Juno wasn't thrilled.
They were deep into a late-night gaming session, the kind where time slipped by unnoticed, broken only by the hum of the console and the occasional burst of cursing at the screen. But Juno had been quiet for a while now, too quiet for someone who usually trash-talked nonstop.
Then, out of nowhere, he said it:
"You're getting in deep, man."
Raka didn't look away from the screen. He knew exactly who Juno meant. There was only one person who made Juno lower his voice like that.
"She's not just a girl," Raka muttered.
Juno didn't flinch. "She's not just a text message either, but that's all you're getting lately."
Raka sighed. "I think she likes me."
"You think?" Juno snorted, one brow raised. "Bro, she replies to your feelings with 'I'm glad.' That's not affection, that's emotional starvation. That's a bowl of air for dinner."
Raka chuckled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "She's just... different."
Juno paused the game. That got Raka's attention. He turned, controller idle in his lap.
"She's not wrong for being different," Juno said, his voice calmer now. "But you've got a soft heart. And soft hearts bruise fast. I'm not trying to be a jerk I'm saying protect yourself. You've fallen headfirst into a maybe. And maybe? They break people, bro."
Raka didn't answer right away. His mind was stuck on the phrase. You've fallen into a maybe.
And he had.
He was the one who texted first. Who asked more, gave more, waited longer? The balance wasn't even, and he knew that.
But what Juno didn't see were the quiet things.
The way Nayla's expression softened when they made eye contact in person. The care in her silence. The photos she sent were quiet, captionless, always meaningful, never random. A shadow stretched across her favorite bookstore. A cup of coffee with a single cookie. A sliver of moonlight on her desk.
He understood her language.
She didn't shout affection, she whispered it.
Later that night, long after Juno had gone home and the city had quieted, Raka lay in bed, phone resting against his chest. He was half-asleep when the buzz came.
A message.
"Was I cold today?"
Raka blinked at the screen, confused at first. Then he sat up, rereading.
"No. Why?" he typed back.
A pause. He stared at the screen, waiting.
Then her reply came:
"Just wondering. I'm trying not to be. For you."
His chest tightened instantly.
He sat there in the dark, breathing slowly, the words sinking into him like warm water after a long, cold day.
Without thinking, he took a screenshot. Saved it in a private folder. A quiet keepsake. A small but powerful affirmation.
She was trying.
In her own, uncertain, quiet way… she was trying for him.
And to Raka, that effort, small to others, invisible to most, meant everything.
Because some people say "I love you" in flowers, or kisses, or grand confessions.
Nayla said it in pauses. In late-night honesty. In brave little steps.
And Raka would meet every step with patience.
No matter how long it took.