Story Replies
After our conversation about coaching, life returned to normal. Or at least, it looked normal from the outside.
We weren't close. We weren't friends. We weren't anything.
Just two people who occasionally appeared in each other's notifications.
Our conversations were short the kind that started unexpectedly and ended without warning.
One day, I posted a story:
"Men should start wearing analog watches just so our dupattas can get stuck in them."
It was meant as a joke. One of those random posts that don't mean much to anyone except the person posting them.
A few minutes later, my phone lit up again.
"Aadi replied to your story".
"How will that happen? You people wear cute tops!"
I laughed when I read it.
Before I could reply, something happened to my Instagram account. For some reason, I couldn't respond to anyone's messages.
Normally, I would've ignored it.
But for some reason, I didn't want him to think I was purposely ignoring him.
So I posted another story, letting everyone know that I couldn't reply to messages.
Looking back, it was a little embarrassing.
Maybe unnecessary too.
But I did it anyway.
The next day, when everything started working again, I finally replied.
"Well, I've started wearing kurtas now."
A few minutes later, his response arrived.
"Really? Because blue denim and a black jacket don't count as a kurta."
I stared at the screen for a second.
Blue denim. Black jacket !!!!!
Then it hit me.
He wasn't guessing.
He had seen me that morning.
I hadn't seen him.
I would've remembered.
But somehow, while I was busy living my completely ordinary day, I had been a small detail in his.
Not important enough to mean anything.
At least, that's what I told myself........
Just noticeable enough for him to remember.
The blue denim.
The black jacket.
The fact that I clearly wasn't wearing a kurta.
It was strange.
Not in a bad way.
Just the kind of strange that lingers for a little longer than it should.
The kind that makes you reread a message twice before putting your phone down.
By then, the boy with the crooked teeth had become Aadi.
A real person.
A familiar notification.
A familiar argument.
A familiar presence.
And familiarity has a funny way of entering your life.
It never knocks.
One day it's just another conversation.
The next, you find yourself smiling at a notification before you've even opened it.
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