Some people call it flirting.
I call it my natural coping mechanism for stress. 😌
So when I told Manav I hadn't slept properly last night — because of him, because of his never-ending late-night blabber — did he even apologise?
Of course not.
Instead, this man had the audacity to reply:
> "Kahan hue hain dark circles? Ye toh normal hai."
(Where are the dark circles? You look fine to me.) 😒
Excuse me??
> "Oh really?" I texted back.
"Toh tu kya chahta hai meri aankhein South Indian movie ke villain jaisi ho jayein? You know… those big, scary dark circles?"
(So what do you want, my eyes to look like some South Indian villain's after-fight scene?)
And this poetic menace replies:
> "Main toh bahut kuch chahta hoon… but it depends ki tu kya degi."
(I want a lot of things… depends on what you'll give.) 😏
The nerve.
The confidence.
The criminal amount of charm.
So obviously, I went full dramatic mode 🎭:
> "Kuch nahi milega tujhe. Not even one thing."
(You're not getting a single thing.)
He didn't stop there.
Oh no, Bellford Boy wanted to test my patience.
> "Kyun? Mere toh dark circles bhi nahi hain. Mujhe toh kuch milna chahiye."
(Why not? I don't even have dark circles. I deserve something!)
That's when I threatened him — pure Devgarh-style:
> "I'll punch you in the eye. Ekdum gol dark circle bana ke dungi."
(I'll punch you right in the eye. Perfectly round dark circle gift incoming.) 👊🏻😤
He instantly surrendered like a true coward in love:
> "Nahi nahi… main pyar se maan jaata hoon."
(No no… I give in when love's involved.) 💀💗
We're like this.
Throwing punches with words and fixing everything with emojis.
But beneath the teasing, there's this weird kind of comfort —
Not serious, not sappy, but real.
Something that makes even my sleepless nights feel… worth it. 🌙
There's something about the way I talk — fast, unfiltered, no warning.
Straight from brain to mouth. 🧠➡️💬
No brakes. No filter. Just… Tia.
And Manav? Poor guy has stopped trying to keep up.
One night, mid-rant, I told him:
> "I know I'm too much sometimes. But I can't help it. If something pops into my head, I have to say it.
Then later, I sit there like — why the hell did I even say that?" 😭
He read it. Typing bubble appeared… disappeared… appeared again.
Then came his reply:
> "It's okay. Tu sahi hai… mje leti rehti hai. Waise bhi mujhe vo log acche nahi lagte jo baat-baat pe rote rehte hain."
(It's okay. You're fine… you keep enjoying life. Besides, I don't like people who cry over every little thing.) 😌
I blinked. I re-read.
mje leti rehti hai, how would you know meri khopdi mein kitni tension h....
Sir. What. 😳
For five full minutes, I stared at my screen like it had personally insulted my sanskaar.
Should I correct him? Flirt back? File an FIR for emotional damage? 🫠
Instead, I did the only logical thing —
burst out laughing. 😂
It was 11:38 PM. Everyone in Devgarh was probably asleep… except me.
And this one idiot in Bellford who somehow turned chaos into comfort.
He didn't know the storms I'd survived.
He didn't know how a single silly text could sometimes fix an entire bad day.
But still —
He stayed.
With his badly timed jokes, weird one-liners, and ridiculous confidence.
And maybe it's not love.
Maybe it's not even close.
But it's something —
something that feels like warmth wrapped in sarcasm, and safety disguised as mischief.
Whatever this is…
I don't want to name it.
I just want to keep it. 💌