The Boy I Never Got, But Never Let Go By Sam DISCLAIMER THIS IS WORK OF FICTION. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or real events is purely coincidental. The story is created solely for emotional and artistic expression. It is not intended to hurt, target, or offend any individual or community. Readers are kindly requested to receive it with an open heart and view it as a creative piece. Thank you for understanding. — Sam Acknowledgements The names Priyanka and Mahi in this story were gently inspired by a real chapter from M.S. Dhoni’s life — the memory of a love that once was, brief yet unforgettable. But beyond the names, this story belongs to someone else — to characters born from imagination, not reality. They are not meant to represent the real Priyanka or Dhoni in any way. This is not a retelling, nor a reflection of real events. It is a fictional journey — woven from emotions, silence, and the ache of unspoken love. With deepest respect to the true story that once touched millions, this novel is a tribute not to people, but to feelings — to the kind of love that stays long after it's gone. — Sam DEDICATION To the boy who once asked me, “Why can’t you write a book?” You encouraged me when no one else did. You read my words when I barely believed in them. You were the first to see the writer in me — But you never stayed to read the story you inspired. And now... All I ever write is about you. To every girl who loved loudly in silence, Who wrote poetry in her pain, And still called it growth. This book is not just about a boy. It’s about everything he left behind in her. CONTENTS 1. The First Glance 2. The Fake Hello 3. The Bench And "Ji" 4. The Drawings And Diagram 5. The First Goodbye 6. The October Text 7. The Girl Who Waited 8. MS Dhoni , Snapchats And Silences 9. The Unsent Letter 10. The One-Sided Wait 11. Closure Without Answers 12. The Girl Who Writes About Him 13. Moving On Without Moving Away 14. The Boy I Never Got , But Never Let Go CHAPTER – 1 THE FIRST GLANCE 2020 was supposed to be about fresh notebooks, college fests, and sleepy lectures. But for Priyanka, it began with a transfer letter — and a quiet breakdown she never told anyone about. She had left the comfort of her old college, a city campus with glass doors, AC classrooms, and familiar faces, for a town she barely recognized anymore. The classrooms here were older. No AC. Just humming ceiling fans and wooden benches worn out from years of names carved into them. She was the new girl. Not just new to the class — new to the entire rhythm of this place. No friends. No backup. No second chances if she messed up the first hello. She sat in the second row on her first day, head down, pretending to scroll through her phone so no one would talk to her. She wasn’t shy. She was just exhausted from pretending she wasn’t nervous. Behind her — last second row, to be exact — sat a boy. Mahi. She didn’t notice him at first. Or maybe she did and pretended not to. He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t the kind of boy who made you look twice. But there was something about him... still. Steady. Quietly confident. And sometimes, just sometimes... she caught him looking. But she brushed it off. He’s probably looking at someone behind me. Or the board. Or the fan. Or... anything else. It wasn’t until one day — a particularly warm morning when the fan in her usual spot wasn’t working — she sat on the last bench. That was when everything changed. She didn’t notice him that day either. But the girls beside her did. They giggled quietly and whispered, “He’s looking at you again.” Priyanka blinked, surprised. Again? That was the first time she actually saw him — really saw him. He wasn’t just a background blur anymore. He had kind eyes. The type that didn’t search for attention, but held it anyway. And that moment? That very moment? Something inside her shifted. Not love. Not yet. But something that made her start noticing him more. The way he came into class just a few minutes late. The way he never laughed loudly but smiled with his eyes. The way he never spoke directly to her — but somehow always looked like he was about to. Priyanka began sitting in that second row with a different kind of nervousness now. One day, during a long physics lecture, she sat on the edge of a bench and mindlessly scribbled something at the corner of the seat. "Sam C" Short for Sam Curran, her cricket crush. She didn’t finish it. The bell rang. She left it half done. The next day, when she returned to that spot, the scribble was complete. “Sam Curran” — neatly finished in the same ink. She blinked. No one else knew what it meant. But a few days later, when she casually said “thank you” during a class drawing help, he replied, “What should I say back to that?” That’s when it hit her. It was him. He finished the scribble. He knew. He had been watching. Not in a creepy way. Not in a stalkerish way. In a he-sees-me-even-when-I’m-trying-to-hide kind of way. She didn’t know how to say anything back. She just smiled quietly and looked away. Mahi... the boy from the second-last row... wasn’t just a stranger anymore. He was becoming a part of her story. Even if he didn’t know it yet. CHAPTER – 2 THE FAKE HELLO She wanted to talk to him. So badly. But she couldn’t. He was quiet. Reserved. An introvert, maybe. But his silence wasn’t cold — it was gentle. Soft. Still, she was terrified. What if he ignored her? What if she misread everything — the glances, the little smiles, the completed scribble on the bench? What if he didn’t even know who she was? So she didn’t use her own account. She and her friends created a fake one. A harmless little thing. A silent “hi” from a stranger. Just to see. Just to know. And... he replied. He was curious. Sweet. One of the first questions he asked was about... sandals. “Do girls wear unisex sandals?” Priyanka smiled at the screen. She had worn those the other day. He noticed. And then, something else. He asked about hairstyles. Said girls change when they change their hairstyle. She had changed hers that day — just once, for fun. She never wore her hair down again after that. From that day on, it was always a ponytail. Because he thought she looked different. And she wanted him to notice her, even when he didn’t know it was her he was noticing. The messages were short. Funny. Strange. Innocent. She never flirted. She couldn’t. Her heart wouldn’t let her. And as the chats continued, she realized something: This boy... he wasn’t just watching her. He was curious about her. He started asking questions about a girl from class — about her. The fake account had turned into a mirror. He was unknowingly looking at her through someone else’s words. She should’ve been happy. But her heart ached. Because none of it was real. He wasn’t talking to her He was talking to someone she pretended to be. She told her friends, “Let’s stop.” But they warned her — if we suddenly stop replying, he’ll know. So she agreed to keep it going. But her heart wasn’t in it anymore. Because every time he messaged, she wished it was to her account Every time he asked about that girl — her — she wished he would just say it to her face. He didn’t. He never did. Not once. And yet... she found herself falling. Not because of the chats. Not because of the fake messages. But because of the way he cared. Because of the way he saw her — even without seeing her clearly. Because even in silence, he made her feel visible And that, to a girl like Priyanka, meant everything. CHAPTER – 3 THE BENCH AND JI It was just a normal college day. The kind where the sun poured through the dusty windows, where teachers dragged chalk across green boards, and students fought to stay awake. And Priyanka, as always, sat in the same row. That wooden bench — old, creaky, slightly ink-stained — had become hers. That day, she sat with her notebook open, eyes distant. Cricket was on her mind. Or more specifically, her cricket crush: Sam Curran. She didn’t have much time — the bell was about to ring. So, with a half-working pen and barely a few seconds left, she scribbled quietly on the edge of the bench: "Sam C" It wasn’t meant for anyone. It wasn’t even supposed to mean anything. It was just... her little mark. Her way of saying, “Hey, I was here. And I’m thinking of something other than physics for once.” The next day, she walked into class, threw her bag down, and paused. The scribble was complete. “Sam Curran” — neat, proper, clearly done by someone else. Her heart jumped. It wasn’t her friends. No one else knew. Except... one person. Later that day, during class, she casually said “Thank you” to him — for helping her with a diagram in the physics record book. And he looked at her with that small smile of his and asked: “What should I reply to that?” That’s when it clicked. It was him. Mahi. He had seen it. He had known. He had finished her sentence — without even knowing it was a sentence. And suddenly, a small scribble on a bench became the loudest unspoken moment between them. There were other moments too. She wasn’t good at drawing. Not at all. But one day, he asked her if she could help him with diagrams. So she did. She ran to her friends. Got them to sketch the outlines. She highlighted every single shape herself, careful not to ruin a line. She didn't do it because she was good at it. She did it because he had asked. That was enough. And he always... always... called her "ji." It made her blush in a way she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t just respect. It wasn’t formality. It was softness. He could have just said her name. But every time he added that tiny syllable — ji — it felt like he was placing her gently on a pedestal. Like she mattered. Like she deserved to be spoken to kindly. He wasn’t like the boys who cracked jokes or tried too hard. He was quiet And in that quiet, he made her feel safe. Even when they barely spoke. Even when the only things exchanged were physics notes and the outlines of a name on a bench. Some love stories never begin. But they leave behind chapters anyway. CHAPTER – 4 THE DRAWINGS AND THE DIAGRAM If love was measured in effort, Priyanka had already crossed the line of no return. She didn’t know how to draw. In fact, she dreaded it. But when Mahi asked her if she could help him with physics diagrams — even casually, even unknowingly — she said yes Not because she could. Because she wanted to. She ran to her closest friends that evening. “Can someone sketch this outline for me?” she asked, holding her record book like a fragile dream. “I’ll do the highlighting.” They didn’t even question why. They had seen the way she smiled when she said his name. That night, she sat under her room’s dim study light, hand slightly trembling but heart steady. Each arrow she highlighted. Each label she carefully traced. Each neat, silent effort — was hers. Not a masterpiece. But something more sacred. Because when you do something for someone who doesn’t even ask twice, it means you're already giving too much of yourself. And she had. But Mahi never knew that. He never knew she got help. Never knew how nervous she was to hand the book to him the next morning. Never knew how she walked away before he could flip through the pages, afraid that if he found a mistake, it would somehow matter more than all her effort. She never wanted credit. She only wanted to be remembered — quietly, gently — in the small, invisible ways that matter. Still, he didn’t text her. Not that day. Not any day. She had always been the first one to say hi Always the one to keep conversations alive — even when they were as brief as “Did you submit the record?” or “Class at 2?” And one day, gently, she asked him: “Why don’t you ever text me first?” He smiled and typed: “I don’t really use Instagram much. I only open it when I get a text from you.” That one sentence — so simple, so casual — made her heart do a little flip. He noticed. He waited. Maybe not for her. But for her texts. But even in that soft smile, something stung. Because what she really wanted was for him to want to talk to her without a reason. To ask her how her day was. To send a meme. A reel. A “Did you eat?” Anything. Anything that showed she wasn’t the only one trying. But he never did. Not once. And that hurt in the way only silent girls understand. The ones who stay up all night thinking they might be annoying. The ones who triple-check messages before sending. The ones who show up again and again — even after being ignored. Because when you love like that, it's never loud. But it’s all-consuming And Priyanka... was consumed. CHAPTER - 5 THE FIRST GOODBYE They never said goodbye. No arguments. No closure. No last words exchanged in a hallway or a “Take care” text sent at midnight. Just space. Just distance. Just... nothing. After intermediate, Mahi left the city. New college. New friends. New life. Priyanka stayed. In the same hometown. On the same routes. With the same memories that refused to let go. And every morning when she boarded the college bus, she sat by the window. Always the window. She would rest her head against the cool glass, eyes scanning the streets like a scene from a half-forgotten movie — hoping for something. A glimpse. A crossing of paths. A moment where the universe might whisper, “He’s still here.” But she never saw him. Not once. He was gone. Yet somehow... more present than ever. She kept checking Snap. Insta. He never messaged. Never watched her stories. But he opened every snap she sent. That was his way of talking — without words. Like a silent, breathless nod from across a crowded room. And she clung to it. But things began to change. He got quieter. She got braver. And one day in October 2024 , after months of being nothing but ghosts in each other’s inboxes, she finally texted him: “Did I do something wrong? Just tell me. I’ll stop bothering you. I swear.” He replied. Just one message. “You did nothing. Don’t blame yourself. I just didn’t feel like talking.” That. Was. It. No punctuation. No explanation. No effort. Priyanka was sitting in class when she read that message. And it hit like a wave.