Nayla was staring at the message box. Again.
The screen glowed softly in the dim room, and she hated how often this happened—how often she hovered, paralyzed. Staring without typing. Typing and deleting. Typing, sending… and instantly regretting.
It was happening more often with Raka.
That afternoon, he'd texted her something stupidly sweet:
"You crossed my mind today. A lot."
Just that.
She had read it twice. Then five more times. Her heart thudded louder with every reread, like her ribcage was shrinking around it.
She wanted to reply. Desperately. But what did you say to something so… honest?
"That's nice?""You too?""Same?"
Each response sounded like a bad echo. Hollow. A watered down version of how she actually felt.
So she typed:"I think about you, too."Deleted.
Typed again:"That means more than you know."Deleted.
Then, finally settled on the safest choice. The one that wouldn't make her feel too bare, too seen:"I'm glad."
She hit send. Immediately hated it. Too flat. Too neutral. A blanket over a burning fire.
Raka replied a few moments later:
"Just glad?"
Her breath caught. Panic bloomed. Had she disappointed him?
Then, mercifully, he added:
"Kidding. I know what you mean."
A beat passed.
"It's enough that you replied. I'll take it."
And that made her pause, hand over her heart, surprised by how deeply she felt it.
He wasn't mocking her. He wasn't asking for more than she could give. He understood her silence, even when he didn't enjoy it. And still, he stayed.
That night, just before midnight, Nayla did something new.
She messaged first:"You still awake?"
His reply came instantly:"For you? Always."
She smiled in the dark, a little braver than she had been the day before.