Raka didn't say anything at first. Her words hung in the air, weighty and sharp in their honesty. "If it were nothing, you'd be a message I never answered."
For a second, he wasn't sure if he should feel flattered… or completely wrecked. Because with Nayla, affection never came wrapped in ribbons. It came in iron truths. And this one? It lodged somewhere deep in his chest and stayed there.
He glanced at her sideways as they walked, sneakers crunching over the gravel path leading to the bus stop. She looked ahead, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket, lips slightly parted like she was still thinking.
"You know," he said lightly, "most people flirt with emojis. Maybe a heart. You flirt like you're defending your PhD thesis."
She gave him a sideways glance. "I didn't know I was flirting."
"Oh," he said, grinning. "So now you admit you were."
That earned him a small huff of air. Close to a laugh. Raka had learned not to aim for loud reactions with her. He aimed for the quiet ones the ones other people missed.
"I just don't see the point in small talk," Nayla said. "I like meaning. If I'm quiet, I'm not bored, I'm thinking."
He nodded. "I can live with that. But you gotta warn me when your silence is a good thing, and when it's… You're ghostwriting my funeral in your head."
That, surprisingly, got a smile.
They reached the corner where their bus would arrive. Streetlights were flickering on, and the air had cooled just enough that her breath formed little clouds.
"Can I ask something?" he said, hands in his pockets.
She glanced up. "You always do."
"Why me?" His voice was soft now. "Out of everyone you could've ignored… why did you keep replying to me?"
She looked down at the ground, then back at him. "Because you didn't treat my quiet like a problem."
Raka swallowed, that simple answer slicing through his insecurity better than anything he could've said to himself. He reached out without thinking and brushed his fingers against hers.
She didn't pull away.
In fact, after a moment, she shifted just enough that her pinky linked with his.
Not a full handhold. Just a tether. A thread.
It was the most affection she'd ever shown in public.
He didn't say anything about it. He didn't have to. He just stood there beside her, pinky wrapped in hers, as the bus rolled up with a low sigh and opened its doors.
"You riding back with me?" she asked, not looking at him.
"I'd ride anywhere with you," he replied, only half joking.
She tilted her head. "Even if I don't talk the whole ride?"
"I'll talk enough for both of us."
They climbed aboard, still connected by that one finger.
And as they sat together in silence, comfortable, close, Raka realized something:
He didn't need the noise.He just needed her.