Internet Wala Love ~ Munrik Three Shot

Chapter 1 (Late-Night Confessions)

Munni sat cross-legged on her small bed in the staff quarters, staring at the cracked screen of her second-hand phone. The Shanti Niketan above was buzzing with its usual late-night chaos, but down here, it was quiet—just her and a faint WiFi signal leaking from the living room.

She hesitated for a long time, biting her lip. Should I really do this? What if he finds out? What if Tulsi maa scolds me? Finally, she took the plunge and typed out a new username: Munmun. For a profile picture, she chose a blurry shot of the moon she had clicked weeks ago. Her bio read: Just a small world, big dreams.

Taking a deep breath, she searched for Hrithik Virani. His profile appeared instantly—selfies with Angad, awkward family photos, and too many posts about cricket. Her thumb trembled as she pressed Send Friend Request.

To her shock, the request was accepted within seconds. She blinked in disbelief. So fast? Does he even check before accepting?

Almost immediately, a message appeared. Hrithik asked who she was. Munni quickly typed back that she was just a friend, someone looking for a little fun and companionship.

And just like that, it began.

At first, their exchanges were light—silly memes, teasing jokes, and playful arguments about cricket versus Bollywood songs. Hrithik laughed when she called his hairstyle “a little too filmy,” while she rolled her eyes when he insisted he could easily become a professional batsman if he “just took practice seriously.”

But as the nights stretched on, the conversations deepened. One evening, Hrithik admitted something he had never told anyone. “You know, girls in college used to ignore me,” he wrote. “They called me a duffer. Said I wasn’t cool enough.”

Munni frowned at her screen, feeling the sting in his words. She replied softly, You’re not a duffer, Hrithik. You’re funny, you’re kind, and you make people smile. Being cool isn’t about Instagram likes or stylish clothes.

There was a pause, a long silence where she wondered if she had said too much. Then his next message appeared: You really think that?

Her lips curved into a smile as she typed back, Of course. Otherwise, why would I have accepted your friend request?

Somewhere in the grand Shanti Niketan, Hrithik grinned at his phone like a teenager. That night, their conversation stretched until almost three in the morning—Hrithik opening up about his insecurities, and Munni confessing her secret love for old Bollywood songs. They laughed about everything and nothing, two insomniacs bound together by weak WiFi and unspoken loneliness.

When Hrithik finally said goodnight, he felt lighter than he had in years. And Munni? She stared at his last message for a long time before sleep pulled her under, whispering to herself, “Just hope he never learns the truth.”

The days slipped into a rhythm neither of them had planned. Every evening, once the chaos of the Shanti Niketan settled and the lights upstairs dimmed, Munni would retreat into her little room, curl up with her phone, and wait for the familiar ping.

Hrithik never kept her waiting.

Their chats were no longer just playful jokes. They were longer, slower, filled with things Hrithik never said out loud in the real world. He told her how invisible he sometimes felt in his own house, how everyone expected him to be cheerful but no one noticed when he wasn’t. He admitted he hated being compared to Angad, who seemed to succeed effortlessly in everything.

One night, Hrithik typed, “Sometimes I wonder if anyone would miss me if I just… disappeared. People say I’m funny, but maybe I’m just the family clown.”

Munni’s chest tightened as she read his words. She wanted to run upstairs, to tell him face-to-face that he mattered more than he thought—but of course, she couldn’t. Instead, she poured her feelings into her reply. “Don’t say that. You make people laugh because you carry light in you. You may think they don’t see it, but I do. And honestly, it makes me feel less lonely too.”

Hrithik stared at the screen for a long time before sending back a single line: “You always know what to say.”

For Munni, the words were both a balm and a sting. She loved the way he trusted her, the way his laughter reached her even through text. But every time his guard dropped, every time he typed something vulnerable, her guilt gnawed a little deeper. He thought she was someone else—someone who belonged in his world, not just in its shadows.

And yet… she couldn’t stop.

If anything, their bond only grew. They teased each other about their worst habits—Hrithik confessed he talked to himself in the mirror before family events; Munni admitted she sometimes burned food just to avoid being asked to cook again. He began sending her voice notes, his deep, slightly awkward laugh echoing through her tiny room at night.

One evening, Hrithik wrote, “I don’t know why, but I feel like I can tell you things I can’t even tell my brothers and sisters. It’s like you’re… different.”

Munni’s fingers hovered over the keypad. She wanted to type, Because I see you for who you really are, but the words felt too dangerous. Instead, she settled for, “Maybe it’s because we’re strangers. Strangers are easier to be honest with.”

But Hrithik wasn’t convinced. “You don’t feel like a stranger anymore,” he replied. “You feel like… mine.”

The message made her heart thud wildly. She pressed the phone to her chest, eyes shut tight, torn between guilt and excitement. She had created Munmun as a mask, but every night the mask blurred a little more, until it felt like Hrithik was talking not to an invented profile, but to her.

Still, a question haunted her: How long before he finds out? And when he does, will he forgive me—or will he hate me for fooling him?

That night, Hrithik sent one last message before bed: “Goodnight, Munmun. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Munni stared at the glowing screen until her eyes burned. She whispered into the darkness, as if he could hear her, “Goodnight, Hrithik. Please don’t ever find out who I am.”

By now, Munni’s days revolved around a secret rhythm. She smiled when she carried tea to the Virani brothers, knowing that hours later she’d be laughing with Hrithik on her phone. She hummed while folding laundry, remembering the silly voice notes he had sent her the night before.

But with every message, Hrithik was growing closer. Too close.

One evening, their chat started the usual way—memes, teasing about Hrithik’s cricket obsession, and Munni’s dramatic rants about old Bollywood heroes. But then, out of nowhere, Hrithik typed, “You know what I realized? I don’t even know your real name.”

Munni froze, her fingers trembling above the keypad. She tried to brush it off: “Names don’t matter. Feelings do.”

But Hrithik wasn’t laughing. “It matters to me. I share everything with you, Munmun. My insecurities, my fears… and I don’t even know who you are. Don’t I deserve to?”

Her throat went dry. The truth hung on her lips, but so did the fear of losing everything. If he knew she was just Munni—the maid who polished his shoes and served his dinner—would he still smile at her texts the same way?

She tried to change the subject, but Hrithik pushed harder. “Meet me once. Just once. I promise I won’t ask questions. I just… I want to see you.”

Munni’s chest tightened. Her heart leapt at the thought of being seen by him—not as a shadow in the background of the Virani mansion, but as someone who mattered. Yet the risk was too high.

She typed, “Not now. Maybe someday.”

Hrithik’s reply came slower this time. “Someday… I’ll hold you to that.”

That night, Munni couldn’t sleep. She lay staring at the ceiling, guilt twisting in her chest. She had started this as harmless fun—a profile, a little escape from her ordinary life. But now Hrithik’s words echoed in her mind: You feel like mine.

For him, it was real. For her, it was real too. But it was also a lie.

She pressed her palms to her face and whispered, “What will you do, Hrithik, when you learn Munmun is just Munni?”

And upstairs, in his room, Hrithik scrolled through their old chats with a goofy smile, already imagining what it would be like to meet the girl who made his nights brighter.

For him, it wasn’t just Internet wala love anymore.
It was love, plain and simple.

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To be continued.

Chapter 2 (The First Meeting)

Munni stared at the cracked mirror in her small room, her heart thudding wildly. For days she had wrestled with her conscience—whether to reveal her truth or let Hrithik remain charmed by “Munmun.” But today, his words echoed in her ears: “I feel like I’ve known you forever. I wish we could meet.”

That single line tipped her decision. She couldn’t resist anymore.

With trembling fingers, Munni slipped into one of Pari’s short gowns, shimmering and stylish, nothing like the simple clothes she usually wore. The fabric hugged her frame, transforming her into someone she had only seen in magazines—a model, a diva. She carefully curled her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders, and added bold lipstick that made her lips gleam.

When she looked in the mirror, she almost gasped.
“I’m Munmun now,” she whispered, as if convincing herself.

At the café, Hrithik sat by the window, fiddling with his phone. Every few seconds, he glanced at the door, nerves gnawing at him. He had played this moment a hundred times in his head.

Just then, his elbow nudged the table, knocking over the little vase beside him. The crash startled him—and as he bent to pick up the pieces, his glasses slipped from his face and clattered to the floor. A crack split across one lens.

When he put them back on, the world turned blurry, softened at the edges. He cursed under his breath, trying to adjust them, but it was no use. Everything was hazy now.

And then she walked in.

Munni’s heels clicked softly against the tiled floor as she stepped inside, her gown shimmering under the café lights. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to turn and run, but her eyes found him—Hrithik, waiting with a crooked smile, his face slightly tilted as if searching for focus.

His blurred vision didn’t matter. The silhouette before him, glowing like something out of a dream, was enough.

He stood up instantly, voice a little shaky. “Munmun?”
Munni nodded, her throat dry. “Yes.”

As they sat, Hrithik leaned forward, squinting slightly but grinning all the same. “You’re… even prettier than I imagined,” he said softly.

Munni blushed, guilt gnawing at her heart. If only you knew who I really am.

But the blur worked in her favor. Hrithik’s eyes couldn’t catch the small tells—the nervous fidget of her hands, the way her earrings didn’t quite match, or the hint of her simple accent slipping between her polished words. To him, she was a soft outline with a warm laugh, a gentle voice, and the aura of someone who belonged to his dreams.

For once, Munni wasn’t the maid, wasn’t the imposter—she was just a girl, sitting across from a boy she loved, tasting what life could be if dreams ever dared to come true.

“Funny,” Hrithik said with a casual chuckle, leaning closer, “you remind me of someone. But I can’t quite place it.”

Munni’s heart hammered. She wanted to laugh and cry at once. How could he not recognize her voice, her mannerisms? Yet, she realized—it was the very thing she had once feared: his careless clumsiness had accidentally become her shield.

So she smiled—an unfamiliar, bolder smile. “Maybe I just have one of those faces.”

Hrithik tilted his head, studying her hazy outline with narrowed eyes. “Maybe. Or maybe the universe just keeps bringing me back to the same kind of people.”

That sentence burned into her heart. The pull between them was undeniable, but the charade forced her to stay still. Each meeting that followed only deepened the paradox—Hrithik falling for the mystery girl, unaware she was the same Munni who moved quietly around his home, setting his table and clearing his mess.

And yet, every time his fingers brushed hers when handing over a coffee cup, or when he leaned closer to hear her better in the noisy streets, she felt her resolve thinning.

How long could she play this game before the truth—and his broken specs—brought everything crashing down?

The moon hung low, scattering silver streaks across the sleepy lanes as the café lights faded behind them. After an evening of laughter and half-truths, Hrithik stretched his arms and glanced at her with a boyish smile.

“Shall we go for a walk? The night feels… good.”

Munni hesitated for a heartbeat, then nodded, clutching the shimmer of her borrowed gown as though it were armor. “Okay. But only a short one. Don’t blame me if you get tired halfway.”

Hrithik chuckled. “Me? Get tired? You don’t know me yet, Munmun. I can walk for miles.”

Her heart twisted at the name, but she smiled anyway, falling into step beside him. Their strides matched naturally, soft laughter spilling between them as they passed shuttered shops and flickering street lamps. For Munni, it was unreal—walking beside him as someone he admired, not as the maid he barely noticed at home. For Hrithik, with his cracked glasses tucked into his pocket, it was simple and effortless—he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so unguarded.

But the peace shattered in an instant.

Three men staggered from a dark alley, reeking of alcohol. Their eyes latched onto Munni, their smirks vile. One whistled. “Arrey, look at this one. Glamorous, eh? Come with us, darling—why waste your time with him?”

Munni froze, her blood running cold. Hrithik immediately stepped in front of her, shoulders squared, his voice sharp with warning. “Back off.”

The men sneered. “Or what? You’ll fight us?” One shoved him hard.

Hrithik didn’t hesitate. He lunged, fists flying, his body fueled by instinct more than strength. He fought with a ferocity Munni had never seen, shielding her from their filthy hands. Every punch landed with purpose, but there were three of them, circling, snarling.

Still, Hrithik didn’t give in. Not once.

Finally, he sent two sprawling to the ground. The third stumbled, then swung a heavy rod, striking Hrithik across the back. He staggered but managed one last blow, sending the man crashing into the gutter. The goons fled, cursing under their breath.

But Hrithik’s body gave way. He collapsed on the pavement.

“Hrithik!” Munni cried, dropping to her knees beside him. She shook him frantically, her fingers trembling as they brushed the hair from his forehead. “Wake up! Please, wake up!”

Tears blurred her vision. He was breathing—but weak, too weak. Her hands cupped his cheeks, her voice breaking. “Don’t leave me like this…”

And then—before fear could stop her—she bent down and pressed her lips to his. It wasn’t gentle. It was raw, desperate, an unspoken plea for him to stay.

Her first kiss. Their first kiss.

Hrithik stirred faintly, a groan slipping from his lips as his lashes fluttered. Munni jerked back, flushed, tears clinging to her cheeks. For a second, she didn’t know whether to feel relief… or terror.

“Mun…mun?” Hrithik whispered weakly, his blurred gaze struggling to focus on her face.

Munni quickly brushed her tears away, forcing a trembling smile. “I’m here… you’re okay.”

But inside, her heart thundered with a truth she couldn’t confess. Because in that moment—between broken specs, stolen identities, and a kiss born of desperation—everything had changed forever.

Munni’s lips still tingled when he lifted a shaky hand and cupped her cheek, pulling her back into a kiss—this one not weak or broken, but filled with gratitude, passion, and something deeper he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until now.

The kiss deepened naturally, breaths mingling, fears dissolving. Munni clung to him as if he were her only anchor, and Hrithik kissed her like he was afraid to lose her again. The world around them—the dim street, the fallen goons groaning in the distance—ceased to matter.

Breaking the kiss only to breathe, Hrithik gathered her gently into his arms. “You’re safe now,” he whispered, though his voice was ragged. Munni buried her face against his chest, her tears soaking his shirt.

He carried her carefully to his car, every movement tender, as though she were fragile and precious. Once inside, with the faint glow of the streetlamps filtering through the windows, their eyes met again. Neither needed words—the silence was heavy with the unsaid emotions of the past days.

Hrithik leaned in, capturing her lips once more. This time, the kiss was slow, reverent, as if he were memorizing her. Munni responded with equal vulnerability, letting go of fear, letting herself trust. The space between them vanished, replaced by warmth and longing.

What followed wasn’t rushed—it was a surrender. In that car, wrapped in each other’s arms, they made love tenderly, their souls weaving together in a way that made time stand still. For Hrithik, it was no longer about protecting her—it was about cherishing her. For Munni, it was about finding strength in the very man she once thought untouchable.

When it was over, she lay curled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, while his arms encircled her protectively. The night air outside was cold, but inside, their world had changed—intimacy had bridged the distance, and both of them knew nothing would ever be the same again.

Next morning

The sharp rays of the morning sun streamed through the windshield, landing on Hrithik’s face. His eyelids fluttered open, his body aching from the previous night’s fight. For a moment, he lay still, piecing together flashes of the chaos—Munni’s terrified screams, his fists colliding with the goons, the desperate rush to protect her… and then—her lips. Her warmth. Their surrender to each other in the darkness of the car.

A strange stillness filled the vehicle now. Hrithik sat up slowly, his hand instinctively reaching for her.

“Munmun?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Silence answered him. His chest tightened as his eyes darted around the car—empty. Only her shimmering gown lay draped across the seat, a faint trace of her perfume—sweet and heady—still clinging to the fabric. The wig she had worn rested neatly beside it, strands of artificial curls catching the sunlight like a cruel reminder.

And then he saw it—
A small note, handwritten in her delicate script.

His fingers trembled as he picked it up.

“Hrithik, last night wasn’t a mistake… but it wasn’t the end either. Our next meeting will change everything between us. Until then, don’t look for me.”

His throat went dry. He reread the words, his mind spinning. Change everything? What did she mean? Why leave him like this?

He leaned back in the driver’s seat, running a hand through his disheveled hair. The silence of the empty car suddenly felt deafening. Her absence pressed against him harder than the bruises on his body.

Yet beneath the ache, her kiss still lingered. And the promise in her note—cryptic, heavy—ignited a fire in his chest.

Hrithik closed his eyes, clutching the note tightly.

“Munmun… whoever you really are, I’ll find you,” he whispered, his voice both a vow and a plea.

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To be continued.