The message came in at 9:02 a.m.
"I've been offered a six-month position in Singapore. It's a great opportunity. I haven't said yes yet."
It was from Raka.
Nayla read it three times, blinking, heart still.
Not because she didn't want the best for him.
But because her first instinct was He'll go. And her second was And I'll stay.
She didn't respond immediately. She couldn't.
She walked to the kitchen, made coffee she didn't drink, and sat at the small table, staring at nothing in particular.
What was six months, really?
She'd spent years alone. She could survive six months.
But survival wasn't the same as presence.
Later that evening, he showed up.
No dramatics. No rehearsed speech.
Just Raka.
Standing in her doorway, a folded letter in one hand, tired eyes, hopeful smile.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
She stepped aside.
He handed her the letter. "In case I couldn't say it right."
She didn't open it. Not yet.
"Are you taking it?" she asked.
He sighed. "It's everything I thought I wanted. Good job. New city. Clear resume booster."
"But?"
"I didn't expect you."
Nayla sat on the edge of the couch. Her fingers gripped the letter, but she didn't look at it.
"I don't want to be the reason you stay," she said.
"You're not. But you're the reason I'm hesitating."
Silence stretched between them like a string pulled tight.
"I've always been the person who runs toward the next big thing," he continued. "But lately, I've realized… maybe what matters most is learning how to stay."
She met his eyes then.
Raw. Wide open.
"Do you want me to stay?" he asked.
"I want you to do what's right for you," she replied, steady but trembling.
He came closer, kneeling in front of her. "And what's right for me is us. I didn't apply for that job to leave. I applied because I thought I was supposed to keep chasing more."
She swallowed. "And now?"
"I'm learning that more doesn't always mean better."
A pause.
"You've been home in a world where I thought I needed to keep moving."
Her eyes shimmered.
"You haven't said yes yet," she whispered.
He shook his head. "I wanted to talk to you first. I don't want to chase something that costs me you."
She opened the letter finally.
Inside was a single sentence:
"You don't have to ask me to stay just let me know you want me here."
Tears spilled then, uninvited.
She reached forward and pulled him close.
"I want you here," she said into his neck.
He exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for years.
That night, they didn't talk about Singapore again.
They watched old sitcom reruns. They ordered dumplings. They fell asleep tangled together on her couch.
Sometimes, love isn't choosing the bigger dream.
Sometimes, it's choosing the person who makes your life feel full, even when everything else is quiet.