Chapter 8: The Online Friend

Shalini had never seen herself as the kind of woman who would join a social app. That was for bored housewives, she used to think, or women who had nothing to do. She had work, a son to raise, students to guide. Yet, one silent evening after Avi went to bed and the house was blanketed in stillness, she felt a powerful ache — a loneliness that made her restless.

That night, she downloaded an app called CircleMoms. The signup was simple: name, location, a short introduction. Teacher, mother of one, Ghaziabad. She typed the words mechanically, still unsure what she was doing.

Within seconds of logging in, a chaotic flood of posts overwhelmed her. Women venting about their children, their husbands, their weight, their lost dreams. There was something raw and honest about their voices. As she scrolled, a strange comfort spread through her chest. Maybe she wasn't the only one secretly drowning in responsibilities.

Then she saw a profile that stopped her.

Malika: Mom. Dreamer. Rebel.

Her photo was bold — a striking woman in a green kurta, chin lifted proudly, the gleam in her eyes almost challenging the camera. Shalini felt a sharp tug of curiosity. Tentatively, she tapped Connect.

To her surprise, Malika answered almost instantly:

> "Hi Shalini! You're from Ghaziabad too? I'm near Ambedkar Park. 😊"

Shalini bit her lip, smiling in spite of herself.

> "Yes, I teach school in Raj Nagar."

Malika's replies came in quick, vibrant bursts:

> "That's wonderful! I have a teenage son. I swear, I need a medal to handle his tantrums. 😂"

> "I get it," Shalini replied. "Mine is twelve. Some days it feels impossible."

They started sharing the frustrations of motherhood: lunch boxes, tuition fees, never-ending bills. Malika had a way of turning everything into a mischievous joke, and soon Shalini found herself laughing out loud, something she hadn't done in weeks.

But then Malika took a daring turn.

> "Honestly," she wrote, "I feel like I'm rotting. The same routine every day. Sometimes I just want to scream."

Shalini's pulse quickened.

> "I know what you mean," she admitted. "Sometimes I feel invisible. No one sees me as a woman anymore."

> "That's because you let them," Malika replied boldly. "You're still a woman first, Shalini. Never forget that."

The words made Shalini's skin prickle. Was she still a woman first? She couldn't remember the last time anyone reminded her of that.

They ended up chatting until almost midnight, trading stories of stolen moments, of tiny rebellions like eating a chocolate bar alone in the kitchen or ignoring a phone call from a demanding relative. Malika made even those small acts feel revolutionary.

---

The next day, Shalini rushed through her morning routine, almost excited to open the app again. Malika had already messaged:

> "Good morning, beautiful teacher lady! How are you today?"

The words made Shalini blush. Beautiful. No one had used that word for her in so long it felt alien on her skin.

During a quiet moment between classes, she checked her phone and found more messages. Malika sent selfies — hair tousled, lips painted a bold crimson, showing off a confidence Shalini almost envied.

> "Come on," Malika teased, "send me a pic! Let me see you!"

Shalini hesitated. Her phone gallery was full of plain saree selfies, no glamour, no confidence. Finally, she chose one where her hair was down and she wore a simple red bindi, then nervously sent it.

Malika responded immediately with a flurry of heart emojis.

> "See! Gorgeous. Why do you hide this?"

Shalini flushed pink, her heart racing like a girl's.

---

In the evenings, after school and coaching, Shalini started looking forward to their chats more than she wanted to admit. Malika had an almost hypnotic way of making her feel awake, alive.

One evening, as Avi did his homework at the dining table, Shalini typed carefully with her phone tilted away from him.

> "Do you ever…miss feeling wanted?"

Malika answered without a pause.

> "Of course. That's why I never gave up. I find my own ways."

Shalini was shocked — yet unable to look away.

> "Ways?"

Malika sent a winking emoji.

> "Let's just say I don't depend on my husband to feel like a woman."

The confession made Shalini's stomach flutter with something between shock and envy.

---

Days passed, and their conversations deepened. Malika talked about her husband, always away on work trips, leaving her to raise their son alone. She confessed she'd once gone out with a much younger man, just to feel the rush of a new touch.

Shalini nearly dropped her phone reading that. But Malika was unapologetic:

> "Shalini, no one will save you but you. Remember that."

The words carved themselves into Shalini's mind like a secret mantra.

---

Finally, one Friday afternoon, Malika sent the message that changed everything:

> "Why don't we meet? Face to face. I'd love to know you properly."

Shalini's heart thudded. Meet? In person? It felt terrifying, reckless, but also thrilling.

> "Where?" she typed.

> "Ambedkar Park café. Sunday. 11 AM. Wear something you love, okay? Promise?"

Shalini's breath caught. She almost said no — but something wild inside her refused.

> "Okay. I'll come," she finally wrote, her fingers trembling.

Malika sent a row of kiss emojis.

> "Perfect. It will be so much fun."

---

That Sunday morning, Shalini stood in front of her wardrobe for nearly twenty minutes. Nothing seemed good enough. Her hands kept drifting to the same dull sarees. Then, gathering courage, she picked a dark green one with a bold gold border. She let her hair stay loose, pinned only lightly, and put on a bindi with extra care.

In the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. There was a softness in her cheeks, a spark in her eyes that had been missing for so long it felt like greeting an old friend.

Avi saw her as he left for his cricket practice.

"Mummy, why are you dressed up?"

"Just meeting a friend," she replied, forcing a casual tone.

He frowned suspiciously but didn't push further.

---

As she walked to the auto stand, the weight in her chest felt lighter than it had in years. Her pulse was nervous, yes — but in an exhilarating way, like a girl on her first date.

At the café, she spotted Malika before Malika saw her — a bright presence in a mustard kurti, laughing easily with the waiter. Her hair was tied up stylishly, sunglasses perched on her head like a queen's crown.

Malika spotted her and lit up. "Shalini!"

Shalini approached shyly, and Malika stood to give her a warm, lingering hug.

"You're even prettier than your photos!" Malika teased, pulling her to the table.

Shalini blushed again.

For the next hour, they spoke of everything — from children's education to politics to secret dreams. Malika's energy was infectious. Every now and then, she lowered her voice to talk about lovers, about desire, about breaking rules.

Shalini sipped her tea, head spinning. Each story felt like a dangerous window into a freedom she hadn't dared imagine.

"You know," Malika said, tapping her hand across the table, "you could have all this too. If you want it."

Shalini swallowed hard, heat flooding her chest.

"I don't know if I'm brave enough," she confessed softly.

Malika grinned, a sparkle in her eyes.

"I'll help you," she promised.

At that moment, something shifted in Shalini's heart. Maybe — just maybe — this new friendship would change her life forever.

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