Love Again & Again Ch 3.2

Amisha was in a different zone altogether, lost in butterflies and daydreams. She had her first boyfriend. Her first long-distance relationship. And she was completely obsessed with Nitish.

They chatted for hours. Every day felt incomplete without him. She would secretly visit the nearby shop to recharge her SMS pack, which barely allowed 100 messages a day and still ended too soon because of their endless conversations.

Life felt like a cherry-blossom dream until one day Nitish casually mentioned that he was Christian and went to church every Sunday.

Amisha froze.

She came from a strict, conservative Hindu family. This was something her family would never accept. Naive and innocent, she panicked-not because the relationship was deep or old, but because she had already started imagining a future. A future with a boy she had dated for just a few days and had never even met. Still, she worried. How would she convince her family? What would she do?

Eventually, things went back to “normal.”

Days passed. Conversations continued. Until one evening, Amisha noticed a comment on Nitish’s post. A girl had commented, and his friends replied teasingly, calling her “Bhabhi.”

But I am the girlfriend, Amisha thought. I should be the bhabhi.

Annoyed and confused, she confronted Nitish. He brushed it off, saying it was just harmless fun and that the girl,Pooja, was only a common friend.

A few days later, Nitish posted pictures of a couple hugging romantically. Amisha felt uneasy. Why would he post such pictures? When she asked, Nitish calmly said they were of his brother and sister-in-law.

Relief washed over her.

But that relief didn’t last long.

Soon, comments started pouring in, congratulating Nitish and Pooja on their engagement.

Amisha was stunned. Her mind couldn’t process it. Why were Nitish and Pooja tagged together if the man in the picture was his brother?

She called Nitish. No answer.

She called again. And again.

Nearly 40 calls later, he finally picked up—only to say he was busy and disconnect.

That night, Amisha didn’t sleep. Her chest felt heavy, her thoughts chaotic. The same pattern continued for days silence, avoidance, and half-hearted replies.

Finally, one day, Nitish confessed.

The picture he had earlier claimed was his? That wasn’t his friend.up
The “brother” he had spoken about? That was him.

He was married.

Amisha’s knees went weak. Her world shattered in an instant. Tears flowed uncontrollably as the phone slipped from her hand. She broke down.

It was her first boyfriend.

Her first long-distance relationship.
Her first trust.
And her first heartbreak.

Nothing felt empowering in that moment. There was no sudden strength, no instant lesson. Just exhaustion. Emptiness. And a deep sense of being fooled.

She replayed every message, every late-night chat, every “I miss you,” wondering how she missed the sppigns. She blamed herself—for believing, for hoping, for trusting someone she never even met.

Days passed, but the heaviness stayed. Some nights she cried. Some nights she felt numb. And some nights she just stared at her phone, expecting a message that would never come.

What hurt the most wasn’t just that he was married. It was realizing how easily she was replaced, how disposable she felt, how fake everything suddenly seemed.

There was no dramatic closure. No apologuly that mattered. Just silence.

Slowly, without announcing it to anyone, something shifted. She stopped checking his profile. She stopped waiting. Not because she had healedûbut because she was tired.

She didn’t promise herself anything heroic. She didn’t swear off love forever. She just learned, the hard way, that honesty matters more than attention, and consistency matters more than words.

The innocence didn’t come back. But neither did the blindness.

And that was enough, for now.