Amit's thumb hovered over the screen. The clock showed 2:15 AM. He knew that hitting Send would change everything.

It would either be the greatest relief of his life or the final nail in the coffin of his heart. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second, and typed the same words he used to say to her every single day a year ago.

Oye, topper! Kitni padhai karegi? Thoda break toh le le. I hope you haven't forgotten this Punjabi boy yet.

(How much will you study? Take a break.)

He hit send. The small Delivered tick appeared. Amit felt like his heart was trying to jump out of his ribcage. He stared at the screen, watching for any sign of life. 

'Will she block me? Will she ignore me? Is she even using this account?'

Puja was fast asleep, her phone resting on the nightstand next to a pile of work files. The soft ping of an Instagram notification didn't wake her, but the second ping, a follow request, did. She groaned, reaching out blindly for the device. The bright light of the screen blinded her for a moment.

As her eyes adjusted, she saw the name on the lock screen.

Amit_96 sent you a message.

Amit_96 sent you a follow request.

Puja froze. She didn't breathe. She didn't move. She thought she was dreaming. This was the dream she had seen a thousand times over the last year, only to wake up to a cold, empty reality. She blinked hard, expecting the notification to vanish. It stayed there.

With trembling fingers, she unlocked her phone. She opened the message.

The words were so familiar, so nostalgic, that it felt like no time had passed at all. "Oye, topper!" That was his name for her. The wall she had built around her heart for twelve months didn't just crack, it shattered into a million pieces.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks, hot and fast. She wasn't crying because she was sad, she was crying because the heavy weight she had been carrying in her chest finally felt lighter. She clutched the phone to her chest, pressing it against her heart as if she could feel his warmth through the glass.

"Amit..."

She whispered, her voice breaking in the dark room. She sat up, wiped her eyes, and looked at his profile. He looked the same, yet older. More tired. She took a deep breath, her adrenaline making her hands shake so much she could barely type.

Amit? Is it really you? I... I thought you would never talk to me again.

Across the miles, Amit saw the "Typing..." bubble. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Main kahi gaya hi nahi tha, Puja. Bas tumhara intezar kar raha tha.

(I did not go anywhere, Puja. I was just waiting for you.)

I missed you so much. You have no idea.

I have a little bit of an idea. Kyunki mera haal bhi wahi tha.

(I was in the same condition.)

They talked until the sun began to peek through the curtains. It wasn't about love, not yet. It was about everything they had missed. They talked about her internship, his business, the weather, and the food. It was as if the year of silence had never happened. The rhythm was back. The spark was back.

Over the next week, the change in Puja was impossible to ignore. The machine-like girl was gone. In her place was a girl who hummed Rabindra Sangeet while making tea, who smiled at her phone during dinner, and whose eyes sparkled with a light that had been missing for a very long time.

Her mother watched this transformation with a mix of relief and suspicion. She saw Puja laughing while texting on the balcony. She saw her daughter actually taking interest in her clothes again, picking out a bright yellow dupatta for her office.

One evening, while Puja was helping her mother chop vegetables in the kitchen, her phone buzzed on the counter. Puja glanced at it, a beautiful, genuine smile spreading across her face. She started typing a quick reply, her fingers moving with a grace that only comes from happiness.

Her mother put down the knife and wiped her hands on her saree. She decided it was time to stop guessing.

"Puja."

She said softly.

"Hmm? Yes, maa?"

Puja replied, still looking at the screen.

"Who is he?"

Puja's fingers stopped. She felt a chill run down her spine. She slowly looked up at her mother.

"What do you mean, maa?"

"Don't play with me."

Her mother smiled, but her eyes were serious.

"A mother knows. For one year, you were like a ghost. Now, suddenly, you're smiling and laughing again. Bolun to, uni ke?"

(Tell me, who is he?)

Puja felt tonguetied. Her heart started racing. This was the moment she had feared since the very beginning. How could she explain Amit to her traditional Bengali mother? 

"Maa... it's... it's just a friend."

Puja stammered.

"Friends don't make you glow like a lightbulb, Puja."

She said, walking closer and holding Puja's hands.

"Is he the reason you were so sad last year? Is he the one you were fighting for in your mind?"

Puja looked down at her feet. The truth was heavy, but the joy of having Amit back gave her a strange kind of courage. She realized she couldn't lose him again, and she couldn't keep living a lie.

"Yes, maa."

Puja whispered.

"His name is Amit."

Rekha took a deep breath.

"Amit? Where is he from?"

Puja swallowed hard.

"He is from Punjab, maa."

The silence in the kitchen was heavy. Rekha's face went through a flurry of emotions, confusion, worry, and then a strange kind of curiosity.

"Punjab? Puja, tumi ki pagol hoye gech? How did you meet someone from Punjab? You've never even left Kolkata for more than a week!"

(Have you gone mad?)

Puja took a deep breath and decided to tell the whole truth. She told her mother about the dating app, about how she joined because of Sneha, about how Amit was different from everyone else, and how they had stopped talking because she was scared of the exact conversation they were having right now.

"I tried to forget him, maa. I really did."

Puja said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I told him it was impossible. I told him our cultures were too different. But this whole year, I felt like I was dying inside. And then last week, he messaged me. He waited for me for a whole year, maa."

Rekha sat down on a kitchen stool, looking overwhelmed.

"A dating app... a Punjabi boy... this is a lot for me to take in, Puja. Your Baba... he will not understand this easily. You know how he is about our traditions."

"I know, maa. That's why I was so scared."

Puja said, kneeling beside her mother.

"But he is a good man. He is serious about me, he is hardworking, and he respects me. He never forced me to do anything. He even accepted it when I said no last year."

Rekha looked at her daughter's face, the desperation, the hope, and the absolute love shining there. She remembered her own youth, the strict rules she had followed, and the regrets she sometimes carried. She didn't want her daughter to live a half-life.

"Does he want to marry you?"

Rekha asked directly. Puja blushed.

"He hasn't said it again yet. We are just... connecting again. But I know, maa. I know in my heart that he is the one."

Rekha sighed, stroking Puja's hair.

"Punjab is very far, Puja. Their food, their language, their way of living... it's all different. It won't be easy."

"I know, Ma. But I'm willing to learn. I'll learn to make parathas if he learns to love shukto."

Puja joked weakly, wiping a tear. Rekha smiled despite her worry.

"You always were stubborn. Listen to me... don't tell your Baba yet. Let me observe you for some more time. Let me see if this happiness is permanent."

"Maa, does that mean...?"

"It means..."

Rekha said, her voice firm but kind,

"...that if this boy is truly as good as you say, and if he makes you this happy, I will stand by you. I will talk to your father when the time is right. I will convince him. But you must be sure, Puja. This isn't a storybook. This is life."

Puja hugged her mother tightly, sobbing with relief.

"Thank you, maa. Aapni sottiyi khub valo."

(You are truly very good.)

"Chup kor! Now finish the vegetables."

(Shut up!)

Rekha said, though her own eyes were moist.

"And tell this Amit... tell him he better be worth all this trouble I'm going to get into with your Baba."

Puja laughed, her heart overflowing. She picked up her phone and sent a quick message to Amit.

I just told my mother about you.

In Punjab, Amit saw the message and felt a chill of excitement and fear.

Sachi? What did she say? Should I start packing my bags for Kolkata or should I hide?

She said you better be worth it. And Amit... I think you are.

I'll spend the rest of my life proving her right, Puja. I promise.