Chapter 1: The Insta Story Twist

After chasing the college heartthrob for two years, he suddenly announced his relationship publicly. I was just about to confront him and demand an explanation, the sticky Mumbai humidity clinging to my skin as I clutched my phone, sweat prickling at the nape of my neck.

As I stood there, shifting my dupatta to wipe the sweat from my brow and trying to steady my breath, a barrage of imagined comments flashed before my eyes—just like those over-the-top WhatsApp forwards that flood our family group every morning. Each comment scrolled past, echoing the voices of aunties gossiping in the building corridor after a kitty party, the distant clang of a local train drifting in from outside.

[Bas ab hero ka asli test hai! Heroine pass ho gayi toh full filmi couple life mil jayegi.]

[Hero ne promise kiya tha birthday pe saath hoga, par ek mahina pehle hi naya rishta announce kar diya—dekhna tha ki heroine kitni loyal hai ya nahi.]

[Kya karein, bhai? Hero ka toh attitude hi alag hai, par andar se toh pura insecure banda hai. Hum jaise logon ko bas chahiye koi jo kabhi na chhode, chahe kuch bhi ho.]

[Bas thoda rona dhona kar lo, hero toh jaan bhi de dega!]

I was stunned for a moment, staring at the intimate photo of the two of them on his Insta story. My fingers—usually stiff from typing endless essays—hovered uselessly above the screen. The city outside buzzed with honking horns, a kulfi vendor’s bell jingling faintly, and someone in the next flat frying onions, the sharp sizzle cutting through my daze. But all I could see was that Insta story, the world blurring at the edges.

The smile on his face was so sweet and gentle—a look I’d never seen before. For a second, it stung more than I could admit. That smile was the kind that made every girl in college turn their head, the one I’d once dreamed would be meant for me.

I forced a smile, double-tapped to like the post, then deleted and blocked him on WhatsApp. My hands trembled a little, but I made sure my nails didn’t break—Papa always says, "Beta, hamesha sir ucha rakhna aur haath mazboot."

I posted my own Insta story: “Sensitivity and inferiority are illnesses. If you need treatment, go get it.”

As I pressed post, I caught my reflection in the phone screen—my eyes red and glistening, threatening tears. I quickly swiped the image away, swallowing hard, pride tightening my jaw.

That night, the college heartthrob blew up my phone with calls. Amma, sitting on the edge of the bed and folding laundry, raised her eyebrow at the constant buzzing, muttering under her breath, "Yeh ladka bhi na..." but otherwise kept to herself. She knows not to interfere in her daughter’s matters of the heart.