satya s srinivasan

Ashish returns from an annual friends’ getaway with his camera bag full of laughter-six men, one ritual: edit the pictures, share them, relive the bond. In their boys-only corner of WhatsApp-**Chesthara**-the banter is unfiltered: jokes, memes, late-night rants, and the quiet loyalty of a brotherhood that believes it knows each other completely.

Back home, Ashish does what he always does. He uploads the best shots and shares the link-first with the boys, then in the family group. The ticks turn blue. **Seen.** No reply. No warmth. Just silence that feels heavier than anger, as if something has shifted without anyone admitting it.

The next morning, a message arrives from an **unknown number**: ＂Hi... Ignoring me?＂ It’s playful, then personal-too fast, too precise. Ashish tells himself it’s harmless curiosity, but the thread keeps returning, offering attention when life feels distant, understanding when conversations at home feel tight. He begins to check his phone more often. He deletes messages. He hides a smile. He hides the shame.

Because this isn’t a random chat. It’s a lure-carefully timed, emotionally calculated-and it’s already inside his life.