Nayla stared at the screen a second longer than necessary, rereading his last message: Too late.She bit her lip, trying and failing—not to smile. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard, backspacing twice before finally giving up and tossing her phone onto the bed.
She flopped back with a sigh. What was she doing?
This wasn't like her. She wasn't impulsive. She didn't ask people out, especially not people like Raka. But there was something about him. He made it easy to slip out of her shell without realizing it.
A soft ping brought her attention back to the phone.
Raka:Should I bring a tote bag, or will you be the responsible one?
She laughed out loud this time, the sound echoing through her quiet room.
Nayla:You'd better bring two. I'm not carrying your impulse buys.
Raka:Fair. Are you planning to escape halfway if you get overwhelmed by shelves?
Nayla:That depends. Are you planning to be annoying?
Raka:Always.
She could see him grinning as he typed that, could practically hear the teasing in his voice. Her cheeks hurt from smiling too much.
For someone who used to find texting exhausting, she found herself waiting for the little typing dots to appear again.
Raka:Thanks for asking me. I want to go with you.
Her fingers froze. She read it twice. Then once more.
It wasn't a confession. Not exactly. But it was clear, warm, and intentional. Like him.
She typed, paused, erased, and finally sent:
Nayla:You're welcome. I want to go with you, too.
It wasn't everything. But it was something.
And that weekend, for once, she didn't dread leaving her comfort zone. Because he'd be there. And maybe, just maybe, that made all the difference.