Ayan hadn't planned to fall again.
Not after everything.
Not after Maksuda.
Not after Spiddy Girl.
But it happened—quietly, unexpectedly, like a soft breeze brushing against an old wound. And it all began in a random Instagram group chat.
She wasn't the kind of girl who screamed for attention. In fact, when Khwaish first joined the chat, Ayan barely noticed her. Just another user with a profile picture, a few mutual followers, and a one-word bio. But over the next few days, there was something in her replies, something about her calm, clever responses, that made her stand out from the noise.
She wasn't trying to be noticed.
And maybe that's why Ayan noticed her the most.
He began replying to her messages directly—innocent things at first. Little jokes, witty remarks, questions about her favorite music or anime. And unlike the others, she responded thoughtfully. Her tone was composed but kind. Playful, but never flirty. There was grace in her typing. Rhythm. A personality that didn't rush or brag.
Ayan felt something shift inside him.
He waited for her replies. Kept her chat pinned. Reread their late-night convos.
Maybe it was loneliness.
Maybe it was her.
Maybe it was both.
One night, he couldn't hold it in anymore. He sent her a voice note, heart pounding. Something simple: "Tu alag lagti hai baaki sab se. Don't know why... but I feel like talking to you more."
She replied with a laugh in a VN of her own. Her voice was softer than he imagined. Like a gentle drizzle. It made something inside him melt.
"Ayan, tu weird hai," she joked. "But sweet weird."
It was over.
He was gone.
She had him.
They began talking in DMs. Every day. Every night.
Ayan shared reels just for her. Tagged her in memes. Stayed online even when he was exhausted—just in case she replied. He noticed when she changed her bio. He memorized her typing style. He saved her VNs. Hell, he even wrote "Khwaish <3" in the Notes app.
He was obsessed—but in a way that didn't feel dangerous.
It felt... pure.
Until he confessed.
"I like you," he messaged.
A minute passed. Then five. Then ten.
She finally replied:"Sorry... but I can't. It's not you. It's my religion. I can't do online dating."
Ayan stared at the screen, the blue ticks mocking him.
He could've respected that. Moved on.
But he didn't want to.
He couldn't.
Something about her made him feel whole again, even when she wasn't trying to. Maybe that was the problem. She didn't try—she just existed. And Ayan loved her for it.
He backed off, slightly. Stopped sending reels. Pretended he wasn't hurt. But he stayed in the group, hoping she'd still see him.
Then one day, in a reckless move that even he didn't understand, he messaged her again.
"Propose kar raha hoon. Reject ya block?"
He waited.
Her reply came two minutes later.
"Accept kar leti hoon... par yeh wala zyada nahi chalega. Casual hi hai, okay?"
Casual. A word that meant nothing serious.But to Ayan, even a fake label from her felt realer than most real relationships he'd seen.
He typed,"Casual bhi chalega. Tu reh bas."
Things changed after that.
She gave him her number.
They talked on call. For forty minutes. She did most of the talking—about her life in Delhi, her little sister, her protective brother, her strict yet distant father who worked a government job. Her mother had passed away during childbirth. She joked about how she raised her sister like her own child.
Ayan barely spoke. He just listened.
She had been through so much—and yet there was no bitterness in her voice. Only strength. Only stories. And that voice… it stayed in his ears long after the call ended.
He slept that night with her voice playing in his head like a lullaby.
But fate doesn't like happy endings that come too soon.
On her birthday, Ayan did something dumb.
He posted a comment under a reel, joking: "GC anyone? Mommy (gf na dekhle 😭)"
She saw it.
She didn't reply for six hours.
Six. Whole. Hours.
And that day... was her birthday.
Ayan's heart sank. At 12:04 AM, he messaged her:
"Happy birthday. I'm sorry. Mujhse galti ho gayi."
She replied with a single word:"Okay."
It hurt more than a paragraph.
But later, she teased him with the word "mommy," turning his mistake into an inside joke.
He laughed with her.
But inside, he was terrified.
Terrified of losing her.
A few days later, she said she was going out with her aunt. Just for the weekend. But when she came back... something was off.
Their chats slowed down.
The streaks disappeared.
No more late-night voice notes.
Just cold "Good Morning" and dry "Good Night."
He asked her what was wrong.
"Nothing," she said.
But everything was wrong.
And then came that message:
"Find someone else who can give you more time."
His chest tightened.
"Why?" he asked.
Her reply:"Kya karega tu?"
"Pata nahi," he typed.
"Breakup," she wrote.
He sat there.
Staring at the word.
He typed nothing.
Closed the app.
And cried.
Not because they were in love.
Not because it was a real relationship.
But because for the first time in months, he had found someone who made the world feel less lonely.
And now she was gone.
That night, he deleted their chat.
But he couldn't delete her VNs.
He still played them sometimes, alone, late at night.
He imagined conversations that never happened.Fights they never had.Hugs they never shared.Goodbyes he never got to say.
Khwaish became a chapter—one that ended too early.
But she wasn't just another girl.
She was the idea of love, stitched together by late-night dreams, longing, and lonely hope.
And though she never truly belonged to him...
...Ayan would always remember her as the girl who showed him what it meant to care again—even if only for a little while.
End of Chapter 4 (Expanded)All rights reserved by Ayan