🙃 She never showed her face. But here’s what I think I know…
They say when you don’t have the full picture, you start filling in the blanks. I didn’t see her, but somehow… I noticed things. Heard things. Felt things. Here are five puzzle pieces each one just a guess, but together, they sketch someone unforgettable.
She begins with a “Cheppu.” Not hello. Just… Cheppu.
You say “Cheppu” like the conversation already started without me. And that “Okayyy” — soft, stretched, and slow — it’s not sarcasm. It’s quiet disagreement, the kind that doesn’t argue… just lets you know.
And maybe that’s what unsettles me most — that even without a face, your voice made space in places I didn’t know were empty. You didn’t just talk. You stayed.
Long skirts, t-shirt and jeans. Hair in a clutch. Bag always ready. Shoes always match.
You don’t just wear clothes — you assemble looks. One day it's jeans and tee. Next day? Long skirt flowing like a Telugu movie heroine in slow motion.
Hair? Burgundy or reddish, casually caught in a clutch like it didn’t take 20 minutes to fix. But the real deal? That bag-footwear coordination. You don’t leave the house till the combo says “approved.”
“You match your chappals with more commitment than I match my passwords.”
“Your sling bag is not just a bag — it’s your sidekick.”
Honestly, I’ve never seen you —
but the aesthetic is loud and clear.
You dress like someone who knows exactly how to cause mild heart attacks at bus stops.
And I swear, if I ever saw you in person, I’d just say:
“Fashion ante… Nakshatra style bidda.”
Mostly English. Indie. But Chuttu Maale slipped in once… and stayed with me.
I don’t know your full playlist. I just know your mood — slow, indie, thoughtful. You feel like those songs that sit in the background… until the lyrics hit a little too close.
And then one day — Chuttu Maale. Played quietly. No announcement. No reason. But it stayed in my head longer than you know.
“That song wasn’t loud — but it said something only I seemed to catch.”
“Your playlist may be private, but that one song? It gave you away.”
Maybe I don’t know every track. But I know how your silence sounds with music in it. And honestly… that’s enough.
She says “Feel my wrath” and then vanishes like exam motivation.
No yelling. No overreacting. Just one deadly line: “Feel my wrath.”
And boom gone. Offline, invisible, silent. Like an Airtel tower in the forest.
And just when I start thinking “Okay, maybe she forgot me…”,
she shows up with full swag:
“Nakshatra ante enti… Chupista bidda.”
“your anger isn’t loud it’s cinematic.”
“you doesn’t fight. you delivers dialogues and disappears like an interval break.”
And I sit there wondering… Should I apologise? Should I run? Or should I just get popcorn?
The call ends… and she’s gone like a missed train no message, no forwarding address.
Every time the call ends, it's like you press some “vanish for 3-5 business days” button. No texts. No “hi” even by mistake. Just full-on Hyderabad ghost mode
“You disconnect like it’s a formality — and poof, gone like Diwali crackers after 10 pm curfew.”
“Talking to you is like prepaid data — great while it lasts, and then suddenly no service.”
And yet… I still keep the chat open. Because deep down I know when you return, it'll be like you never left. Just a “Cheppu” out of nowhere… as if my wait was part of the plan.