sliding into her DM!

Emotionally wrecked, physically exhausted, she didn't know what to feel anymore. She had no strength left to cry, no words left to scream. Her body was still healing from the abortion, bruised and aching in ways that went far deeper than skin. And just when she thought she might start to breathe again, life gave her another blow.

Yes, she had been discharged from the hospital.No, she hadn't recovered.

When she walked back into her home, there was no light in her eyes, no energy in her step.

"Saisha beta? Are you okay? I told you not to go out so soon," her mother said gently.

She didn't respond much—just enough to end the conversation."Maa, I'm fine. I'm going to sleep."

Upstairs in her room, she swallowed her meds, curled up on her bed, and stared at the dark ceiling. But sleep didn't come.

Only memories did. Harsh, brutal memories.

"Here. Take the money. Get the abortion done. And please—don't meet me again. Don't message me either."

Yash's voice played like poison in her head. Cold, heartless, final. And she lay there, replaying that scene again and again, until her chest felt tight and her throat hurt from silence.

In the chaos of it all, she hadn't even remembered Aman. Aman—her silent obsession. The YouTuber whose smile had once made her heart flutter during lonely nights. The boy she didn't know personally, but whose voice had comforted her more than anyone else's ever did.

And isn't it strange how the universe works?

They say when you stop clinging, when you finally let go after manifesting someone so deeply, that's exactly when life begins to turn.

Saisha had let go. Not of him, exactly, but of everything. She was too broken to daydream anymore. Too tired to hope.

But somewhere, far away, Aman had just stumbled across a random DM request. A name he didn't know. A message buried beneath hundreds.

And yet, that night… something pulled him toward it.

The light outside didn't match the heaviness inside Saisha. She sat quietly in her room, her eyes hollow, her energy drained.

When Sam walked in and saw her, something in her chest twisted. Saisha looked like she hadn't slept in days—and when she saw Sam, her composure finally shattered.

She broke down. Not just crying—she sobbed. Like the weight of everything she'd been carrying had finally collapsed on her.

Sam rushed to her, held her like a sister would, and let her cry.

"Saisha…" she whispered, stroking her hair, "you need rest. You're not okay. You need mental peace, not just medicines."

Pulling away gently, Sam looked into her tear-stained face and said softly, "Your mom and dad… they're so scared. They don't know how to help you. Just—please—let me do something."

She reached out ."Give me your phone."

Saisha didn't resist. Her hand moved almost lifelessly as she handed it over.

Sam opened Instagram, took one look at the notifications, and deactivated the account.

"That's it. No more social media for a while. No more endless scrolling or pretending to be fine. Spend some time with your family. Let them hold you. You need grounding, not distraction."

Saisha didn't speak. She just nodded and lay back on her bed, eyes lost in silence.

Somewhere Else...

Aman was in the middle of a coffee break when he randomly opened his DMs—not something he usually did seriously. Most of them were fan messages, promotions, collabs, and the usual noise.

But today, something odd caught his eye.

A message from a year ago. Lost in the clutter. One line: nothing emotional, no over-the-top fan moment—just a calm, quiet: "I really like your content. It makes me feel less alone."

The name didn't ring a bell. The profile had no photo. No posts. He hovered over it.

He wasn't sure why, but something made him reply.

Just a simple "Hello."

Sent.

But when he checked the status, he noticed: "Delivered 23 hours ago."Still unread.

He frowned slightly. That was rare. Usually, when he replied, even with a single word, people replied instantly. But this girl hadn't even opened the message.

"Weird…" he murmured. Who was she?

He tapped into the profile again, still no clue. Still no activity. It was like she'd disappeared.

He didn't overthink it. Closed the app and went back to his day.

But somewhere deep in his chest, the feeling lingered. A soft pull.An invisible thread. Like he'd replied a little too late…Like maybe, just maybe, someone out there had needed that message—a year ago.