Aarav’s fingers hovered over his phone screen, his heart pounding as he stared at the message notification. It was from her. Again.

Sia: "Kya tum akelay ho?"

He exhaled sharply, his mind racing. They had met on Instagram a month ago—just a random follow request from an unknown profile with a single cryptic bio: "Kuch gunaah karne laayak hote hain." She had no posts, no tagged pictures, and no personal details. But her words, her messages… they consumed him.

The first few exchanges were innocent. A compliment here, a witty remark there. Then the conversations turned deeper, darker. Sia was unlike anyone he had ever met—bold, mysterious, and unafraid to push boundaries.

Aarav: "Haan. Aur tum?"

A typing bubble appeared and disappeared. His fingers tightened around the phone.

Sia: "Main sirf tumhare baare mein soch rahi hoon."

His throat went dry. He wanted to ask her more, but she always controlled the pace of their conversations, unraveling a little at a time, like a delicate thread pulling him deeper into her web. Tonight, he sensed something different in her messages. A hunger.

Sia: "Aaj raat tumhare hothon ka color badal jaayega…"
The notification pulsed like a heartbeat. Aarav’s thumb hovered, the screen’s glare carving shadows into his dim room.
"Sochti hoon—tumhari ungliyan screen ko touch karti hain, par mujhe feel hota hai. Jaise tumhare hath mere kamar ke neeche hain… aur tumhare lips mere kano ko chuu rhe hain."
His breath shallowed. The AC hummed, useless against the fever spreading down his neck.
"Tumhari saansen…" she continued, "unhe sun sakti hoon. Har ‘Yes’ aur ‘No’ ke beech… ek seductive voice. Jaise tum mere kaan ke paas moan kar rahe ho."
Aarav’s grip tightened. Her words were spidersilk—soft, sticky, inescapable.
"Aur main? Main woh hoon jo tumhare sharir ke har ek hisse ko chuna chati hoon. Tumhare belt ke buckle se lekar boxer tak… har inch ko apni baaton se nikal deti hoon."
He swallowed hard. Her metaphors turned visceral: teeth marks on mangoes, salt on licked wrists, the click of a lighter before a flame. When he typed "Bas kar…" she retaliated with a voice note—just three seconds of her moaning. It looped. His name dissolved into static at the edge, and he wondered if she’d recorded it with her lips against the mic.
"Ab batao," she pressed, "tumhari jeans kitni tight hai?"
He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.
Her final message: "Kal tak yeh jeans tumhari skin par chipak jaayegi. Yaad rakhna."

Aarav leaned back against his bed’s headboard, his breath still uneven. Sia’s words lingered in his mind, setting fire to his veins. He had never met her in real life. She refused video calls. No phone calls either. But the way she made him feel… it was intoxicating.

A part of him knew it was dangerous, this obsession with a faceless girl who existed only behind a screen. But every time he tried to step back, she pulled him in deeper, whispering things that made it impossible to resist.

Sia: "Tum kabhi sochte ho ki agar hum ek hi city mein hote toh kya hota?"

His pulse quickened.

Aarav: "Tab hum sirf sochte nahi, mehsoos bhi karte."

She sent a laughing emoji, followed by something bolder. Something that made his fingers tremble as he typed back. Their chats had evolved into something raw, something neither of them could let go of. Late nights turned into early mornings, stolen moments in the middle of work or study sessions. Every ding of his phone sent a thrill down his spine.

Rain lashed the window. 2:43 AM. The phone glowed like a wound.
Sia: "Aaj mera sharir tumhara hai. Poocho… kya karoge?"
Aarav’s jaw clenched. She’d never been this direct.
"Nahi," she corrected, "poocho mat. Batao."
He hesitated, then typed: "Pehli baar tumhare baal pakadunga. Zor se. Taki tum jhuk sako…"
Her reply was instant: "Jhuk kar kya?"
"Mere kaano mein kuch kehna."
"Kya?"
"…Ki tumne kabhi kiss kiya hai apne phone ko?"
A beat. Then: "Tumhare messages ko dekhte hue, haan."
The admission detonated between them. Aarav’s fingers moved on their own, describing things he’d never voice aloud—how her hypothetical thighs would quiver under his palms, the way she’d bite her own wrist to stay quiet. Sia weaponized his confessions, reflecting them back sharper:
"Agar main tumhare bedroom mein hoti, tumhe pata bhi nahi chalta. Pehle tumhare drawer se ek red lace dhoondti… phir usse tumhare munh mein daalti. Taaki cheekhne se pehle hi tumhare awaz ko apna bana loon."
The rain drowned his choked groan. She pushed further, demanding he narrate his actions in real time—"Ab left haath se phone pakdo. Right haath… neeche." He obeyed, each tap of his thumb syncing with her commands. When she ordered "Ab meri aankhon mein dekh kar mera naam bolo," he realized his reflection in the dark screen: pupils blown, lips parted, a marionette to her pixelated strings.
"Subah tak yeh sab bhool jaana," she warned as dawn bled through the curtains. "Par raat ko… main wapas aaungi."

The night before her disappearance.
Sia: "Aaj kuch alag karte hain. Sacchai khelte hain."
Aarav’s chest tightened. Her texts dripped danger:
"Sacchai #1: Main tumhari tasveer dekhti hoon roz. Tumhare hothon ko imagine karti hoon… kaise woh mere uss hisse ko chhooenge jo kabhi kiss nahi hua."
"Sacchai #2: Ek baar maine apna naam moan kiya. Tumhare messages padhte hue."
"Sacchai #3: Agar tum mujhe aaj bulate, main aa jaati. Hotel mein. 2 ghante. Phir hamesha ke liye gayab."
The offer hung, radioactive. Aarav’s fingers froze. She’d never suggested meeting. Never broken the spell.
"Jhoot bolo mat," she wrote. "Bas socho… meri chudiyaan tumhare bedpost se takrayengi. Tumhare kandhon par mere nakhun ke nishaan. Aur jab hum dono thak kar gir padenge… tab bhi tumhara phone vibrate karta rahega. Kyunki main tumhare saath hoon… aur main bhi."
Duality. A Sia in his arms, another in his phone. Both devouring him.
He typed "Kahan?"—the word a freefall.
Her response gutted him:
"Tumhe pata hai mera jawab."
She didn’t send her location. Sent a poem instead—a couplet about moths immolating in lamps they mistake for moons. When he woke at dawn, her account was gone. But for weeks after, his skin prickled at phantom vibrations, and his lips shaped her name in the shower’s steam, half-hoping the water would whisper back.

They lived in different states, separated by miles and reality. But in this digital world, they had created their own secret space—one where touch was replaced by words, and intimacy was woven through pixels and imagination.

But all fantasies have an expiration date.

One night, as their messages turned into another feverish exchange, Sia hesitated.

Sia: "Aarav... kabhi kabhi lagta hai, hum sirf ek sapna jee rahe hain."

He frowned at the screen, his fingers pausing mid-reply.

Aarav: "Toh kya hua? Sapne bhi toh jeene ke liye hote hain."

A long pause. Then finally, she replied.

Sia: "Par har sapna ek din toot jata hai... Kal subah main apna Instagram delete kar rahi hoon."

His heart stopped.

Aarav: "Mat karo."

Sia: "Humein rokna hota, toh shuru hi nahi karte."

He wanted to argue, to say something that would make her stay. But he knew she had already decided.

The next morning, he woke up to silence. No messages. No notifications.

He opened Instagram.

Sia has deactivated her account.

His chest tightened. A part of him had expected this, yet the emptiness felt unbearable. He wanted to text her, but there was no way to reach her now.

She was gone.

And yet, every night, he still checked his phone, hoping for a message that would never come.

The End.