Chapter 3: Samosas and Second Chances

"I suspect he has someone else," I said, stroking Motu as I talked to my best friend Sneha on the phone.

My voice wobbled, betraying the insecurity I tried so hard to hide. Motu blinked at me with those big, trusting eyes, as if silently reminding me to stay strong.

She snorted, "You two are just online dating and long-distance. Stop overthinking. Break up—it’s better for all four of you."

Sneha always had that practical, Punjabi-aunty wisdom. If she were here in person, she'd have already brewed us both a cup of chai and handed me a plate of samosas to distract me.

I pretended not to get her sarcasm and kept mulling it over. "Maybe his family doesn't approve of online dating? Or maybe they're so traditional they want to set him up on a shaadi.com match? He did say he likes kids..."

The question hung in the air, mixing with the distant sound of someone bursting crackers—probably a wedding in the next lane, as usual in this season.

She sighed, "Ritika, you should dress up and go date a real guy you can actually see and touch. Stop worrying about some man who only exists in your phone."

Her voice was softer this time, a little less teasing, as if she understood that behind every joke was a real ache.

I muttered, "I've seen photos..."

She shrieked, "You mean those ab pics that look like they’re from Instagram? He doesn’t even show his face! He’s probably just a fat nerd in real life!"

Her laughter was contagious, and for a moment, I found myself grinning, despite everything. In the background, her mother’s voice rang out—"Sneha, jaldi aao, sabzi jal gayi!" The chaos of her home always made me smile.

I fell silent. She sighed again.

In that silence, I could hear the familiar creak of her family’s old swing set—memories of college evenings spent gossiping and dreaming about a future none of us could have predicted.

"It’s not just you. My brother’s also been wrapped around the finger of an older divorced woman with a kid. Every day he searches online for ways to get her child to accept him. He even tries to bribe me to help him win over our parents."

I pictured her brother, always the shy one at family functions, now Googling 'how to impress a kid' at midnight. It was so ridiculous, I almost burst out laughing.

I couldn't help but ask, "Really? Didn't you say your brother is super handsome? Are there no girls after him in real life?"

I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Can you believe it? His online lover is actually his first love, but she’s a lot older. Just like you—always anxious and insecure. I have to comfort him during the day and you at night. I’m exhausted. Aren’t you two afraid of getting catfished online?"

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, tracing the stains from the last monsoon leak. Maybe the world really had gone mad—boys pining for older women, girls falling for voices behind a screen.

My thoughts started to drift. Maybe men these days really do like mature, married women?

I looked down at myself—I'm not that young anymore either. Suddenly, I felt a bit childish.

Motu and Chotu, sensing my mood, both clambered onto my lap, making it impossible to move. Their warmth was comforting, a reminder that no matter how messy life gets, someone always needs you.

Looking at my online boyfriend's new profile picture—two kids playing together—I felt a wave of unease.

I wondered if he had finally decided to move on, to find someone else without 'baggage.' My heart twisted, but I kept quiet, not wanting Sneha to sense my turmoil.

I shook my head, cutting off Sneha’s endless complaints. "Wait, did you just say your brother is dating a mature woman?"

"Mature? More like overripe, honestly. How about I introduce him to you? Maybe you’ll both snap out of it and I’ll finally get some peace."

She huffed, and I could hear her mother scolding someone in the background. The chaos of her home always made me smile.

Sigh. All victims of online dating, and he’s my best friend’s brother. Looks like I really have to do this favour.

A strange sense of relief washed over me—maybe it's time to close one chapter and start another, this time with my feet planted firmly in real life.

"Does he have abs?"

Sneha groaned, "...Yeah."

"Can he flex them?"

She sounded like she was holding back a laugh, "...Yes."

"If he can make chai without burning the milk, I’ll marry him on the spot. See you tomorrow!"

The world outside was still buzzing, but inside, I felt a quiet hope bloom. Maybe tomorrow, things would finally change.