The ping of his phone echoed in Ayan's room, drawing his attention from his thoughts. He glanced at the group chat: a message from Krii.
Krii: "I had a hard night. I just... miss him too much."
Ayan paused. Though he was still raw from his breakup with Khwaish, he felt an odd sense of empathy. Another heart still healing. He tapped on her name and started a private chat.
Ayan: "Hey Krii, I'm here if you wanna talk. Rough nights suck."
It was a simple message, but it opened a door. Over the next few days, Krii and Ayan chatted late into the night, talking about everything—from silly show recommendations to emotional baggage from past relationships.
Their conversations had warmth and safety—like a gentle balm on old wounds.
One evening, after she'd messaged about missing her childhood pet, their conversation turned deeper.
Krii: "Everyone says time heals. But it's been months, and I still feel... stuck."
Ayan: "I get it. Sometimes the heart doesn't move because it thinks it shouldn't."
Krii (after a pause): "Ayan... I've really loved talking to you. You're kind and patient. Would you... be my boyfriend?"
Ayan's heart thumped. His screen trembled in his hand. He hadn't expected that.
He took a deep breath and responded:
Ayan: "Krii—are you sure? You've been honest about still feeling for your ex. I don't want to be a rebound."
She answered almost instantly:
Krii: "I know it's messy. But this feels right. Will you try with me?"
He thought of her smile in audio messages, her vulnerability, her courage, and gentle humor. He took the leap.
Ayan: "Okay. I'll try. Let's see where this goes."
That week became something of a wonderland. Their texts were full of memes, voice notes, short "how was school?" check-ins, and thoughtful "just thinking of you" messages. Though they hadn't met, it felt real.
Late one night, he confessed: "I'm falling for you."She replied: "You already did."These words, floating through the screen, warmed Ayan from inside.
One night, they had a video call. She showed him profiles of her parents, her home, childhood photos. He shared his study desk, the posters on his wall, and shy smiles.
For once, he followed his heart without fear.
But underneath the budding romance, parts of their hearts healed slowly.
In private phone calls, Krii often brought up her ex. Not in hatred, but in nostalgia.
Krii (voice trembling): "He used to call me his 'sunbeam.' And I believed it. I... miss moments, Ayan."
As she spoke, Ayan felt a sting of doubt.
Ayan (careful, calm): "I understand. Memories are hard to erase. But I'm here now."
Krii: "I know you are. I just... I don't want to lie to you."
He nodded in silence, even though she couldn't see him.
Weeks later, the tension erupted. One night, he saw Krii typing, but her reply took forever.
Krii: "Sorry. Just got a message from him."
It was three words that twisted his stomach. Instantly, he felt small and foolish.
Ayan (cold in message): "Do you still wanna talk to me or just name me?"
She responded in half an hour:
Krii: "I'm sorry, Ayan. I didn't know how to say it."
He replied quickly:
Ayan: "Please. Not again."
It went quiet. He retreated into silence, the memory of her ex feeling like poison in his heart.
Eventually, she called.
Her voice cracked: "I... I'm sorry."
Ayan closed his eyes, forcing calm through pain:
Ayan: "I can't be just your safe place without being your priority."
She said nothing.
Krii (finally): "I understand."
And that night, the space between them shifted.
Despite the cracks, occasional sparks of joy danced between them. One afternoon, she messaged a selfie from her balcony at sunset, captioned "just me, sun, and you in my head." He kissed his screen.
Another night, she surprised him during a scheduled study session with a 10-minute video where she sang a Hindi song, her voice unpolished but full of feeling. Ayan replayed it until he memorized every note.
These gifts—the glimpses of her heart—kept him anchored. They whispered that maybe they weren't doomed after all.
But as time passed, Krii's emotional availability faded. She pulled away subtly:
— Replied late, not with warmth.— Hid conversations about him in the group chat.— Talked intensely about her ex's achievements, mutual friends, and past regrets.
Ayan began sending supportive notes:
Ayan: "I just want to be important to you—someone you can lean on."
Her replies started short:
Krii: "I appreciate you. I just... need more time."
Each time, he sensed he was walking on broken glass—cherishing the moments, fearing the next fracture.
One evening, she was unusually distant. He texted:
Ayan: "Hey... everything okay? Did I do something wrong?"
Her reply came but did not soothe:
Krii: "Not you. Just thinking."
That night, Ayan couldn't sleep. He typed and deleted drafts for hours.
At 2 AM, he broke:
Ayan: "I can't do this anymore. I feel like I'm holding onto someone who's already let go."
The chat went silent. Minutes passed, then hours.
Finally, she messaged:
Krii: "Maybe you're right."
A call came in.
He answered.
She sighed.
Krii: "I still care about you, Ayan. I just can't be the girlfriend you deserve."
It broke him.
Ayan (heartache in voice): "I just wanted you to choose me."
Silence.
Krii: "Not yet. Maybe never."
The next day, he sent a long message:
"Krii, you deserve to heal without my hope getting in the way. I tried to give you space, but I loved you too deeply. We both need to find real healing."
She replied shortly:
Krii: "Thank you. I hope you find someone who loves you fully."
That ended their private chat.
He walked around his flat, echoing in quiet.
Ayan spent the next days in reflection. He created a list in his notes:
What I Learned from Krii– Healing takes time, not someone's attention.– Love isn't fixing someone.– Words matter—but actions show commitment.– I deserve someone healed before me.– Self-love must come first.
He deleted all media of them except one voice note—the birthday line she whispered to him: "Tum safe ho yahaan, Ayan."
He played it once, then let the phone rest.
In the group chat, he wrote:
"Krii, thank you for the moments. I wish your heart finds its peace. Take care."
She replied with a heart emoji.
Their connection ended gently but not without meaning.
Days later, he rejoined his routine—studies, chats with friends, walks in the park. Life was quieter but his heart was stronger.
One evening, he opened a chat with Sonu and Diwakar:
Sonu: "How are you holding up, bro?"
He smiled.
Ayan: "Better. I think I'm ready to rediscover myself."
Diwakar: "That's growth, man. Proud."
He closed his eyes, breathing deep.
Love had come and gone again. But he was still standing.