Raka started noticing a pattern.
It wasn't dramatic. There was no grand revelation. Just small consistencies, repeated enough to form something real in his mind.
Every time they met in person, Nayla opened up a little more.
Not in big, obvious ways but in the quiet language she spoke so fluently: slightly warmer smiles, slightly longer eye contact, slightly softer goodbyes that lingered in the air like unfinished sentences. She'd lean in more, laugh a little easier, even brush his arm when she didn't have to.
It was real. Tangible. It made his chest feel like sunlight was stored in it.
But then, afterward?
Cold again.
Not cruel. Not rude. Just… distant.
As soon as she stepped behind the screen, it was like a switch flipped. Her warmth dissolved into typing bubbles and delayed replies. Her messages became dry and short, stripped of the softness she showed in person.
And it messed with Raka's head.
He didn't want to be that guy, the clingy one, always checking his phone, always refreshing the chat. But sometimes, he'd reread her last message and wonder if she was pulling away.
Today, it had been nearly ten hours since he'd sent:
"Hope you got home safe."
Nothing.
His mind spiraled. Was I too much? Did she regret meeting? Should I have said less?
Then, finally, buzz.
"I did. Thanks."
That was it.
No smiley face. No, "you too." No follow-up question.
But instead of sinking into disappointment, Raka let himself breathe. Because slowly, he was learning something important.
This was just her.
She wasn't cold. She was careful. Some people loved loudly, openly, in emojis and voice notes. Nayla loved in smaller gestures. Through the effort it took to show up. Through remembering the names of his coworkers. Through just saying "yes" when everything in her wanted to hide.
So he texted back:
"Cool. I enjoyed today. Hope you did too."
And this time, her reply came faster:
"I did. A lot."
Three words.
But somehow, they filled the silence he hadn't known he was holding.
The next day, she sent a photo. No message. Just the cover of a new book.
Raka grinned at the screen.
That was her language. Her version of I want to keep talking to you.
And in that language, even silence felt like progress.Even stillness felt like hope.