Alina wasn't clumsy, not exactly. But she had a habit of leaving trails behind half-done, half-forgotten things in the wake of her daily chaos. And somehow, those things never stayed undone for long. She never really saw her roommate doing it. She only saw the aftereffects.
It started with her phone. One night, she fell asleep on the sofa, her novel scattered around her, her phone beside her hand. The battery was at three percent when her eyes finally shut. She didn't even remember drifting off.
But when she woke up the next morning, the phone sat neatly on the coffee table, screen glowing at 100% charge. The charger was coiled perfectly beside it.
Alina frowned, picking it up. "Weird… I don't remember plugging this in."
She looked toward the closed door. No sound. No movement. Still, a thought slipped into her mind. It couldn't be him, right?
Another day, it rained on her way back from work. She tossed her soaked flats by the entrance, too tired to care. By the next morning, they weren't where she had left them. Instead, they sat neatly under the shoe rack, dry and warm, as though someone had stuffed them with newspaper overnight to soak the water out. her hand hovering over them as if touching them would somehow confirm they weren't a dream. She remembered tossing them there last night, soaked and squelching, fully expecting them to remain in a sad, soggy heap until she got around to dealing with them. Yet here they were dry, warm, and orderly.
Her mind immediately went to her roommate. He's the only other person here. She frowned. No. That's ridiculous. He probably didn't even notice. Her gaze drifted back to the shoes. Or maybe… maybe someone really does care about this stupid little house.
Alina shook her head, laughing quietly to herself. "This is insane," she whispered. "I barely know this guy… and yet he keeps fixing everything I ruin."
She sank onto the sofa, hugging her knees. The thought made her chest feel lighter and heavier at the same time. Lighter because… well, someone was quietly looking out for her. He didn't nag, didn't call her names, didn't hover. He just fixed things.
It confused her. Why did she care so much that her shoes were neatly lined? She turned, staring at the quiet hallway. Kai's shoes were lined up, spotless as ever. She smiled faintly. "You can pretend all you want, roommate… but I know it's you."
One evening, she dozed off again on the sofa with her novel open across her lap. The living room was drafty; the fan was still on. When she woke up at midnight, there was a blanket draped across her. Not hers. His.
Alina touched the soft fabric, recognizing it instantly. It smelled faintly of his clean, sharp, expensive cologne. Her throat tightened. He hadn't woken her, hadn't said a word. Just… covered her quietly, then vanished back into his room. She pulled the blanket closer around her, smiling into the dim light. Yet… it made her stomach warm in a way she didn't understand.
Sometimes, his silent help came with his signature style. Sticky notes. Like the time she left wet hair on the sofa cushion, dampening the fabric.
The next morning, a note sat on the armrest:
"If you keep sleeping with wet hair, you'll catch a cold. Use the towel properly."
Or the time she left the kitchen messy, with flour still scattered on the counter from her failed attempt at pancakes. Another note appeared:
"Next time, wipe the counter. Also—pancakes need lower heat."
Strict, bossy, almost cold on the surface. But she knew better now. Behind every sharp word was an action. Behind every scold was care. Kai was… impossible. Infuriating. Mysterious. And yet, he kept leaving pieces of himself everywhere, stitched into her days with invisible thread.
She never confronted him. Not yet. Maybe because she liked pretending she didn't know. Maybe because admitting it would change everything. But every time she saw her shoes neatly lined, or her phone charged, or her dinner mysteriously saved, she felt it—the warmth of his quiet presence.
Like he was saying, without saying anything at all: I see you. I care. Even if I'll never admit it. And maybe, just maybe… that was louder than words.
Alina leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Why was it so strange that someone could care about the little, seemingly insignificant things? That someone could silently notice when she left her phone uncharged or her shoes soaking wet? That someone would make food for her without a word, without even wanting her to know?
He's… thoughtful. The word surprised her as it passed through her mind. And careful. And… kind.
Her fingers idly traced the sticky note on the fridge, her eyes softening. She felt… grateful. And yet a little confused. Why did she feel like it mattered so much when she hadn't even seen his face clearly in weeks? Why did she almost look forward to seeing what he'd fixed next?
Her thoughts trailed to the other moments: the dinner he "fixed," the tiny sticky notes scolding her for trivial things. Each one felt like a breadcrumb in a quiet, invisible conversation between them. She realized she had started looking for them, almost unconsciously, as if a part of her wanted to see him care.
Alina hugged her knees again, her eyes dropping to the table. The faint scent of soy and garlic lingered from last night's dinner, and she realized she was thinking about it again. The way the rice had been perfectly fluffy, the vegetables crisp but tender, the portion carefully balanced for her. He's… good at this.
Her chest tightened as a strange thought crept in: maybe he wasn't just fixing things. Maybe he was… noticing her. In the quietest, most unobtrusive ways, maybe he was paying attention. Maybe he cared more than he wanted her to know.
She shook her head again, a little smile tugging at her lips. "Impossible," she whispered.
Alina leaned back, staring at the ceiling, letting her thoughts wander. She didn't know why, but she found herself feeling calmer, safer, happier in these moments.
The café was warm and buzzing with its usual late-afternoon crowd. Outside, the rain had left the streets glistening, the neon lights from the shops reflecting off the wet pavement. Inside, laughter and chatter mixed with the clinking of cups.
Alina sat curled into her seat, stirring her coffee absentmindedly. Across from her, Maya was already halfway through her cheesecake, fork in hand, humming happily with each bite. Ryan, ever the calm presence, leaned back in his chair with the air of someone who had a secret he was dying to share.
"Okay," Ryan said at last, drawing out the words in a teasing tone. "I have something to tell you both. Actually.....He scratches his neck...I have something to offer."
Maya didn't look up from her plate. "If it's another lecture about eating too much sugar, I'll throw this cheesecake at you."
Ryan chuckled. "Relax. This time, it's good. No...amazing."
Alina arched a brow, her tone skeptical. "With you, Ryan, 'amazing' usually turns into something like helping you move furniture."
"Trust me," he said, pulling out two glossy slips of paper from his jacket pocket. He laid them carefully on the table like they were treasure maps. "These… are tickets."
Maya finally looked up, fork dangling mid-air. "Tickets? To what?"
Ryan grinned, milking the moment. "To a theater performance. Not just any performance..."
"Ryan," Alina interrupted, unimpressed. "If this is one of those boring Shakespeare revivals and you're planning to drag us then..."
"It's not Shakespeare," Ryan cut her off quickly, leaning forward. His eyes sparkled mischievously. "It's… ''Ethan Vale."
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Maya blinked. Alina froze mid-stir, her spoon clinking against her cup.
"Wait. What did you just say?" Alina asked, her voice suddenly sharp.
Ryan smirked. "You heard me. Ethan Vale."
Maya's fork clattered onto her plate. "No way. No way! You're lying."
Ryan held up the tickets like a magician revealing his trick. "See for yourself."
The two girls lunged forward at the same time, nearly knocking over the coffee. Maya grabbed one ticket while Alina snatched the other, their eyes scanning the fine print in disbelief.
''Live at the Grand Arc Theater… starring Ethan Vale.'' Alina read aloud, her voice trembling with excitement. Her eyes widened. "It's actually him. It's really him!"
Maya let out a squeal so loud that half the café turned to stare. She didn't care. "RYAN, DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'VE JUST DONE? THIS IS—THIS IS—" She clutched the ticket to her chest like it was sacred scripture.
Alina's heartbeat hammered in her ears. Ethan Vale. The name itself was enough to stir up a wave of memories. Back in school, she and Maya had been his biggest fans. They used to save up their pocket money just to catch his small theater acts back before he became famous.
"He was ours before the world knew him," Maya said breathlessly, as though reading Alina's thoughts. "Remember? When everyone else said, 'Why are you wasting money on some nobody actor?' And look at him now!"
Alina's cheeks flushed with nostalgia. She remembered the dimly lit old theater, the smell of dust and popcorn, the way Ethan Vale's voice had filled the entire space. They had sat in the cheap seats, clutching each other's hands, whispering, He's going to be great someday. And he had been.
"Ryan," Alina said, her voice cracking slightly. "Are these… real? You're not joking? Because if you are..."
"They're real," Ryan assured, amused by their wide-eyed reactions. "Front row, too."
Maya practically jumped out of her seat. "FRONT ROW?!" Her hands flew to her hair. "Alina, front row! Do you know what that means?! He's going to be right there. We'll be able to see his expressions. His every move!"
Alina pressed her palms to her face, muffling a scream. "I can't. I literally can't. Ryan, you're too good to us."
The girls dissolved into squeals, laughter, and rapid-fire sentences that tumbled over each other.
"I need to pick the right outfit...Something classy, but not too classy, because we can't outshine the theater vibe''
Ryan, watching them, shook his head in amusement. "I don't know why I expected a calm reaction."
Maya whipped her head toward him. "CALM? Do you understand who we're talking about? ETHAN. VALE." She enunciated each syllable as though Ryan were the fool here.
Alina slammed her ticket on the table, eyes wide with disbelief and glee. "Maya, do you remember in school, after his performance in The Silent Storm? We cried. Actual tears."
"Yes!" Maya shouted, grabbing her arm. "And remember how we said if he ever made it big, we'd be the first in line?"
"And now we are!" Alina nearly bounced out of her chair. "Ryan, you've just made our entire year."
People in the café were openly staring now, some chuckling, some shaking their heads at the display of fangirl hysteria. Neither Alina nor Maya cared. Their childhood idol was within reach again, and nothing else mattered.
Alina's mind was already racing with possibilities. What would she wear? How would she do her hair? Should she carry a notebook in case she got the impossible chance of an autograph? Her hands trembled as she texted herself reminders: Dress. Shoes. Don't scream like a lunatic. Remember to breathe.
Beside her, Maya had already pulled out her phone, scrolling through online boutiques. "Okay, hear me out. Red dress or black dress? I want something elegant, dramatic, very theater-appropriate—"
Alina groaned. "Don't you dare upstage me. I'm going with something soft, maybe pastel. Subtle elegance. He'll notice the subtle."
Ryan snorted. "You both sound like you're going to your own weddings."
"This is our wedding!" Maya shot back. "To our first love!"
Alina laughed so hard she nearly cried, clutching her ticket to her chest.
For the rest of the evening, the café became their planning ground. They debated makeup choices, hairstyles, even which perfume might make the best impression if...if...by some miracle, Ethan Vale walked close enough to catch a whiff.
Every word, every laugh, carried the weight of their shared past, the teenage girls who had sat in creaky theater seats, starry-eyed and certain that Ethan Vale was a diamond in the rough. Now, he was a star, and they, his loyal fans, finally had their chance to see him shine again.
And as Alina glanced at Maya's glowing face, at Ryan's amused smirk, she felt something else too: a bubbling warmth, a reminder that some dreams never truly fade. They just wait for the right moment to come alive again.