Chapter 2: Typing...
254 Words
Aditi didn’t open the message again until the next night.
She had spent the day like every other — loud laughter with friends she didn’t feel close to, scrolling through reels she didn’t care about, and ignoring emotions she wasn’t ready to face.
But at 12:16 AM, when the lights were out and the world went silent, she found herself staring at her screen again.
That same message.
Still sitting there.
Still unread.
Still untouched.
She opened his profile again. Still no bio. Still no posts. The same warm-toned picture of coffee beside a rainy window. Not edited. Not fake. Just… real.
A thought crossed her mind — maybe he was just another follower with poetic pickup lines. But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that. His words didn’t feel borrowed. They felt written.
Her fingers hovered over the reply box.
She typed:
“Who are you really?”
Then paused.
Backspaced.
Typed again:
“Have we talked before?”
Then deleted that too.
She sat there for a minute.
Then finally sent a simple line:
“Why do my words feel familiar to you?”
Message sent.
She locked her phone, tossed it aside, and buried herself under the blanket like she always did — as if avoiding warmth could protect her from wanting it.
At 2:06 AM, her screen lit up.
Typing…
Her breath caught.
But then…
it disappeared.
No reply.
No explanation.
Just a reminder that some connections begin quietly.
And some silences are louder than confessions.
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To be continued…
- Writer
