Vacations followed the end of 12th grade. As usual, I couldn’t keep my distance.

We began playing PUBG together. Often, then daily. We had both joined engineering colleges by then, hers in Bandra, mine in Ghatkopar. Our physical paths diverged, but the digital thread never quite broke. Texts. Occasional calls. Meeting only when she needed something. And me? Always showing up.

Then came March 2020 lockdown. The world froze. Her relationship with H came crashing down in a storm of betrayal and deceit, rooted in a fabricated assault case. It was ugly. She was devastated.

We started talking for hours again. Some days, we wouldn’t even realize how late it had gotten, chatting, gaming, escaping. I looped her into this idea I was working on, hoping it would distract her from spiraling and anchor her away from obsessive habits. I had noticed her exercising till she was visibly exhausted. I couldn’t sit back. One day, I told her, no hesitation this time, that moderation matters. That she was already more than enough. Perfect, even.

She went silent for a bit after that. Then replied. I didn’t push further.

In parallel, we created a shared Discord server. It was our bubble. We’d tune in late at night, working separately but together, music playing softly in the background. Often, I’d quietly save tracks she played on Spotify. Songs I’d never heard before. Songs that reminded me of her.

By January 2021, I joined a college project team, and slowly started fading offline. We still talked, less frequently, but always familiar.

Fast forward to January 2022. She texted, asking if I’d go with her to an electronics market in Mumbai. She needed to buy a few things. For some reason, I wasn’t too keen. But when my college friends found out, they insisted I go, teased it as our “date.”

It was… fine. Brief. We talked a little. Then went our own ways.

She’d still show up in the Discord server sometimes, just listening to music. She never asked me to join. But part of me wondered if she was hoping I would.

In May 2022, out of the blue, while having a convo I got a strongly worded message from her.

“I do text. You don’t. Try to keep a balance. I don’t want to feel like I’m clinging onto you. It’s annoying badgering feeling. It’s nice to receive a text too.”

I didn’t know how to respond. She wanted to meet again, with A, our mutual friend from school. A and I hadn’t spoken much since 2017, apart from a brief robotics workshop in 2019. He was also in my engineering college, different branch.

But the timing was awful. That very day, I was moving to Pune for a three-month internship. I told her. She was surprisingly calm about it. We agreed to catch up later.

And we did. Nothing special. Just okay. But something lingered in my mind, the way she and A vibed. It felt like I was third-wheeling. I brushed it off. I had a meeting that day anyway.

During my stay in Pune, her messages began shifting tone, especially at night. Drunk calls. Slurred texts. At first, I laughed it off. Never asked why it was always me she contacted.

Every morning after, I’d send over Gatorade. Coconut water a few times.

Until one night, I thought she wasn’t at home. Concerned, I called A, hoping he had her dad’s number. He didn’t, but casually said, “She’s drunk-calling me too.”
Something snapped.

From that night onward, I stopped replying to her calls when she was drunk.

December 2022.
I got selected for an internship, barely 100 meters from her house. The moment I found out, I texted her. She was thrilled. We promised we’d meet often once I started.