At that time, I was not in love.
I want to say this honestly.
For me, it was just conversation.
Normal.
Safe.
Within limits.
Our chats started with the simplest words.
"Good morning."
"Good morning."
That's all.
No long messages.
No emotional talks.
No late-night chatting.
He would ask about my studies.
I would reply politely.
Sometimes he would message first
Sometimes I replied late.
I didn't feel butterflies.
I didn't imagine future.
I didn't think of him all the time.
I was fifteen.
My world was still school, homework, exams, and family rules.
He, on the other hand, was different.
He was older.
More mature.
And I could feel — slowly — that his interest was deeper than mine.
He remembered small things.
He noticed when I didn't reply.
He wished me every morning without fail.
Still, he never said anything directly.
No "I like you."
No "I love you."
Just consistency.
And consistency is dangerous — because it quietly enters your routine.
For me, it was comfort, not love.
But comfort slowly becomes habit.
And habit… becomes attachment.
I didn't know it then, but this was the beginning — not of love, but of emotional closeness.
And in India, emotional closeness itself is enough to create problems.
Especially when:
he is older.
he is a relative,
and you are a girl still living under your parents' roof.
I thought I was safe.
I thought I was in control.
I was wrong.
To be continued…