It was rare, but Nayla showed up to the book club's monthly in-person meeting.
No one had expected her. Not because she wasn't welcome, just because she seldom came unless it was required, and even then, she usually lingered near the exit.
But this time, she came on her own.
No coaxing. No group guilt-trips. Just... showed up.
Raka was already there, mid-conversation near the snack table, holding a paper plate stacked with biscuits someone's grandma had baked. He looked up, mid-laugh, and saw her step through the door.
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
He didn't wave. Didn't call her over. He knew better than to put her on display.
Nayla slipped into a seat near the edge of the circle, nodding politely at a few familiar faces. Her expression was unreadable, but she scanned the room like she was taking a mental snapshot of every exit.
"Whoa, Nayla in 3D?" someone joked.
She gave a tight-lipped smile. "Only when necessary."
A ripple of laughter moved through the group, some genuine, some unsure. A couple of people leaned back, their amusement tinged with discomfort. Others looked like they didn't quite know what to make of her.
Raka, from across the room, watched with quiet pride.
She wasn't trying to charm anyone. She wasn't adjusting her tone to fit the group's vibe. She was just herself, no filter, no effort to round her edges for easier handling.
And honestly? That made her shine.
When the discussion started, Nayla listened more than she spoke. But when she did speak, the room shifted. Her thoughts were precise, layered, and deeply considered. She didn't just react to the book's plot—she saw the subtext, the intention behind the author's silences. She challenged lazy takes with soft but surgical precision.
Even the ones who'd misread her earlier were nodding.
Raka stole glances when he could. Not the kind that screamed I'm into you, but the kind that memorized moments. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear before speaking. The way her voice dropped slightly when the room got too loud. She looked down whenever someone complimented her taste.
She was trying. Not loudly. But trying.
After the meeting, as people stood to stretch and pack up, someone nudged Raka. "You and her close now?"
He shrugged lightly. "Trying to be."
The guy gave a sideways smile. "She's... intense."
"She's thoughtful," Raka corrected without hesitation.
A beat passed.
"Fair."
And then Nayla appeared beside him. No warning. No small talk.
"I'm heading out," she said quietly.
"I'll walk with you."
She hesitated for a second. A quick calculation behind her eyes. Then a small nod. "Okay."
Outside, the street was still damp from earlier rain. They walked without a rush, weaving through uneven pavement lit by flickering streetlights.
"I almost didn't come today," she said, eyes forward.
"But you did," Raka replied.
"I don't like crowds."
"I noticed."
They shared a small wry smile, not sugary.
And they walked the rest of the way in silence.
But not the kind that made you fidget or reach for your phone.
The good kind.
The kind where nothing had to be said because just being there, beside each other, was the conversation.
And for Nayla, that might've been louder than any "I'm glad I came."