Back to March- Khwaish...
We met in a group chat — random, unplanned, and honestly, at a time when I wasn't even looking for someone new. I already had a girlfriend back then. Or, well... I had told people I did. At first, it was a lie. Just one of those small ego-driven fabrications. But then the lie became real. She became my girlfriend. But like most things that start with a lie, it didn't last. She ghosted me without warning. One day we were calling each other "baby," and the next — silence. No closure, no goodbye. Just absence.
And that's when she entered.
Khushi.
Her name itself felt soft, like a breath of calm after the storm I'd been through. She wasn't loud in the group, but something about her presence caught my attention. She didn't act fake like many others did. There was something raw and genuine in the way she talked — it felt like I could tell her anything.
I don't know exactly when we started talking privately, but once we did, we didn't stop. She quickly became someone I leaned on, someone I waited to talk to every day.
At first, I joked around with her. I even told her, "Mujhe ek ladki chahiye, meri gf banegi koi? Help me na." She laughed it off, never helped, never introduced anyone. So one day, I jokingly asked her, "Tu hi ban jaa na meri."
Her reply? A soft no. Not a hard rejection. But a refusal nonetheless.
Then she said something that stayed with me forever:
"I won't be your girlfriend. But I'll love you more than any girlfriend ever could."
That sentence hit different.
It wasn't love at first sight. It wasn't even flirting. But whatever we had… was something real.
We didn't label it. We didn't need to.
We became best friends. Or at least, that's what we called each other. But deep down, we both knew it was more than that.
Every morning, I'd wake up with a message from her. Every night, I'd sleep with her voice still echoing in my mind. We talked about everything — school, family, our exes, our dreams. I started sharing more with her than I had with my past girlfriends.
Even she shared a lot. She told me about her childhood, her neighborhood best friend — a boy, her emotional anchor — who had moved abroad, leaving her behind. That story always made me feel something I couldn't explain — a mix of sympathy and jealousy. Maybe because I was scared she still missed him. Or maybe because I wanted to be the one she missed like that.
We even fought sometimes. Small disagreements. Like when she'd go missing for a few hours, and I'd feel ignored. Or when I'd reply late, and she'd guilt trip me.
But even those fights felt… intimate.
Then, I noticed something that bothered me more than I admitted. Her Snapchat score.
350k+.
I remember asking her, "Bro how?? Tu karta kya hai?"
She said she got that much during 9th and 10th standard. That it wasn't recent. That she barely uses it now.
Still, it made me uneasy. Insecure. Was she close to other guys too? Did she call them 'best friend' like she called me?
But I never questioned her too much. I was scared she'd think I didn't trust her. And honestly? I did trust her. More than anyone else at the time.
There was one incident I'll never forget.
Dhiraj. A mutual from the group chat — an attention-seeker, always trying to be the group's moral compass.
One day, he randomly called me and said, "Bro, just a suggestion. You should stop talking to Khushi. It's not healthy. You're too attached."
It pissed me off. Who was he to decide what was healthy for me?
Khushi heard about it and texted me right after.
"Did Dhiraj tell you to stop talking to me?"
"Yeah. He did."
"Will you?"
"Never."
She sent a heart. Then a long paragraph thanking me for standing by her.
It was small, but meaningful. In a world where people leave you for the tiniest reasons, having someone who stays — who fights back when someone else tells them to leave — that matters.
During those three months — April to June — I started falling for her. Slowly. Quietly.
Not the Bollywood-style love. Not the "I'll die without you" love.
But the kind of love where someone becomes a part of your routine without you even realizing. The kind of love where their mood affects yours. The kind where just their voice can fix your worst day.
We weren't dating. We never kissed. We never flirted like typical online couples.
But one night, I found myself staring at her profile picture… smiling for no reason.
That's when I knew.
I was in trouble.
By the end of June, something changed in me.
My previous relationship with Abhiti — short-lived and intense — had ended. She ghosted me after all our wild conversations, attention-seeking games, and emotional highs.
And in the hollow left behind… only Khushi remained.
I wasn't looking for anyone new. I didn't want to flirt or chase or fake anything.
So I just kept talking to Khushi.
Every. Single. Day.
She became my peace, my diary, my biggest distraction from everything wrong in life.
And she never asked for anything in return.
Sometimes I felt like telling her how I felt.But I didn't want to risk it.Not yet.
So I kept the feelings locked away, hoping that maybe someday… the right time would come.
That was stage one — the unexpected bond that felt too comforting to define, too delicate to destroy.It was something between "just friends" and "almost lovers."
And in that grey space, our story found its beginning.
But as we both would soon learn — beginnings are often the easiest part.
It's what comes after… that tests you.
July began like a continuation of a dream. The comfort Ayan and Khushi found in each other during the early months didn't fade — it only grew more addictive. They had become each other's constants. The "good morning" and "good night" messages were daily rituals. Sometimes, they'd fall asleep on call, their phones warm against their cheeks, their breaths in sync, like some long-distance heartbeat trying to feel close through wires.
They weren't dating.
But anyone looking from the outside wouldn't be able to tell.
They talked about everything — from the kind of weddings they liked, to the way the world sometimes felt too loud for their thoughts. Khushi opened up to him like never before. She told him about her insecurities, how she didn't like her smile, how she felt like people only stayed when they needed her and left when they didn't.
One night, she whispered, "Sometimes I feel like I'm too much for people to handle."
And Ayan responded without hesitation, "Not for me."
It was these moments that kept pulling him deeper. He wasn't just falling for her — he was drowning in her.But with closeness came cracks.
The First Signs.They started fighting. Small arguments at first. Ayan would text "GM" and if she didn't reply soon, he'd feel ignored. If she didn't say "GN" properly at night, he'd overthink.
Khushi, on the other hand, had her walls. She'd pull away when she felt too emotionally exposed. Sometimes she'd reply dryly. Sometimes she'd disappear for hours without warning.
It started eating away at Ayan — not her silence, but the confusion.
Because when she came back, she'd act like everything was fine.
"You're my best friend, na? I can never ignore you."
But Ayan wasn't stupid. He could feel the shifts.
Her tone. Her delays. Her distance.
He'd ask, "Why are we even doing this? We act like more than friends but call it less."
Khushi would say, "Because friendship is purer."
He wanted to scream, "Then why does this friendship feel like love?"
The Snapcore Doubts
One evening in August, they were casually talking about old memories when Ayan brought up her Snapchat score again — 350k+. The number had always bothered him.
She said, "I got that during 9th and 10th grade. I don't use it much anymore."
But Ayan couldn't help but wonder — how many people had she been close to before? How many late-night streaks? How many best friends?
"You say I'm different, but sometimes it doesn't feel like it," he texted.
She replied with a voice note, a little annoyed, "I don't need to prove anything to you. You either trust me or you don't."
He did trust her.
But he was also scared. Scared of not being enough.
Scared she'd outgrow him, like others had.
Dhiraj Returns
Dhiraj, who had previously warned Ayan to stay away from Khushi, re-entered the picture. This time, not subtly.He messaged Ayan late one night:
"You've become obsessed, bro. This is not healthy. She doesn't even see you the same way. You're wasting time on something that won't become real."
Ayan snapped.
"You don't know our bond."
"No," Dhiraj shot back, "I just know when a guy's turning toxic and can't see it."
Khushi found out. She wasn't pleased.
She defended Ayan. Told Dhiraj to stay out of it.
But the seed of doubt had been planted — in all three of them.
That maybe, just maybe, what Ayan felt… wasn't entirely mutual.
The 'Best Friend' Paradox, Khushi continued to call him her best friend. That label never changed.But she acted like more.
She called him "baby" sometimes, out of nowhere, only to laugh and say, "Sorryyyy, force of habit."She asked him what kind of girls he liked, then said, "You better not like anyone else, warna I'll cry."She sent him voice notes of her singing sad songs. Shared her mirror selfies, captioned "Looking cute?" and waited for his reactions.
"You're mine," she'd say sometimes. "In a platonic way."
But Ayan didn't want platonic anymore.
He was craving romantic clarity in a sea of emotional confusion.
He wanted to be chosen, not just included.
When Love Turns to Addiction
By the end of August, Ayan realized he was emotionally addicted to her.
Her replies controlled his mood.
A late reply? He spiraled.
A dry reply? He questioned himself.
A sweet message? His entire day brightened.It wasn't healthy.But it was real.
And deep inside, he hated how powerless he felt.
He wanted to confess. He wanted to break this "best friend" loop once and for all.
But every time he got close, something held him back.
Fear of ruining it.Fear of losing her.Fear of hearing the one thing he couldn't handle:
"I don't feel the same."
So he waited.Watched.Hoped.
The Last Straw in September
A small fight turned big.
It started with a joke he made about one of her guy friends. She got irritated.
"You don't trust me?" she asked.
"I do," he replied. "But I also know how easily people get attached. I just don't want to lose you."
She stayed silent.
That silence broke something in him.
That night, he called her.
She picked up, voice tired.
"Why do we keep fighting?"
"Because we care," he said.
"Or maybe because we don't know what we are."
That hit like a slap.
He whispered, "We're more than best friends."
She didn't reply.
Not with words.
Just a sigh.
A long, heavy sigh that said everything she didn't want to say out loud.
September ended with Ayan more confused than ever.
They hadn't defined anything.They hadn't ended anything but something had changed.
The bond was still there but so was the damage.Ayan was still afraid to confess.
Khushi was still afraid to confront And both of them…
Were drifting closer and closer to something they couldn't name —and farther and farther from the innocence they once had.