Ayan wasn't actively looking for a new relationship after his breakup with Kriii. He needed some time to himself—some space to figure things out, to process everything he had been through. The pain from Khwaish still lingered, and the drama with Kriii had only reopened old wounds. But life has a strange way of throwing surprises when you least expect them.
During his time with Khwaish, Ayan had made a female best friend named Khushi. She was sweet, supportive, and always around. They didn't talk much back then, but after everything ended, Ayan started talking to her more frequently. Their chats became daily rituals—two people, online, just sharing their lives in the quiet comfort of each other's company. It felt good. Safe. Like someone understood him without needing an explanation.
But something happened that shifted everything.
Ayan jokingly told Khushi that he was coming to her city. It was meant to be light-hearted, playful.
Her reply caught him off guard: "Don't come here, I'll be in danger."
That single sentence pierced deeper than he expected. It felt like a wall had suddenly gone up between them. Ayan couldn't quite explain why it hurt so much—but it did. It felt like rejection. Maybe not romantic, but personal. After that, he decided to stop talking to her altogether.
Just as he began processing that disappointment, someone new stepped into the picture—Abhiti Jain.
She had recently joined a group chat Ayan was part of, and she brought with her a whirlwind of energy. Confident, talkative, and brimming with opinions, she was like a fresh breeze amidst the stagnant air of online chaos—especially right after the fallout with Kriii.
Kriii had rejoined the group chat after their breakup and begun hurling indirect jabs at Ayan. What began as passive aggression quickly escalated into open insults. Ayan tried to ignore it, but it was difficult not to respond. The entire group could feel the tension.
Then came Abhiti.
At first, she was just another new face in the chat. But Ayan noticed how easily she laughed, how confidently she talked. When he struck up a private conversation, she responded eagerly. They exchanged the usual details—names, age, school, likes, dislikes. She was different. Bold. Flirty. She asked him daring questions. She told him openly, "I'm a horny girl and I need attention constantly."
Ayan wasn't used to this kind of directness. But after all the emotional ups and downs he'd faced, a distraction didn't seem so bad. "Why not give it a try?" he thought. She liked him, and it wasn't like he was chasing anything serious right now.
She had strict parents, a rebellious streak, and an appetite for attention. That alone made her fascinating. But what really caught Ayan off guard was her intensity. She didn't hold back. On the second day of chatting, she told him, "If I'm yours, I won't talk to any other guy." She even promised to unfriend her male best friend.
Ayan was skeptical, but her energy drew him in.
Soon, they were talking four, sometimes five hours a day. Late-night calls filled with everything from silly gossip to surprisingly vulnerable conversations.
She told him about how her female best friend had betrayed her. She spoke about how she had started watching hentai, how she'd even gotten drunk once during a school event. Ayan wasn't sure how much of it was true. Some stories sounded exaggerated—like drinking in school without getting caught—but he didn't question it. Part of him liked the chaos. It was messy, unpredictable, and after the emotional wreckage from Khwaish and Kriii, it was oddly comforting.
Their calls became a safe haven for confessions, flirtation, and fantasies.
One night, as they talked in the dark, her voice became softer, almost whisper-like.
"Ayan… tell me, if I was lying beside you right now, what would you do?" she asked.
Ayan's breath caught. He knew where this was going.
"I'd look at you first," he replied, keeping it slow. "Just… take you in. You'd probably be grinning at me like a devil."
She giggled. "You know me well."
He continued, "Then I'd pull you closer. Maybe run my fingers through your hair, press my forehead to yours…"
"And?" she pushed.
"Then I'd kiss you. Slowly. Like I've waited forever to do it."
"Only kiss?" she teased.
He paused, smirking even though she couldn't see. "We'd start with that. But we both know it wouldn't end there."
She let out a soft, nervous laugh. "I'd let you touch me. Anywhere you want."
The air between them sizzled, even through the phone.
"Where?" he asked, voice lower now.
She whispered, "My thighs… my stomach… and maybe," she paused, "maybe I'd guide your hand to my chest."
They painted fantasies of being in a hotel room. Of sneaking away from her parents. Of locking the door and letting everything else disappear. She told him she'd wear a red nightdress—short, silky, clinging to her body. He imagined brushing his lips down her neck, her gasps, her trembling fingers. She imagined his hand slipping under the fabric, skin against skin, their breaths mingling in the heat.
They never met. But those calls felt almost physical.
It wasn't love, but it felt intense. Real. For the time being.
Then, one day, Ayan's phone software crashed.
He was out of touch for three days. When he returned, things had changed.
Abhiti was colder. Distant. Her calls were shorter. She'd hang up suddenly and send messages like, "My dad caught me talking. Sorry." But the excuses didn't add up. She wasn't supposed to be home during the hours they used to talk.
He tried to be patient, but her replies were getting robotic.
One night, after another ignored call, Ayan asked directly, "Are you losing interest?"
"No, baby. Never," she said.
"Then why are you cutting my calls?"
"I'm busy. Dad was around."
"You're always busy now."
"I'll call later, okay?"
She called after two hours. Sounded bored. She wasn't present anymore.
Ayan felt it slipping.
"Let's break up," he said plainly.
"Why?" she asked, her tone still flat.
"You don't have time for me."
"I do, baby. I'm always free for you."
"Then why are you ignoring me?"
"I'm not ignoring you, babyyyyyyyy."
That last drawn-out reply sounded fake. Forced. Like a child pretending nothing's wrong.
"I still want to break up," he said.
This time, she didn't argue. No pleading. No dramatic reaction. Just a quiet, "Okay."
And that was it.
Ayan sat in silence afterward, staring at the dark screen of his phone. It was so anti-climactic. No heartbreak. No tears. Just… closure.
He realized she had probably already moved on, or lost interest during the three-day silence. Maybe he had been a rebound for her too, just like he had suspected with Kriii. Someone to pass the time, to play out fantasies, to enjoy the thrill of attention and validation.
For Ayan, it was different. He had wanted to believe in the spark. Even if it was just online, just words. He had hoped, maybe, this time it could grow into something deeper.
But now he knew better.
This wasn't love. It was curiosity. Experimentation. A phase.
He deleted the call logs. Archived the chats. Removed her from his contacts.
Khushi was still there in his list—still occasionally reacting to his stories. But Ayan didn't message her anymore. That part of his heart had closed too.
He didn't hate anyone. Not Khwaish. Not Kriii. Not even Abhiti.
Each one had taught him something.
Khwaish taught him how deeply he could feel. Kriii showed him what he didn't want in a partner. Abhiti reminded him that attraction isn't always enough. That lust burns fast and fades even faster.
For now, Ayan gave up on online relationships. The highs weren't worth the crashes anymore.
He wanted something real—unfiltered and unpretending.
Until then, he was okay being on his own.
He was healing. He was learning.
And most importantly, he was still Ayan.
Unbroken.