There were times when he wondered if she knew how much space she had taken in his life. His apartment had slowly started to carry traces of her. A pink mug she once brought and never took back. A hair tie resting on his coffee table. The faint scent of her shampoo on the sofa cushions. She was everywhere without even trying.
And Ryan, though he rarely admitted it, found comfort in her presence. It was strange how someone could walk into your life so casually and become a habit before you even realized it.
He sat there for a while and started looking at her. She was like sunlight trapped in human form, bright, chaotic, and warm. He didn't know what their relationship was supposed to be, or where it would go, but he knew one thing for sure: he didn't want to lose this. He didn't want to lose her.
Maya had never realized the effect she had on him. To her, Ryan was the calm one, the person she could run to when everything else became too much. She didn't know that she was the chaos he secretly craved, the spark that made his quiet life meaningful. She never noticed the way he looked at her sometimes, with a softness that words couldn't describe. Maybe one day she would. Or perhaps she wouldn't. But for Ryan, just being with her, watching her laugh, mess around, do mischievous things, or see her fall asleep was enough.
He got up, pulled the blanket higher over her shoulder, and switched off the lights one by one. The apartment was quiet again, except for the faint patter of rain outside.
Then he walked toward the kitchen, his hand brushing against the counter where two mugs of cocoa sat cold now. He picked them up, rinsed them, and left them to dry. Every small act had its rhythm practiced, familiar.
Ryan wasn't the kind of man who believed in grand gestures. But in his quiet, steady way, he'd already given her everything: time, care, a place available to her so she could come at any time when she needed to escape.
And as the first light of dawn began to creep through the blinds, Maya stirred. "Ryan?" she mumbled sleepily.
"Yeah," he said, turning halfway toward her.
"Don't go far," she murmured, half-asleep.
He froze for a second. Then, his lips curved into a quiet smile. "I'm not going anywhere."
She drifted back to sleep, the faintest trace of comfort visible on her face. Ryan stood there for a long time, watching the soft rise and fall of her breath.
The city outside was waking up, lights fading, the sound of rain dying slowly. Inside, the warmth of something unnamed lingered in a tenderness that neither of them dared to speak of, yet both felt in every quiet moment shared between them. It wasn't love, not the kind that demanded words. It was something quieter, deeper. Something that didn't need to be confessed to be understood.
And Ryan, standing there under the dim morning light, realized one simple truth: Sometimes, the most beautiful feelings are the ones that remain unspoken.
The rain hadn't stopped since morning. Outside the café window, droplets slid down in slow trails, merging, parting, and falling again like quiet tears on glass. The street beyond blurred into watercolor shades of grey and amber, lights smudging under the soft drizzle. Inside, warmth wrapped the room in a quiet hum, soft jazz playing, the scent of roasted beans and vanilla syrup floating in the air.
Alina sat at her usual corner, the one by the window, tucked just enough away from the world but still close enough to watch it move. A mug of hot chocolate sat before her, steam curling up like a sigh.
Maya had placed it there ten minutes ago. And Alina hadn't taken a single sip. Her hands cupped the mug anyway, letting the warmth seep into her palms. It was the only warmth she could feel right now, the only thing grounding her to this moment.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the raindrops racing down the windowpane. Each droplet reflected the city lights, shimmering for a second before disappearing, and somehow, it reminded her of him.
Of how everything beautiful in her life seemed to vanish before she could hold on to it. In front of her, the laptop screen glowed faintly, the cursor blinking on a half-written paragraph. But she wasn't looking. Her thoughts were miles away, trapped somewhere between memory and ache, between that night and everything she didn't say.
She didn't even notice when Maya walked over. Her friend slid quietly into the chair across from her, the faint creak of wood lost under the café chatter. For a few seconds, Maya just watched her, the stillness in her expression, the faraway look in her eyes. Then, without a word, Maya leaned forward and turned the laptop toward her.
The reflection of the screen flickered in Maya's eyes as she scrolled. Alina didn't move. She didn't even blink. Her gaze stayed on the window, where rain kept falling relentlessly.
Then Maya's voice broke through the quiet. "What—!"
Her sudden exclamation made a few heads turn from nearby tables. Alina blinked, startled, pulled out of her thoughts. Her focus shifted, slow and dazed, toward her friend.
"What happened?" she asked softly, her voice carrying that tired calmness that came after sleepless nights.
Maya's brows furrowed, her tone half accusing, half in disbelief. "You started writing again?"
Alina didn't answer right away. She took a deep breath, her chest rising slowly, the faintest tremor escaping in her exhale. Her fingers brushed the rim of the mug absently.
"Alina," Maya pressed, leaning forward. "Tell me, when did you write this chapter?"
The cursor blinked on the page, a story that wasn't just words. It was pain, stitched between every line. Alina's gaze fell to the screen. For a moment, she just stared at the familiar title, the date on top, the paragraph she barely remembered typing. Her lips parted slightly, but it took her a second to find her voice.
"When we were at the hospital…" she said quietly.
Maya's expression softened. "Hospital?"
Alina nodded. "When… your friend was admitted."
Her words hung between them, fragile and low. She didn't mention the rest of the reason her heart had splintered that night. The image flashed in her mind of that little girl clutching Kai's hand, her small eyes filled with trust and laughter. That smile had done something to her. Not because it was sweet, but because it broke something deep inside her, something she didn't even know was still alive.
Her inner child had watched that moment and whispered something she couldn't bear to hear: I wanted that too.
After that, she'd gone home, shattered. The world had blurred around her. Every sound, every breath felt heavy, wrong. And when she couldn't hold it anymore, she opened her laptop not to write, but to breathe every pain she felt.
The story poured out of her like a confession. Every word bled the ache she couldn't speak. But she didn't tell Maya any of that. She couldn't.
So she just said, "I wrote it then."
Maya's eyes softened, but curiosity still flickered there. She scrolled further, noticing the second chapter at the top, the one with yesterday's date.
Her tone turned careful. "And this one… You wrote yesterday?"
Alina didn't respond. Her gaze drifted back to the window to the world outside that looked like it was crying for her. Rain slid down the glass, catching her reflection in broken pieces. Her own eyes looked distant, lost.
Maya leaned in slightly, her voice quieter now. "You didn't post it?"
Alina blinked, looking back at the screen. The "Publish" button still glowed in the corner, untouched by her. She shook her head once, almost absentmindedly. "No."
"Why?" Maya asked gently.
"I don't know," Alina murmured. But she did know. She just didn't want to say it because the words felt too close to her heart, too raw, too heavy to share. That posting it would feel like letting the world see the parts of her that she'd been trying to hide.
Maya studied her for a moment, the way she sat, the slight droop of her shoulders, the faraway tremble in her eyes. Then she smiled softly. "Maybe you need a little push."
Before Alina could react, Maya's fingers brushed against the trackpad.
"Maya, wait..."
But the click had already happened. The screen refreshed once. And it was done. The story was live.
Alina's eyes widened, her breath catching. "Maya.."
"Relax!" Maya laughed. "You're overthinking it again. People love your writing. Maybe someone out there is still waiting for this."
But Alina didn't smile. Her pulse quickened as she stared at the screen at the story that wasn't supposed to be out there yet. Her hand hovered over the keyboard, frozen between the urge to delete it and the fear of seeing what people might say.
Her throat felt tight. "You shouldn't have done that," she whispered.
Maya's smile faded a little. "Hey, what's wrong? It's just a story."
Just a story. If only it were that simple. Because those words weren't fiction. They were hers.
Every paragraph was a piece of her heart she hadn't meant to expose.
The rain outside grew heavier, tapping against the glass like impatient fingers. Alina's reflection shimmered on the windowpane, her eyes glistening, her lips pressed together in silence. Maya didn't notice the storm inside her. She was busy scrolling through comments that were already pouring in.
"See? Look at this... people are loving it already!" she said, turning the laptop around again.
But Alina wasn't looking. Her gaze was still lost beyond the glass, where the rain blurred the world into something distant and unreachable. Her chest ached. Every heartbeat echoed the same thought, the same name she refused to say aloud.
She closed her eyes for a second, her hand tightening around the mug of hot chocolate. It wasn't warm anymore. The taste, the scent, the café's cozy hum, none of it could pull her out of the hollow that had opened inside her.
When she opened her eyes again, the cursor blinked at the end of her chapter, steady and unbothered as if waiting for more.
But Alina had nothing left to write. Because, for the first time, the story had already said everything she couldn't.