[ THE 1ST MESSAGE ]
The road to home was short, but Honey stretched it out—his steps dragging, his eyes flicking down to the phone every few seconds. Priyanshi's name sat there in the list now, so normal, so casual… yet it felt anything but casual to him.
Should I text now? No, too early. She'll think I'm desperate.
Maybe later at night. But then she might think I'm weird, like I was waiting all day just to message.
Or what if she never texts me first? Then I'll just keep waiting like an idiot.
No, no, better to just send something small. Normal. Nothing big.
By the time he pushed open the door to his house, his brain was already running laps. His mother called faintly from the kitchen, asking about his day, and Honey mumbled a reply before heading straight into his room.
He tossed his bag on the bed and sat down with the phone in his hand, staring at the empty chat box. The little blinking cursor mocked him, daring him to type.
What should I even say? "Hi"? Too plain. "Hey"? Too casual. "Hello"? Ugh, too formal. Maybe… "This is Honey." No, she knows it's me. Stupid.
He leaned back against the wall, running his hand through his hair, heart pounding faster than it had any right to. The screen dimmed, and he tapped it awake again, scrolling back up to her profile picture. Still blank. Still just… her.
Finally, after ten minutes of pacing between his bed and the window, he typed:
"Hey… this is Honey."
Then stared at it. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted again.
God, why am I so dumb? She literally saw me write my ID down. She knows it's me. Stop overthinking.
He sighed, lying flat on the bed, phone hovering above his face. After another long breath, his thumbs moved almost on their own, typing out a new line.
"Hi Priyanshi… hope you reached home safe."
He froze. His heart hammered in his chest.
Too much? Too little? She'll think I care too much. Or… maybe she'll like that I care? Or maybe she'll just ignore it. What if she laughs? What if she shows her friends?
His finger hovered over the send button for what felt like eternity. Then, with a shaky breath—he pressed it.
Message sent.
Now came the worst part: waiting.
He set the phone down, then immediately picked it up again. Checked the screen. Nothing. Locked it. Unlocked it. Nothing.
Every passing second stretched into minutes in his mind. His thoughts spiraled endlessly: She saw it. She didn't see it. She's typing. No, she's not. She doesn't care. No, she's just busy. What if she regrets adding me? What if....
And then… the screen lit up.
"Priyanshi is typing…"
Honey's chest clenched. His breath caught. The overthinking didn't stop—it roared louder—but through the noise, one fragile hope flickered: She's actually replying.
Honey's chest tightened as the words popped up on his screen:
Priyanshi: I didn't reach home yet. Still in the bus. It leaves the stand around 3:40–3:45… I'll reach almost 6.
He read it once. Twice. Three times.
She replied. She actually replied. Okay… calm down. Don't make it weird.
His fingers hovered above the keyboard.
What do I even say? "Okay"? Too dry. "Ohh"? Too dumb. "That's late"? Maybe that's fine? Yeah… normal.
Honey: That's a long ride… must be tiring.
He pressed send. Immediately regretted it.
Tiring?? Bro, what are you, her uncle? She'll think you're boring.
The dots blinked again.
Priyanshi: Yeah, but I'm used to it. Every day the same.
Honey smiled faintly at the screen.
She's talking. She's actually talking. Okay, keep it simple. Casual.
Honey: At least you get time to rest in the bus, right? Or you just sit bored?
He stared at the message, chewing his lip.
Too many words? Maybe she'll think I'm forcing a conversation. Relax… relax…
After a pause, the reply came.
Priyanshi: Mostly bored. Sometimes I draw or write stuff. Depends.
His heart jumped. She draws too. She actually said it herself this time.
He typed fast, then slowed, then deleted, then typed again.
Honey: Oh, same… I also draw when I get bored. Keeps my head busy.
He read it twice. Too personal? Nah, it's fine.
For a few minutes, the messages bounced back and forth. Short lines, cautious words, nothing dramatic..just two quiet people trying to talk without revealing too much. Every time Priyanshi sent a message, Honey's overthinking storm returned: Should I reply fast? Wait a bit? Am I sounding clingy? Do I sound boring?
Finally, after five or six minutes, the chat slowed. Priyanshi sent one last message:
Priyanshi: Okay… I'll text when I reach home.
Honey typed, erased, then finally settled on:
Honey: Yeah, sure. Take care.
He locked the screen, staring at the ceiling. His chest was still tight, his mind replaying every word, every dot that appeared on the screen.
It was short. Just 10 minutes. But… she talked to me. She actually talked to me.
Outside, the street was quiet, evening shadows stretching across the walls. But inside Honey's room, the silence buzzed with a strange, unfamiliar warmth.