The late evening draped Ansh’s small apartment in Pune with a muted glow, the faint hum of city traffic seeping through the cracked window like a distant lullaby. Sprawled on his worn-out couch, Ansh scrolled lazily through old college photos on his phone, his thumb pausing over a candid shot of Srushti. Her head was thrown back in laughter, eyes sparkling with mischief, and for a moment, he could almost hear the sound of her voice cutting through the years. A pang of longing twisted in his chest as he lingered on the image, the memory of her presence as vivid as if she were sitting beside him.
The sudden buzz of his phone jolted him upright, nearly sending the device clattering to the floor. Srushti’s name flashed across the screen, and his heart stuttered. A nervous thrill shot through him, his palms slick with sweat as he swiped to answer.
“Ansh, you lazy bum, are you still alive?” Srushti’s voice burst through the speaker, bright and teasing, filling the quiet room with a warmth he hadn’t felt in months. “I figured I’d check if you’ve turned into a complete hermit out there in Pune.”
He chuckled, though it came out shakier than he intended. “Barely surviving without your chaos, Srushti. How’s Hyderabad treating you?”
“Oh, it’s a riot. But let’s talk about you, mister. Still stuck in that boring-ass job? I bet you’re just sitting there, staring at spreadsheets, living the dream.” Her tone was sharp, playful, and every word seemed to pull him closer, wrapping around him like a velvet noose.
“It’s not *that* boring,” he protested, leaning back against the couch, his free hand drumming nervously on his thigh. “I’ve got… hobbies.”
“Hobbies?” She laughed, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine. “What, like binge-watching reruns and eating instant noodles? Come on, Ansh, you’re better than that. Or at least, you used to be.”
Their banter flowed easily, like slipping into an old, comfortable routine. But then, without warning, Srushti’s tone shifted, a giddy edge creeping in. “Oh, by the way, there’s this guy at my office. Senior dude on the networks team. Tall, stupidly hot, with this smirk that just… ugh, kills me. I think I might have a little crush.”
Ansh’s chest tightened, a cold wave of jealousy crashing over him. His grip on the phone turned his knuckles white, but he forced a laugh, the sound hollow even to his own ears. “Oh, yeah? Sounds like a real catch.”
“God, you have no idea,” she gushed, oblivious to the storm brewing on the other end of the line. “I literally drag myself to the office just to catch a glimpse of him. Yesterday, he caught me staring and winked. Winked, Ansh! I nearly died on the spot.”
Her words sliced through him, each one a fresh wound, but beneath the pain, something darker stirred. His free hand moved almost on its own, slipping beneath the waistband of his joggers. His breath hitched as his fingers found their mark, the sound of her voice—excited, teasing, alive—fueling a twisted mix of agony and desire. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t stop.
“Srushti,” he interrupted, his voice strained, barely above a whisper. “Are you… are you thinking about dating this guy?”
There was a pause, and then her laughter bubbled through the line, light and carefree. “Maybe. I mean, let’s see how things go. He’s got this vibe, you know? Like he could sweep me off my feet without even trying. Wouldn’t that be something?”
Her words were a dagger, but they pushed him over the edge. His body shuddered, a low groan catching in his throat as he bit down hard on his lip to keep it from escaping. The phone nearly slipped from his sweaty palm, but Srushti kept chattering, completely unaware of the silent chaos unfolding on his end.
“Anyway, I’ve gotta run,” she said finally, her tone still bright. “But I’ll keep you posted, okay? Don’t be a stranger, Ansh. Talk soon!”
“Yeah… soon,” he managed, his voice rough, barely coherent. The call ended with a soft click, leaving him in a haze of guilt and unrequited longing. He stared at the dark screen, his breath uneven, the weight of what he’d done settling like a stone in his gut.
The next day, the jealousy gnawed at him relentlessly. He paced his tiny apartment, replaying her words about this other guy—tall, hot, smirking—until his frustration boiled over. His hands shook as he grabbed his phone and dialed her number, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might crack his ribs.
“Ansh? What’s up?” Srushti answered on the second ring, her voice curious but warm.
He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Srushti, I need to tell you something,” he blurted, his voice raw, desperate. “I… I love you. I’ve always loved you. I can’t keep pretending I don’t.”
The line went quiet, the silence stretching on for an eternity. When she finally spoke, her tone was gentle but firm, each word a precise cut. “Ansh, I’m flattered. Really. But I don’t feel the same way. I’ve never seen you like that. You’re a great friend, but… that’s all.”
Her rejection sliced through him, sharp and final, leaving no room for hope. He muttered a weak “Okay” and a hurried goodbye, the click of the call ending echoing in the oppressive silence of his apartment. He stood there, frozen, the weight of her words swallowing him whole. He’d lost her—or maybe, he realized with a bitter ache, he’d never had her to begin with.
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