The moment I read Prayag's message —
"Bro, if you can, ask her classmates directly."
—I froze, holding my mobile in my hand.
Ask her classmates?
The words felt heavy.
They weren't just a suggestion — they were a challenge.
I stared at the screen for a long time, my finger hovering above the keyboard, but I didn't type anything back. My heart wasn't ready.
How can I just message girls?
What would they think?
Why would they talk to me without even knowing me?
Before I could reply, my mother's voice came from the kitchen.
"Niks, come help me for a while."
I locked the screen and placed the phone beside my pillow.
Duty always came before thoughts.
I stepped out of the room and returned to my daily routine — sweeping the small courtyard, arranging buckets near the pump, helping my mother with cutting vegetables, listening to my brother argue with my sister over whose turn it was to wash dishes.
Normal life continued.
But my mind didn't.
Who were her classmates?
Who was close to her?
Would anyone even tell me anything?
I kept pushing these thoughts aside, telling myself to concentrate on work.
Enough chasing shadows. You have studies to complete.
Days had already slipped away just like dust through fingers — and I hadn't learned much at all.
That realization finally shook me awake.
That afternoon, I sat down with my books seriously for the first time in days.
No distractions.
No mobile near me.
Just pages, pen, and silence.
Yet even between sentences, between questions, between solved examples, my mind drifted.
Did she learn all?
Is she studying right now too?
Is she sitting with her books somewhere, thinking just like me?
Or is she struggling with something far deeper than syllabus?
I forced my eyes to focus harder on the text.
"No excuses, Niks," I whispered to myself.
And slowly — line by line — I returned to learning.
In the evening, the thought returned stronger than before.
I called Prayag again.
The phone rang twice, then he answered.
"Bro," I said softly, "any update?"
There was hesitation in his voice.
"Not much. Only 1–2 girls were really close to her in class, that's all."
"Names?" I asked quietly.
He named two girls.
And instantly my chest became tight.
Because…
I knew them already.
They studied in the same coaching center as me.
But I had never spoken to them even once.
My whole life, talking to boys was natural.
Talking to girls?
It felt like crossing a boundary I had never dared to step near.
"I can't ask them," I replied slowly.
"Why?" Prayag asked.
"No reason," I said, hiding truth beneath the word.
The real reason lived deep inside —
I didn't know how to talk to girls at all.
I changed the subject.
Then Prayag mentioned someone else.
"There's one guy she used to call 'brother'. Real close."
I perked up instantly.
"What's his name?"
He told me — and when he did, my heart skipped.
That name belonged to my own friend.
A boy I had known for years.
A boy I talked to freely.
"Give me his number," I said without thinking.
He sent it.
We disconnected.
Now I stared at that contact name on my phone.
I should call him.
But I didn't.
Calling felt too direct.
Asking questions felt dangerous.
I decided to message instead.
Simple.
Safe.
I typed:
"Bro, do you know Nikita Rajawat?"
After a minute —
"Yes bro… but why are you asking about her?"
My fingers froze above the chat box.
Why am I asking?
Because she sat beside me?
Because she exchanged answers?
Because I think about her daily?
Because something feels connected?
I wrote simply:
"She sat next to me in an exam."
Then I stopped messaging entirely.
I didn't ask further.
It didn't feel right to involve people more deeply.
It felt like opening her personal life without permission.
And for some strange reason —
I didn't want to do that.
The day ended without answers.
Night wrapped around my room.
Everyone slept.
But I didn't.
My phone lay beside me like a forbidden door.
I picked it up again.
And a thought slipped quietly into my mind —
Maybe… I should try social media.
I had never used Instagram properly.
I never felt the need for it.
But today, the need didn't come from curiosity…
It came from her.
For someone I barely knew —
I was changing habits I had never questioned before.
I downloaded the app.
Signed up.
Chose a username.
Uploaded my photo.
Set up the most basic profile ever.
It felt strange.
Like I was stepping into a completely new world —
not for entertainment, not for show —
but for someone whose presence had quietly moved into my heart.
I searched her name.
"Nikita Rajawat"
Hundreds of accounts appeared.
None looked real.
No familiar face.
No trace.
I checked friends of people from coaching.
Still nothing.
Then I remembered a name.
Misha.
One of the girls Prayag mentioned earlier.
She was in our coaching.
She knew Nikita.
She might know her ID.
But fear wrapped my chest.
Misha talks a lot.
One wrong step and gossip could spread like wildfire.
But my need for answers overpowered caution.
I sent a follow request to her profile.
Time passed painfully slow.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Thirty.
I refreshed.
Nothing.
Then suddenly —
A notification appeared.
> "Who are you?"
My heart nearly jumped out.
I replied quickly:
"I'm Niks… we study in the same coaching."
She read the message fast.
"Ohh yes, I remember. Preparing for this exam too, right?"
My nervousness eased slightly.
We chatted casually — studies, subjects, coaching timing, teachers.
Normal things.
Comfortable things.
But…
She did not accept my request.
She remained chatting, yet still outside my friend list.
Finally, gathering courage, I typed:
"Now we know each other… can you accept my request?"
Her reply came quickly —
"Sure, why not "
Request accepted.
The moment it happened —
I jumped directly to her friend list.
Scrolled.
Scrolled faster.
Then —
Her name appeared.
"Nikita Rajawat."
My heartbeat went wild.
I clicked the profile immediately.
But excitement froze when the page loaded.
No profile picture.
Just a blank icon.
Account private.
Zero posts.
Many followers.
Many followings.
Is this real?
I stared at her username.
Looking for hints.
Nothing familiar.
Everything uncertain.
But it was the only Nikita Rajawat in that entire list.
Only one chance.
Only one door.
My finger paused.
The fear returned.
What if she sees the request?
What if she finds it strange?
What if she rejects?
Then I remembered her words —
"You cannot find my ID."
Those words echoed now like a challenge.
My chest grew tight.
I closed my eyes for a second.
Took a breath.
And whispered —
"Just send it."
I tapped Follow Request.
Request sent.
Now…
All I could do…
was wait.
---
That night sleep didn't come quickly.
Thoughts attacked again and again.
What if it isn't her?
What if it's fake?
What if she rejects directly?
What if she blocks?
Not knowing frightened me the most.
Around 12:30 AM, sleep finally conquered thought.
---
Morning came.
Same daily routine.
Same prayer bell.
Same breakfast.
Same chores.
But something inside was restless.
Waiting is harder than searching.
Throughout the day, my eyes kept returning to the mobile screen.
No notification.
No response.
Silence stretched painfully.
In the afternoon, I went to help at my father's dairy business in the nearby village.
Poured milk.
Handled accounts.
Talked with customers.
Laughed with my father and uncle.
Smiled outwardly.
But internally —
I was still waiting.
---
At home later, I checked the app again.
No change.
No acceptance.
Just waiting.
In the evening Shivis called, as usual.
We talked about syllabus, strategies, revision.
At the end I asked quietly,
"Bro… you find anything?"
"No," he replied.
We ended the call in shared disappointment.
---
Night once again found me lying awake on my bed.
Staring at the blank ceiling.
My phone beside me like a silent companion.
Why does finding someone matter so much?
Why am I unable to let go?
What is this feeling?
And more importantly —
What if she accept the request?
So many future possibilities hung behind that question.
I opened Instagram again — slowly.
Went to notifications.
My eyes scanned.
And then…
I saw it.
---
"Follow Request Accepted."
---
My heart dropped.
Not because of joy.
Not because of shock.
But because of what followed.
When I tapped the notification —
The profile was still empty.
No posts.
No stories.
No signs.
No photo.
Just a private, silent account that now showed —
Following Back.
---
Was it really her?
Or was I standing at the wrong door, believing it belonged to someone else?
There was no proof yet.
Only unanswered hope.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Should I message first?
Should I wait?
What if I scare her away?
I closed my chat screen without writing anything.
Sometimes silence felt safer than words.
But inside —
One truth was clear:
This story had crossed the line from searching to discovering.
And now —
Something bigger was about to begin.
---
"I had finally found an account with her name… but the real question burned inside me — had I truly found her, or was the hardest truth still waiting to reveal itself?"