Alina swallowed hard, her eyes burning, though she didn't know if it was from tears or confusion. She took a small step forward, staring at the steaming bowls on the dining table. He served the food and went away.
"Why did you leave…" she whispered, though no one could hear her. Her voice was soft, trembling, as if afraid to disturb the air he'd once occupied.
For a moment, she thought she heard the faint sound of a car engine outside, distant, almost imagined. She turned her head slightly toward the window, but by the time she reached it, the sound had already faded.
Her heart clenched without reason. She stood there, still, her palms pressed to the cold marble of the counter, her mind whispering things she refused to say aloud. Maybe he left because of her words. Maybe she pushed too far. Maybe he doesn't have any answers for her questions. She didn't know. And not knowing was somehow worse than the truth.
Alina closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but the ache didn't leave. It just sank deeper, quiet, slow, and unbearable.
Outside, under the dull streetlight, Kai sat in his car motionless. His hands were still on the steering wheel, fingers trembling against the leather. He hadn't started the engine. He hadn't even tried.
The only sound inside the car was the uneven rhythm of his breathing, short, broken, heavy. His eyes stared at the space in front of him, unfocused. Everything blurred, not just because of the tears gathering in his eyes, but because the moment had cracked something inside him.
He had told himself he could handle it. That he could stand close to her, listen to her voice, hear her questions, and still keep his distance. But he couldn't. Not when she looked at him like that. Not when her voice trembled like she was speaking straight to the part of him he'd buried years ago.
He couldn't explain why he cared. He didn't even have an answer for himself. He just… did. And that scared him.
Kai's grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against the cold surface. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his breath shaky.
For a long moment, he just stayed like that, unmoving, silent, trying to hold himself together. But he couldn't. His eyes burned. He wanted to cry, not because he was hurt because he was hurting her; never in his life did he though he would be in such a situation. He had hurt many people in his life, but this time it was different. Alina was different
He tried to breathe, but every breath hurt more than the last. He'd built walls around himself for so long, cold, quiet walls meant to keep people out. But she'd walked through them without even trying.
She didn't even know what she did to him. She didn't know what it cost him to care. She didn't know what it took for him to stand there, pretending he was okay when every word from her lips made him want to fall apart.
Kai pressed a hand against his chest, as if trying to hold the pieces together. "Why…" he whispered under his breath. His voice was barely audible. "Why can't I just stop?" He wanted to stop feeling. Stop caring. Stop wanting something he wasn't supposed to want. But her voice kept echoing in his head.
Why do you care for a person who's unknown to you?
Why does it matter to you if I've eaten or not?
It mattered more than he could ever say. He closed his eyes tightly, the memory of her standing there so close he could feel her warmth, smell her scent, hear her heartbeat flashing in his mind. He could still hear her breathing.
He should've told her the truth. He should've said Because you matter to me more than anything else does. But he didn't. Because saying it would destroy everything.
Back inside, Alina stood in the kitchen, still staring at the food he'd left behind. The food had gone cold now. The aroma faded. But she didn't move. Her eyes flickered toward the door once more. Something inside her whispered that he was out there, somewhere close, breaking in ways she couldn't see.
Her heart was too full of silence. She pulled out the chair, the one he must've used, and sat down slowly. Her fingers brushed against the plate he'd served for her. The warmth was gone.
Her throat tightened. And she whispered, more to herself than to him, "You shouldn't have left like that."
The words barely escaped her lips, carried away by the stillness of the kitchen. But somewhere outside, sitting in his car, Kai lifted his head suddenly as if he'd heard her.
That same ache. That same unfinished sentence that hung between them, fragile, invisible, and unbearably real. Neither of them knew how to bridge it. Neither of them could say what needed to be said.
But for that night, in two different silences, one in a kitchen, one in a car, both hearts were aching for the same reason. Because love had shown up where it wasn't supposed to. And both of them were too scared to admit it.
Maya stood in her own living room, pacing. Her phone still in her hand, the screen lit with Alina's name.
"What happened to her?" Maya murmured, more to herself than anyone else. Her brows furrowed as she replayed Alina's voice in her head, hurried, uneven, almost desperate to hang up.
"You have very bad timing," Alina had said before the call ended. The tone had been sharp, almost forced. Maya blinked at the phone, confused. "Bad timing? What does that even mean?" she muttered, tossing it onto the couch.
With a sigh, she looked around her apartment. The clock ticked too loudly. The rain outside made the windows shiver softly. It was one of those nights where silence grew too heavy to bear. She grabbed her jacket and, without another thought, decided to do what she always did when boredom and worry teamed up to disturb Ryan.
Ryan's apartment was on the opposite side of hers, a unit with soft amber lights leaking from under the door. She didn't knock like a normal person. Maya's knocking style was legendary: three rapid taps, a pause, then a single firm one. Her version of a secret code.
Ryan didn't even need to check the peephole anymore. The moment he heard that pattern, his hand automatically reached for the door handle. He opened it before the last knock ended.
And there she was, Maya, in her oversized sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, holding a pack of chips like an offering. Before he could even greet her, she ducked under his arm, slipping inside the apartment in one smooth motion.
"Maya," he started, but she was already halfway to the couch.
Her movements were so quick, so familiar, that Ryan just stared for a moment, half-amused, half-defeated. She plopped onto the couch like she owned the place.
"Why are you standing there?" she said, grabbing the remote. "Let's watch something romantic. I'm bored."
Ryan closed the door with a soft thud and leaned against it, rubbing his forehead with a small, resigned smile. "You do realize it's eleven-thirty, right?"
"Exactly!" she said, turning her head toward him with a mischievous grin. "That's the perfect time for heartbreaks, tears, and popcorn."
Ryan sighed, walking toward the kitchen. "Popcorn again?"
"You know me," she called out, sinking deeper into the couch.
The apartment was bathed in the glow of warm light, cozy and slightly cluttered, like it belonged to someone who lived more in thoughts than in things. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon and coffee, a scent that had somehow become part of Ryan himself.
When he returned, Maya was already scrolling through the streaming app, her legs crossed, her hair a soft mess from the rain. "What is this?" Ryan asked, squinting at the screen.
"Love O2O," she announced proudly.
"Another one of your dramas?"
"Yes, another masterpiece," she said, pressing play with a flourish.
Ryan set the popcorn bowl on the table, grabbed two mugs of steaming cocoa, and sat down beside her. Their shoulders brushed in a tiny contact that felt both casual and unspoken.
The episode began. The bright faces of the characters filled the room with soft light. Maya's eyes lit up, every emotion mirrored there: happiness, surprise, heartbreak.
Ryan didn't watch much at first; he mostly watched her. She laughed easily, clutching the pillow to her chest, sometimes rolling on the floor when something overly dramatic happened. When the male lead appeared shirtless, she gasped and threw popcorn at the screen.
"Oh, come on!" she exclaimed. "Why are they always so perfect?"
Ryan chuckled under his breath. "You say that every time."
"Because it's true!" she said, turning toward him, her voice bubbling with energy. "Look at him, cool, loving, caring. Real men don't exist like that."
"Oh really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She paused for a second, a smile tugging at her lips. "Not like that, no."
An hour passed, then two. The drama played on, the room shifting between laughter and tears. At one point, a sad scene unfolded as the female lead walked away. Maya went quiet.
When Ryan glanced sideways, she had tears in her eyes.
"Seriously?" he whispered, half-smiling.
"Shut up," she said softly, grabbing the tissue box from the table. He reached forward, took it from her, and placed it on his lap, pulling out one tissue at a time to hand to her whenever another tear fell.
"You're unbelievable," he murmured.
She sniffled. "You're judgmental."
He smiled but didn't argue. He never did when it came to her. Maya could be childish, unpredictable, even ridiculous, but that was her charm. She never had to pretend around him. With everyone else, she carried herself with this casual confidence, a spark of wit that kept people at arm's length. But with him, she was real. Raw. A little messy. And he adored that. Not that he'd ever say it aloud.
Hours drifted by. It was 2:47 a.m. when the final episode ended. Maya yawned, her head falling slightly to the side. Her eyes were half-closed, her hair falling across her face. Ryan switched off the TV. The apartment dimmed, lit only by the soft glow from the kitchen counter light. He looked at her, peaceful now, no trace of her earlier chaos.
Maya curled up on the couch, pulling the blanket around herself. Her hand still clutched the empty popcorn bowl like a child holding a toy. Ryan leaned back on the opposite end of the couch, watching her quietly.
He'd lost count of how many nights had gone like this: her crashing into his apartment, taking over his space, then falling asleep halfway through whatever she dragged him into.
At first, it had been strange having her around so often. But somewhere along the way, her presence had started to feel… right. The laughter, the noise, even her teasing remarks had become a rhythm his nights followed.
She exhaled softly in her sleep, her lips twitching into a faint smile. He smiled too, a soft, involuntary one.