The DM
The Beginning:
This story goes back to the summer of 2024, around the end of April. I was sitting at Pune airport, waiting to board my flight to Chennai. Even though it was morning, it felt as hot as an afternoon.
The airport was bustling with people. You know, when you step into an airport, you realize how big yet small our country is. I mean, you can fly from Pune to Delhi in just two hours, but if you look at the distance in kilometers, it’s freaking more than a thousand. So yeah, in that way, our country feels both big and small.
I never liked air travel, mostly because of the time it takes just to check in. It’s funny—spending an hour just to reach the airport, another hour at check-in, and then the flight itself takes less time than all of that. We literally spend more time in the airport process than in the air.
And don’t even get me started on security checks. Remove your belt, remove your soul, and step into the damn scanning machine. I get it, they’re checking for terrorists, but come on—we pay taxes, we’re citizens of this country! Nope, still gotta check you. Damn airports, I tell you.
I was sitting there, laptop open, checking emails—corporate slavery at its finest. You know how it is. You have to check emails even when you’re eating, pooping, and probably even from your grave.
Around me, people were waiting to board their flights, staring at the giant TV screen above the announcement counter, searching for their specific aircraft number and cross-checking it with the boarding pass in their hands.
Someone was trying to control their restless child, who was determined to run toward the ice cream parlor. “Come on, beta, it’s boarding time, not now!” they pleaded, but the kid just wouldn’t listen.
The constant announcements kept rolling in:
“Attention, IndiGo passengers traveling to Mumbai on flight 6E4565, boarding will begin in the next 10 minutes.”
From another counter, another announcement:
“Air India passengers traveling to New Delhi, we request those in Zone 1 to step forward for boarding. I repeat, Zone 1, please step forward for boarding.”
Somewhere else, an IndiGo employee called a name loudly over the speaker:
“This is the final boarding call for Miss Pooja, traveling to Kolkata on flight 6E657. Please come forward for boarding. I repeat, please come forward for boarding.”
Airports are always fun to watch—some guys running late, rushing like their life depends on it; others passed out in their chairs, dead asleep. Then there are the women arguing with airline staff because their oversized luggage isn’t allowed in the cabin.
“Stories, stories everywhere,” I thought to myself.
And then there’s the flight crew. Those airline employees always look so well-dressed and put together. I’ve always wondered—how do they manage to stay so neat, clean, and fresh all the fucking time?
I mean, look at any regular person. Give it an hour or two, and we already look exhausted, like we’re about to drop dead. But air hostesses and cabin crew? They must know some secret to staying fresh that the rest of us common folks don’t.
My phone chimed, and I was sure it was a Wattpad notification. I had started writing on Wattpad in 2023, but I got serious about it in 2024. By then, two of my stories were getting good attention on the platform. The first story I wrote was Owned. I wrote it from Maya’s POV, not knowing if a male writer writing from a female perspective would resonate with readers, but I went for it anyway.
The second story I wrote was Locked in Lust. There was one more—Business Trip Affair—but it wasn’t getting much traction at that time. But Owned and Locked in Lust? Those two blew up. They had thousands of readers. I was like, what the heck?! I never thought anyone would actually read them. I expected maybe a few hundred, but to my surprise, they were reaching thousands. And now, while I’m writing this, those two stories must have hit around a lakh of views.
I opened Wattpad, and just as I expected—DMs, comments, and a bunch of notifications. Someone had added my book to their library, someone had voted, and someone else had left a comment. Wattpad had become my new hobby, and honestly, it still is. I just love writing. Before this, my writing was all about technical and marketing blogs for work—I had never tried creative writing.
I boarded the flight, and throughout the journey, all I could think about was the next chapters. ‘Owned’ is totally my brainchild, so I had to think creatively about what comes next in the story, trying to get into Maya’s character. But Locked in Lust? That one was based on a real story, so I didn’t even have to think about the plot—it just flowed straight from my mind to my fingers to the laptop screen.
I landed at Chennai airport, and the heat was at its peak. I booked an Ola for the Chennai Trade Center, and after an hour or so, I finally reached the venue.
I was here for a trade show. As the marketing head, attending trade shows and representing my company was a crucial part of my job. At this event, we had to set up a large stall and attract new clients.
My role involved everything—from securing a prime spot for our stall to organizing business meetings and coordinating with the sales team for follow-ups. Being a marketing head is way more demanding than it looks. And in B2B marketing, things get even tougher.
I was completely occupied—setting up the stall, giving instructions to vendors, making sure everything was flawless. I didn’t want a single mistake because, at the end of the day, the entire responsibility of this show was on my shoulders.
After long, exhausting workdays, Wattpad became my escape. I’d grab a pint of beer, wine, or vodka—depending on my mood—and unwind by reading through the comments and likes on my stories.
I wasn’t sure if people would accept my storytelling. But despite my doubts, I decided to put my stories out there.
Every now and then, I’d get notifications—a new vote, a comment, a DM. Yeah, Wattpad had a DM feature back then. They shut it down last year.
It was the second day of the exhibition, and I was busy attending to clients, explaining our solutions, and discussing leads with my sales team. The show was going well—we had some solid inquiries.
I saw a DM from a reader named Samira454:
“This is so hot! Your writing is amazing, and it flows really well. I felt every word, like the character was actually talking to me.”
I liked that DM and decided to thank her. I sent her a reply, saying, “Your comment actually motivated me to write more. Thank you!”
A couple of minutes later, my phone chimed again. I figured it was just another Wattpad notification, so I ignored it. But then it chimed again. Curious, I pulled out my phone—it was a reply to my DM from Samira454. She had simply said, “Hi.”
I was totally occupied with the day—collecting leads, discussing the next plan of action with my sales team, and giving instructions to my teammates. In all the chaos, I completely forgot to reply to her message.
Afternoon came, and I suddenly realized I was starving. You know how sometimes, when you’re caught up in work pressure or rushing to get things done, you just forget to eat? That was me. I told my team member that I was heading to the cafeteria to grab something.
As I walked towards the cafeteria, my phone chimed again. I pulled it out—it was another DM from Samira454. This time, it was more than just a short comment about my story.
At that point, I wasn’t sure if they were male or female. On Wattpad, I had come across plenty of guys using female usernames and vice versa. I never really understood why people did that.
Anyway, I grabbed my phone, opened Wattpad, and started reading through the message.
“You are one creative author, man. The way you’ve woven Maya’s story is just incredible. The intimacy inside her head for Vikram, the way Vikram’s character is built, and their whole dynamic—OMG, it’s just too real! It feels like the story is actually happening right in front of me. Your writing flows so well. You have no idea, but I’m absolutely addicted to your work!”
I paused for a second, a little shocked. I shook my head in disbelief. I mean, I had only started writing a few months ago, and there were so many amazing writers out there with millions of readers. Why would my writing stand out? Maybe this person was just exaggerating. Or maybe it was some random guy using a female username, trying to mess with me.
I ordered my food and sat down, my thoughts still running. But what if they genuinely liked my story? I mean, sure, I wasn’t writing at some high-end novel level, but maybe it resonated with them, made them feel something, or just gave them a sense of comfort. I wasn’t sure, but I figured I could chat with this person until my food arrived.
I replied, “Thank you so much, bro! Kind words from readers like you actually motivate me and help me write better.”
A couple of minutes later, they replied.
“Oh no worries, the pleasure is all mine! I’m lucky I got to read such amazing stuff.”
“Alright, thanks!” I replied.
“And by the way, don’t call me bro. I’m not a guy!”
Maybe she didn’t know that “bro” could be used for anyone, but yeah, some people don’t like it.
“Oh, okay,” I replied.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” she asked.
“It’s hard to believe, you know. There’s no proper DP or any way to confirm. But don’t worry, even if you’re a guy, it’s not a problem.”
“But I AM a girl! 😭”
“Alright, alright, leave it, Miss Girl.”
“Hmmm...” she replied.
“You know, I love smut so much, but your writing is a mix of everything—smut, romance, love, drama—and it feels real. Not like those other smut stories where they just get straight to the action, or where authors focus only on the smut with very little emotion.”
“I strongly believe writing is an art. And art is impossible without emotions.” I said.
“Wow! Can you explain?” she asked.
“See, without pain, one can’t write a sad story, right? Without affection, one can’t write a love story. Just like without fear or the experience of fear, one can’t write a horror story.”
“So you mean writers need to have experienced it before they can write about it?”
“Yes, experience and emotions. Without emotions, a story will feel dry—just like a technical write-up or a guide.” I replied with a smile.
She sent a smiling emoji back.
“You’re so spot on, dude!” she said.
“Yeah, learned a few things from life.” I replied.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked.
“I’m a marketing head for a robotics and automation company.”
“Wow, marketing head, huh? Sounds interesting!”
“What about you?” I asked.
“I’m a student.”
“Wow, students reading smut these days!”
“Oh, come on! Don’t judge me now! Hehe.” she said.
“I don’t judge anyone, don’t worry. What’s your age?”
“I’m 19, hehe.”
She had this habit of adding “hehe” at the end of almost every message. At first, I thought she was making fun of me or something, but then I realized it was just her way of chatting—like she was constantly smiling or laughing.
Still, I wasn’t fully convinced she was really a girl.
“Why are you not convinced that I’m a girl?” she asked.
“Because I get a lot of DMs from guys pretending to be girls, and I have no idea why,” I replied.
“But I am a girl! How can I prove it to you?”
“You don’t have to. Even if you’re a guy, I’m still talking to you,” I said.
“No! I don’t want you to think I’m a boy. I am a girl, and you should talk to me like I am one! Hehe.”
“Alright then,” I replied. “Send me your pic.”
She just sent back a “Hehe. You’re so eager to see me, huh?” with a wink emoji.
“No, but how else would I know if you’re a girl?” I replied.
“What if I faked a photo and sent you something from the internet?”
“That’s possible,” I said, smiling. “Alright then, do one thing—send me a voice note.”
“Oh, you wanna hear me? But you know my voice is so ugly!” she said.
“Anyways, just leave it then. I don’t mind talking to you as a guy,” I replied.
“Hehe, you’re so rude!” she said.
“I’m not,” I replied.
“Alright, listen, I love dirty stories. The smutty ones that go above and beyond. Why don’t you add more smut and dirty scenes to your stories?”
“I like to keep them real,” I said.
“Yeah, but you know, girls like me want it even dirtier and smoother,” she teased.
“Maybe,” I said. “But that’s not my style. I can’t just write direct smut.”
“Yeah, hehe, I know. And that’s why your stories are so unique to read.”
I just replied with a smiling emoji.
Right then, the waiter came over with my lunch.
“Here’s your food, sir.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said, grabbing my plate. It was a chicken roll, and it tasted good. Or maybe I was just starving.
“You there?” she messaged again.
“TTYL, I’m eating,” I replied.
“Alright, bye!” she said.
I put my phone aside and focused on my roll. Damn, this tastes really good.
As I sat there eating, my mind drifted back to the conversation with Samira—or whatever her real name was. I started thinking... maybe she was actually a girl. If she was a guy, by now, he’d have started asking weird questions. I smirked at the thought.
After finishing my meal, I paid the bill and went back to my team, telling them to take their lunch break. Just as I sat down, my phone chimed again. I pulled it out and saw Samira’s votes and comments on my other stories as well.
The day flew by without me realizing it. Time moves fast when you’re busy—constant meetings, talking to people, discussing business. Before I knew it, the second day of the exhibition was over. One more day and this damn event will be done. I’ll fly back to Pune and finally get some rest, I told myself.
We wrapped up for the day and headed back to the hotel. The moment I got to my room, I threw my bag on the bed and sank into it, letting out a big sigh.
“Fuck this job, I’m so fucking tired,” I exhaled.
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