The Last Message

It had been hours.

Adarsh hadn’t moved from the edge of his bed. The room was dim, the fan spinning slowly above, like time itself was mocking him — unhurried, uncaring.

His phone lay face-up beside him, the screen black, cold. Yet he stared at it like it might come to life. Like Kunal might return. Like a message might blink:

"Hey, I’m still here."

But nothing came.

He picked it up again. Unlocked. Scrolled.

Chat with Kuku.

Last seen: Yesterday 11:54 PM.

He clicked it.

There they were — their chats. The memes, the one-word replies, the teasing, the laughter. It all felt like a different lifetime. He paused at one message from Kunal:

"If ever anything happens to you, tell me first. You’re my idiot."

A smile tugged at the corner of Adarsh’s lips, shaky and broken.

"I'm still your idiot," he whispered into the stillness, voice almost a breath.

"But you’re not mine anymore…"

The smile faded as fast as it came.

The walls felt tighter. The silence louder.

Without thinking, he slipped into his slippers, grabbed his hoodie, and stepped outside.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just walked. One street. Then another. Then another. His mind was blank. No music. No thoughts. Just footsteps, dragging like his heart.

At some point, the sky changed. From orange to grey to ink. The lights blurred. The road never ended.

Five kilometers.

That’s how far he went without realizing it.

He stood near an old tea stall. The man behind it looked at him — a little concerned, a little curious.

“You okay, beta?” he asked.

Adarsh blinked. His lips parted. No words came.

He turned and started walking back.

When he reached home, the lights were on. His mother was pacing the balcony. His father at the door, arms crossed.

“Where were you!?”

“Do you even care what time it is!?”

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

He brushed past them, locked his room, and sat on the floor. Hands in his hair. Knees drawn in.