope. The house was still empty.

I grabbed some chips, a chocolate bar, and a soda from the kitchen, then slumped on the couch in front of the TV. My phone buzzed again.

This time it was Diya.

Diya: We'll be late. Order something if you want, and don't go outside. It's getting dark. Be safe.

Riya: OK fine. Just get something for me too. And please don't take the money Chachu gives on my name.

Diya: Theek hai… par agar voh denge tabhi na.

I smiled faintly at her reply, but my mind went right back to Vishal.

I finally opened his message.

Vishal: Good morning sleepyhead. I kept my promise :)

Vishal (2 mins later): You awake yet?

I sighed.

Then I replied.

Riya: Yeah.

Vishal: Had a nice nap?

Riya: It was just 30 minutes.

Vishal: 30 minutes more than the time I get to be on your mind, probably.

I froze.

There it is. The Vishal-style flirting. Subtle but pointed.

I didn't respond.

Not yet.

I wasn't sure what to say.

Then he texted again.

Vishal: Can I call you?

I stared at the message. My heart did that annoying skip thing it always did when he got too close.

My thumb hovered over the screen again.

Do I say yes? Do I ignore him?

Then the screen lit up.

Incoming call: Vishal.

My heart thudded. My finger hovered over the red decline button.

But I didn't press it.

I let it ring.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And then, without thinking too hard about it—I answered.

"Hello?"

His voice came through the line, soft. Cautious.

"Hey…"

Silence. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he said, "I missed this."

And I wanted to scream.

Because a part of me had missed it too.

Perfect. Here's how it could go from there:

Riya: "What do you want, Vishal?"

I didn't say it gently. I didn't say it with a smile. I said it like a punch. Straightforward. Blunt. With all the weight of everything he did.

There was a pause on the other end. I could hear him breathing, like he was collecting words, arranging them in his mind before setting them free.

Vishal: "I just… wanted to talk."

Riya: "About what? The way you disappeared? The way you broke me without even looking back? Or the sudden urge you have to play 'miss you' at 7:40 PM?"

I didn't mean to sound so bitter.

But I was.

I had every right to be.

He sighed. "I know I messed up. A lot."

Riya: "No, Vishal. You didn't 'mess up'. You made choices. You knew what you were doing. You just didn't think I'd matter enough to come back for."

Silence again.

Then, softly—

Vishal: "You mattered more than anything. That's the problem. You still do."

My heart clenched.

No. Not again. Don't fall for words. Not again.

Riya: "Don't say that. Don't say I matter when you didn't even ask if I was okay when I was breaking."

Vishal: "I wanted to. Every single day. I just... I was scared."

Riya: "Scared of what? Loving someone properly?"

He didn't reply to that one.

And that silence?

It told me everything I needed to know.

But it didn't make it hurt any less.