Episode 24
1223 Words
The silence was the worst part.
Christopher stared at the ceiling fan, its slow revolutions mimicking the sluggish churn of thoughts in his mind. It was well past midnight, and the dim yellow light of his bedside lamp cast long shadows on the wall. His textbooks lay untouched. Notes scattered across the table. A bottle of whiskey half-empty beside him.
His phone buzzed quietly.
A story notification.
Karla.
His hand reached for it before he could stop himself.
The screen lit up, and her name appeared like a trigger in his chest.
He opened her story.
She was smiling—dressed casually, sipping coffee at a cozy little cafe, sunlight dancing in her hair. A book lay open in front of her, the caption read: *"One chapter at a time."*
He swallowed the lump in his throat. Her face glowed with a kind of quiet contentment. But he knew that smile. He had seen the real one. The one she wore when she was nervous, when she was safe, when she let herself fall.
His thumb hovered over the heart icon.
He didn’t tap it.
Instead, he closed the app and let his phone fall to the bed beside him.
Why did it feel like she was slipping away—when he was the one letting go?
---
The knock on the door was soft but persistent.
Christopher opened it to find Armaan leaning casually against the frame, holding two mugs of coffee.
“Didn’t think you’d still be awake,” Armaan said, stepping in.
“Wasn’t planning to sleep,” Christopher muttered, rubbing his temples.
Armaan placed the mugs on the desk and dropped onto the couch. “You look like hell.”
Christopher didn’t respond. He picked up his mug but didn’t drink.
“I saw her story,” Armaan said. “She looks good.”
Christopher’s jaw clenched.
“I miss her,” he admitted after a long pause. “Every damn day. And I hate that I do.”
Armaan sighed, sipping his coffee. “You still stalking her online?”
“I check her stories. That’s all.”
Armaan raised an eyebrow.
“She’s… living. Moving forward. And I’m just—here. Stuck. Every time I see her smile, it kills me because I know I’m not part of that world anymore.”
“Then stop looking.”
Christopher glanced at him.
“Block her,” Armaan said gently. “Remove her. For both your sake.”
“I don’t want to erase her.”
“But you’re already gone, Chris. You’ve made your choice. This constant watching—it’s torture.”
Christopher leaned back, staring at the ceiling again.
“I keep thinking about that night,” he whispered. “The way she looked at me. The way she trusted me. And I crossed that line… the very line I said I never would.”
“It’s done.”
“I know. But I hate myself for it.”
“Then maybe distance is the only way to do right by her now.”
Christopher didn’t answer.
His phone buzzed again.
Another story. This time, it was Karla’s bookshelf. A caption read: *"Healing happens in between pages."*
The irony cut like a blade.
---
Later that morning, as sunlight began to pour through the curtains, Christopher’s phone rang.
He recognized the caller ID instantly.
*Uncle – Dean Sir.*
His stomach twisted.
“Hello?”
“Christopher,” his uncle’s stern voice came through. “How are your PG exam preps going?”
“Good… I’m preparing.”
“Good,” the Dean continued. “I called to inform you the committee has officially decided to put the previous matter to rest.”
Christopher held his breath.
“They believe the issue was overblown and, since no formal complaint was filed, it won’t be pursued further.”
Relief washed over him like a crashing wave.
“However,” his uncle added sharply, “this is your second warning. I vouched for you. One more slip, Christopher, and no one will be able to save your career. You understand?”
“I understand, sir.”
“Stay professional. Keep your distance from students—especially *her*. The gossip’s died down. Don’t start another fire.”
“Yes, sir.”
The call ended. Christopher set the phone down, numb.
---
He stood at his window, the city glowing under the morning sun. A breeze rustled the curtains, but he didn’t feel it.
This was it.
The chapter had closed.
No scandals, no consequences—yet. But the weight of guilt and grief remained.
He walked to his desk, opened his phone again.
Karla’s latest post showed her draft submission email to a publishing team. She was doing what she loved. Writing. Becoming.
*Without him.*
His finger hovered over the screen.
He tapped *her profile*.
Scrolled slowly.
The photos. The laughter. The memories tucked in captions.
*“First assist with the best professor.”*
*“Every heartbeat matters.”*
*“The calm before the storm.”*
He stopped at a photo from the fair—the one she had secretly taken while he bought cotton candy. He hadn’t even known she’d clicked it. Her caption had been simple.
*“A memory I won’t forget.”*
His chest ached.
His thumb moved to the top-right corner of her profile.
Three dots.
Tap.
*Block.*
Are you sure you want to block this user?
His hand trembled.
It would mean erasing her from his virtual world. No more stories. No more posts. No more traces.
But maybe it was the only way to protect them both.
He exhaled sharply and hit *Confirm*.
Just like that, she was gone.
His feed, his inbox, his notifications—silent.
He tossed the phone on the bed and ran both hands down his face. He expected relief.
All he felt was a deeper emptiness.
---
That evening, Armaan returned with snacks and jokes, but Christopher barely spoke.
“You okay?” Armaan asked finally.
“I blocked her,” Christopher murmured. “After the call from my uncle.”
Armaan was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”
“I feel like I’ve deleted a part of myself,” Christopher whispered. “Like I’ve carved her out—and there’s this hollow space left.”
“You did what you had to.”
“Yeah. I just hope someday she understands why.”
---
Karla, meanwhile, refreshed her i********: feed out of habit.
Her heart dropped.
Christopher’s name no longer appeared. His account couldn’t be found.
At first, she thought maybe he had deactivated it.
Then the realization sank in.
He had blocked her.
Her phone slipped from her hand.
Her throat tightened.
*Why now?*
*Why this?*
The pain cut deeper than before—not because she missed him, but because it felt like she was being erased.
But even through the heartache, she remembered Jenna’s words.
*“Focus on you.”*
So she picked up her phone. Opened her email.
Her Milan application status had changed.
*Interview Round: Selected.*
Tears welled in her eyes—but this time, they came from a different place.
Not from grief.
But from the beginning of something new.
---
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- Writer
