Riya's pov
"Riya! Come eat your lunch!"
My mom's voice floated up the stairs, firm but familiar. I sighed, rubbing my eyes before dragging myself off the chair. My room felt like a bubble—quiet, still, and far from the noise of the world. But that bubble had been getting heavy lately, as if even silence carried weight.
I opened the door slowly, stepping out into the gentle clatter of plates and the faint scent of masala drifting from the kitchen. As I walked into the dining area, Diya, my older sister, was already at the table, her long hair tied in a messy bun and a spoon halfway to her mouth.
"Look who's alive," she quipped without looking up. "The ghost of heartbreak past?"
I gave her a deadpan look and sat down opposite her. "You're hilarious. Ever considered stand-up?"
Diya shrugged. "Only if you promise to be my first heckler."
Mom came in with a steel bowl full of steaming dal and gave us both a warning glance. "No fighting while food's on the table."
"We're not fighting," Diya and I said in unison, then exchanged a small smile.
Lunch was warm—literally and emotionally. The food was simple—roti, sabzi, dal—but the comfort it brought was unmatched. As we ate, Mom spoke about the neighbor's cat sneaking into our backyard again. Diya couldn't stop laughing at how dramatically Mom described the cat like it was plotting a major heist.
Even I smiled, really smiled, for the first time that day. Maybe even that week.
Diya leaned her elbow on the table, chewing thoughtfully. "You know, you've been a bit of a mystery lately."
I gave her a sideways glance. "A mystery?"
"Yeah. All moody and quiet and extra broody. I mean, I get it. Life's weird. Boys suck. Hormones suck more. But… you can talk to me, you know?"
I didn't respond immediately. I just tore a piece of roti and dipped it into the dal.
"I know," I said softly.
Mom gave my shoulder a little pat as she got up to clear the table. "We're here when you need us. No pressure."
After helping clean up, I retreated back to my room, closing the door behind me. My room greeted me like an old friend—still messy, still mine. I flopped onto my bed and grabbed my phone, fingers automatically opening Instagram.
Reels played in the background—people dancing, failing at trends, laughing. The colors moved quickly, the sounds changing every few seconds, but none of it really sank in.
It was just noise. Background noise to drown out the louder thoughts in my head.
And then—
ping
A notification popped up.
Instagram DM: Vishal sent you a message.
I stared at the screen.
Vishal: hi☺️
Just two letters and an emoji. But my entire world tilted.
My heart slammed against my chest, and I could feel the blood rush to my ears. I blinked, reading the message again to make sure I wasn't imagining it.
hi☺️
That smiley. That stupid, simple smiley.
It felt like a soft knock on a door I wasn't ready to open.
Like a whisper from a part of my past I'd tried to silence.
I stared at it for a full minute, completely still.
I didn't know whether to smile or throw my phone across the room. I didn't even know what I was feeling—confusion, anger, maybe even a little excitement?
Why now?
What did he want?
Was this a joke? A mistake?
Was he just being polite? Or was there something more behind that tiny message?
I locked my phone, tossed it beside me, and lay back, staring at the ceiling. My heart was still racing, and my mind had already started building a hundred scenarios of what this could mean.
Maybe he missed me.
Maybe he felt guilty.
Maybe he wanted to explain.
Or maybe… maybe it was nothing at all.
But that one message had flipped something inside me. The wall I'd been building around my feelings? A little crack had just formed.
And for the first time in days, I wasn't sure what to do next.
I was still staring at Vishal's message when I heard a soft knock, followed by the familiar creak of my room's door opening.
"Riya," Mom said, peeking in, "if you're planning to sleep, then sleep properly. Don't lie around with your eyes half-open."
I turned my head toward her.
She stepped in, wiping her hands on her dupatta. "And remember, we have to go to your chachi's house by six."
"I don't want to go," I muttered, voice low.
She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"I just… don't feel like it. I'm tired. I'll stay here and look after the house."
She laughed. "Look after the house? From what? Ghosts? Your papa already locked the gate, and even the cat knows better than to mess with us."
"I'm serious," I said, adjusting my pillow and rolling to the side. "I really don't want to go. I'm not in the mood for small talk and fake smiles."
Mom walked over and gently tapped my head. "Always full of drama, aren't you?"
I didn't respond. I just turned away, curling up, the blanket half-draped over me. It was 4:09 PM. I hadn't replied to Vishal's message, and I wasn't planning to—not now. My head ached with too many thoughts.
So, I shut my eyes and let myself drift off.
The next thing I felt was a gentle shake.
"Riya, wake up," Mom's voice said softly. "It's 5:46. Get up and get ready. We have to leave soon."
I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head. "I told you, I'm not coming."
She sighed. "You're coming. Enough of your stubbornness."
"I'll stay here," I mumbled from beneath the covers. "I'll keep the house safe."
Mom gave an exasperated laugh. "Safe from what? You and your overactive imagination! No one's going to break into our house, Riya."
"I really don't want to go," I insisted. "Please. I'm not feeling like talking to people."
She sat on the edge of my bed. "Riya, you can't avoid everyone forever. But fine. Stay. Sulk. Be dramatic." Then she leaned in and lightly slapped the back of my head with the playfulness only a mother can get away with.
"Then don't come. No one can win against you in arguments anyway," she said with a grin.
I smiled faintly against my pillow as she stood up and walked out, muttering something about how she should've named me Ziddi instead of Riya.
---
I lay there for a little longer, my mind half-asleep, half-lost in thoughts. The room had that soft golden glow from the evening sun peeking through the curtains. It was peaceful—until it wasn't.
Ping.
I lazily reached for my phone and unlocked it.
Vishal: hello
The second message.
My heart, which had just started beating at a normal pace, flipped again.
This wasn't just a casual hi anymore. He'd followed up. He was waiting.
And suddenly, sleep was gone.
I was fully awake.
I sat up slowly, staring at the screen.
Why was he messaging me again? What was he trying to say?
A thousand thoughts flooded in at once.
Did he miss me?
Did he want to explain something?
Was he messing with me?
Did he… still care?
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. My brain screamed ignore it, but my heart whispered maybe just one reply.
I didn't reply—not yet.
Instead, I sat there in silence, staring at the word "hello" like it held the answers to every emotion swirling inside me.
And this time, I wasn't just confused.
I was scared.
Because deep down, I knew... this conversation could change everything.