Chapter 5: The One Lakh Rupee Twist and the Truth Revealed

I didn’t talk to Nani for three days straight.

It was the longest we’d gone without chatting since I left home. Each day felt heavier, like something vital was missing.

I felt a generation gap; she just didn’t get the pain of a heartbroken ladka.

Maybe she’d forgotten what it was like to be young and silly, to have your heart broken for the first time. I replayed our last chat, wondering if I’d been too harsh.

Until the end of the month, when Nani still hadn’t sent my pocket money.

That’s when I started to panic. My balance was low, and I had my eye on a new pair of sneakers on Flipkart.

I could already hear my friends: “Arrey, treat kab dega?” I bit my nails, wondering how long I could survive on Maggi and campus samosas.

Nani always said, “Parents are for zaroorat, Nani is for treats.” It was our secret.

I sent her a shark sticker, bowl in hand, begging for food.

That sticker always made her laugh, no matter what.

“No money for food?”

Her reply was instant, as if she’d been waiting for me to break the silence.

Actually, I hadn’t even spent the twenty thousand Nani gave me for the sweatshirt.

But pride wouldn’t let me admit it. I wanted her attention more than the money.

But she said that wasn’t living expenses.

Her rules, not mine.

I sent another sticker—broken bowl, sad face, extra drama.

“Plain rice, serve it up, Maharani.”

I could almost hear her laugh echoing from across the city.

Nani didn’t say anything—just transferred one lakh rupees.

My phone screen glowed with more zeroes than I’d ever seen. My hands trembled, scared and delighted.

For a second, I remembered Nani’s old scoldings about wasting money on samosas, and my throat tightened. Was this a mistake? Should I call her?

“Did our family win the lottery or something?”

I sent the message, heart pounding.

“No, you’re heartbroken, go buy yourself something tasty.”

Her words were simple, but wrapped around me like a warm hug. No lecture, just love.

“Sorry, I had a bad attitude before.”

A wave of guilt crashed over me. Maybe I’d been too selfish.

“It’s okay, beta. No need to be formal between us.”

Nani never held a grudge. Not even for a day. That’s her magic.

Sure enough, there are no overnight grudges between Nani and grandson.

The world felt brighter. I promised myself I’d call her tonight, thank her properly.

I quickly accepted the transfer and ordered barbecue, seafood, butter chicken.

We feasted like kings. The whole floor smelled of spices and grilled meat. Even the warden came in, drawn by the aroma, and left with a plate.

For a few hours, laughter and food drowned my heartache.

A week later, my roommate forwarded a post from the college confession page.

He barged in, phone in hand, eyes wide. “Rohan, dekh yeh!”

It was a candid photo of Ananya playing badminton on the field.

She looked different—hair pulled back, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Comments exploded.

She wore a black ponytail and tennis outfit, looking youthful and energetic—impossible to look away.

For a second, I forgot my bitterness. She looked… happy. Free.

A guy posted: “Want to know this beauty, does she have a boyfriend?”

I felt a little jealous, even though I knew it was silly. My fingers hovered over the comments.

Ananya replied: “I have someone I like, but haven’t gotten him yet.”

The words hit me like a Holi bucket of colour. I read them twice, just to be sure.

Her reply got over a hundred comments. Even the seniors joined in with predictions and bets.

“Even department beauty can’t get her guy. Wah!”

“As expected, girls like those who don’t chase.”

“I bet it’s because she’s always been chased, so when someone doesn’t, she gets interested.”

My heart hammered. I poked Amit.

He looked at me, eyebrows raised. “Kya hua, bhai?”

“Does Priya know who Ananya’s crush is?”

I tried to sound casual, but my voice trembled.

“She doesn’t know for sure, but she said last week Ananya transferred one lakh to that guy to comfort his broken heart.”

I stared, speechless. Was it me? No, it couldn’t be. Or could it?

What the—

Amit looked pained. “I almost feel bad for Ananya.”

He sighed. Even he seemed stumped.

Even I didn’t expect someone as aloof as Ananya to be so devoted.

I scrolled back to her photo, trying to connect the dots. My heart thudded.

I looked at her photo again, then swiped to the next screen.

I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of the tangled web I was in.

A couple days later, someone with the same avatar as my Nani suddenly added me.

The notification caught me off guard. My heart skipped a beat. How many Lakshmi Devi avatars could there be in my life?

“Accha baccha, it’s Nani.”

The message was simple, but it carried the weight of all our years together. Still, a flicker of doubt crept in.

I thought it was a mistake, maybe a scammer.

After all, we get warnings all the time—“Don’t trust messages with familiar pictures!” I hesitated, thumb hovering over block.

Until Nani called me.

Her voice crackled, warm and lively as ever. “Accha baccha, Nani had sent her phone for repairs last month, just got it back. Did you miss Nani?”

My throat tightened with relief. That was her, for sure. No scammer could copy that love.

My fingers froze. I opened WhatsApp.

I scrolled through my chats, desperate to understand.

Crap—two identical avatars, both Lakshmi Devi with a gold pot.

I checked the names, numbers—nothing made sense.

Nani would sometimes set “Blessed Grandson” or “Rohan’s Nani” as her nickname, but never changed that avatar.

She believes Maa Lakshmi’s blessings protect our family. Even during Diwali, she puts that image on every group.

I never imagined that could be my undoing.

So the one with the same avatar who chatted with me, even sent me money—

My pulse raced. I reviewed every message, every transfer, every sticker. My world spun.

Who was it?

The only person I’d added and deleted in the last month was Ananya.

It hit me like a slap. I closed my eyes, replaying every conversation.

I deleted her so fast, I never noticed her avatar.

In my rush to save my pride, I missed the detail that mattered.

A suspicion crept in, but I couldn’t be sure.

The idea sounded filmi, but my gut said otherwise.

I had Amit bring Priya to confirm.

The three of us sat in a circle, phones out, comparing nicknames, chat histories, and transfer records. Priya scrolled, eyes wide.

Nickname, avatar, transfers—all matched.

It was undeniable. The truth stared back at us.

Arrey yaar.

Amit whistled, shaking his head. “Kya twist hai, bhai.” Priya gaped, hand over her mouth.

No way. I must be dreaming.

I pinched myself. It hurt. This was real.

I carefully typed: “Are you Ananya?”

My fingers shook. I could barely see the screen.

She replied instantly: “Yes, accha baccha.”

For a long moment, none of us spoke. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant sound of a pressure cooker whistling in someone’s kitchen. My world had turned upside down.

Sitting there were not just me, but also Amit and Priya—three stunned souls, witnesses to a love story more dramatic than any TV serial. Maybe, in a world of forwarded stickers and lost contacts, love really does find its way—even if it comes disguised as your Nani.