Chapter 2: Late-Night Comments & Moving On

01

As soon as I blocked Arjun, the comments in my mind went wild.

[Arre, kya scene hai? Heroine ne hero ko block kar diya? Ab toh rona dhona hona chahiye tha, na?]

[Bechara hero, ab toh phone refresh kar raha hoga non-stop, heroine ke message ka intezaar. Uski toh duniya hi hil gayi hogi.]

[Heroine thoda zyada hi kar rahi hai. Hero sirf test kar raha tha, aur yeh toh block karke upar se story bhi daal di...]

[Chalo, dekhna, jaise hi hero supporting girl ke saath dikh gaya, heroine khud aa jayegi line pe.]

I don’t know how I’m able to see these comments. Maybe it’s the kind of internal monologue that comes at night, when the whine of a mosquito buzzes by your ear, the ceiling fan just swirling warm air and the faint smell of Baygon lingers. Or maybe, it’s the echo of all those years spent watching filmi dramas.

But it was obvious who the hero and heroine were—me and Arjun. It felt like everyone had become a part of my story, peeking into my WhatsApp status and Insta DMs, drawing their own conclusions.

But seriously, are these the comments of normal people? Kya logic hai inka? It’s like they all live inside a TV serial or what.

Arjun was the one who made the relationship public and broke his promise, so why am I expected to run after him, begging? Why does every love story expect the girl to cry buckets and wait for the hero to come back, as if self-respect is some designer clutch?

It’s true that I like Arjun.

But my sincerity has never been his excuse to test me. I am not a guinea pig for his insecurities, and my heart isn’t a playground for his ‘experiments’.

Just a few days ago, I was still excitedly asking him what dress would be best for my birthday. I even sent him three links from Myntra, waiting for just one reply. The little thrill I felt back then seems so silly now.

Our chat window was filled with my green messages.

Arjun basically never replied.

I kept telling myself, "He’s busy with his research, na. Lab mein hai, network nahi hai." I’d started believing it as gospel truth.

Looking back, it’s honestly laughable. Maybe he never took me seriously at all. Or maybe, I was just another message in a crowded inbox. Kya bewakoof thi main.

My friends always say I’m clear-headed when it comes to love.

When I like someone, I go all in—no holding back. But when disappointment builds up, I leave without looking back.

Already, my friends were sending me screenshots of Arjun’s Insta story, asking, "Kya ho raha hai, yaar?"

Someone sent a crying Kareena sticker on WhatsApp: "Batao yaar, full scene kya hai?" The digital drama was real, but I left them all on read.

That story was posted on impulse.

Now, I have no desire to delete it. I left it there, like a stain no one can wash away. Why should I be the one to hide?

Whatever Arjun thinks when he sees it—I don’t care anymore.

If he’s unhappy, let him call the police station. Let him file a full FIR if his pride is so hurt, I thought sarcastically.

I switched off my phone. The silence in my room, broken only by the distant thudding of a pressure cooker and a passing train, felt oddly comforting.

I focused on memorising GRE vocabulary. My flashcards, all dog-eared and scribbled with my handwriting, were suddenly more comforting than any boyfriend.

Crying and sobbing has never been my style. I’d rather stuff my face with Maggi and move on. Amma always says, "Ladko ke liye mat ro, beta. Jo message ka reply nahi karte, unpe aansu waste nahi karne ka." She’s right, as always.

Too much emotional struggle only gives you a lump in your throat.

But memorising vocabulary doesn’t, and it can even pave the way for my future. New words, new worlds—much better than the same old heartbreak.