Nazma's eyes were glued to the glowing screen. Her breath began to come in short, shallow gasps. Her heart hammered wildly, the rhythm accelerating inside her chest. Her fingers trembled violently over the glass of her phone.
Then, by accident…
Click.
"Wait... it sent?" Her eyes widened in disbelief.
"Oh no! Not now, it wasn't supposed to be now!"
The world around her suddenly went silent.
Her entire attention was sucked into the three small dots at the corner of the screen.
Rising, falling.
Typing…
"Why is it taking so long!"
She hissed, patting her chest.
Her hands were still shaking. The thumping of her heart was so loud she could feel it vibrating in her ears. Time slowed to a crawl.
The uncertainty.
Torturing her.
The flickering dots forced a panicked laugh to catch in her throat; she bit her lip.
"So long... I'm going to have a heart attack before he even replies!"
Click.
The screen changed.
Zemiro:
[Uh, thanks. Who is you?]
Nazma choked. She froze, squinting as she tried to focus on the string of letters on the screen.
"Who is you?"
Her brows furrowed deeply. Her lips trembled slightly, whispering the same question over and over without a sound. It was like building a grand sandcastle, only for someone to walk up and ask with a blank face, "Who is you?"
The question exploded in her head, echoing with an increasingly high-pitched tone. WHO IS YOU?!
With a stiff, awkward smile, she typed back
Nazma:
[Nazma Xanthe]
Zemiro replied instantly.
Zemiro:
[Ooh... You're pretty cool too. Ranking 3rd, huh? 👍]
Nazma's pupils dilated. A sudden wave of heat crashed against her chest.
Panic? Definitely. But an explosive smile also erupted on her lips, uncontrollable.
She tilted her head, a slang term she usually only heard in TV dramas.
"Is he... a city boy or something?" she muttered in disbelief.
She tried to say the word quietly, feeling the way her tongue rolled over the unfamiliar slang.
•••
Nazma buried her face in her pillow, muffling a squeal of joy.
Her phone vibrated again.
Drttt... Drttt…
"What now, Zemiro? More compliments?"
The smile slowly faded. The name appearing on the notification bar wasn't Zemiro. It was Simon.
Nazma sighed, trying to steady her erratic heartbeat. She opened the message.
Simon:
[Naz! Man, my new school is so wild. You've gotta know, Hahaha!]
Nazma:
[Know what?]
Her phone buzzed again. A video link landed in the chat. Nazma tapped the screen, opening a music video with emotional lyrics set against a dim background.
Olivia Rodrigo's voice began to drift out, filling the silence of her room.
At first, Nazma could still breathe. The opening lyrics about "breaking up a month ago" and "friends still knowing each other" flowed slowly. She leaned back against her pillow, watching the screen with a vacant stare.
The melody swelled, her heart began to race again.
The next part felt like an attack. A tightness gripped her chest as the lyrics questioned if a "new girl" made him forget her. Nazma knew. She realized the song wasn't just a collection of words; it was Simon's way of showing her something.
A refusal to be forgotten.
When the chorus reached its most honest peak, it shattered her defenses.
The words pierced her like a knife to the gut. She leaned her head back, staring at the lines on the screen.
"Oh, I hope you're happy..." Nazma smiled faintly.
A warmth spread through her cheeks. Simon was sending her a sincere prayer. He was happy for her.
But the smile died.
"But not like how you were with me..."
Is he saying I'm not allowed to be happy?
Before she could process the suffocation, the next line hit without mercy.
"I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go."
Nazma gasped. Her breath caught in her throat. The words "selfish" and "can't let go" gripped her shoulders with terrifying force.
She had always thought Simon was a safe harbor, but he was actually a sentry, refusing to let her sail away.
She stared at the screen in despair. The song was a warning: someone was quietly resentful of her current life.
Then, a message from Simon
Simon:
[How did we ever get this close?]
Nazma stared at the glowing screen, the weight of his words feeling far heavier than the letters themselves. Her fingers trembled over the keyboard.
There was a strange warmth in knowing he still cared, that he wanted to see her smile.
She gave a thin smile—a genuine curve that appreciated his prayer for her happiness. To her, it was an acknowledgment that their past mattered.
Yet, in the same breath, her composure crumbled.
Her eyebrows slanted upward in a grief-stricken arc—her brow was crying, voicing the pain her lips couldn't utter. She realized Simon's "happy" wish came with a cruel condition: she could be happy, as long as no one else replaced him. Her happiness had to leave a void that only he could fill.
She felt loved and imprisoned at the same time. With a shaky breath and a bitter smile, she typed back, trying to maintain a distance before everything shattered.
Nazma:
[Because we're friends.]
The next vibration almost made her drop the phone.
Simon:
[Will you marry me?]
The oxygen in the room seemed to vanish. Nazma stared at the dim ceiling, letting the silence swallow her. Doubt throbbed in her temples. She didn't answer immediately; she let time crawl, counting every heavy heartbeat.
Finally, with steadier fingers, she drew a line.
Nazma:
[I don't know. I'm not getting married before I finish college.]
An uninvited memory resurfaced.
Back when the world was simpler, Nazma had once asked her greatest fear. She remembered how her fingers gripped the hem of her shirt, waiting for his answer.
Nazma:
[What if we aren't together anymore?]
It only took a few seconds for Simon to reply.
Simon:
[If it's meant to be, we'll find our way back to each other.]
Back to the Present
The phrase "find our way back" felt like a living curse.
Deep down, Nazma wanted it just as much as Simon did.
A part of her still hungered for his presence, but that hunger was rooted in a paralyzing fear.
She didn't believe she could truly be happy without Simon there to brighten her days and her heart.
To Nazma, Simon was both her light and a suffocating shadow. She was so used to hanging the remnants of her laughter on him that the idea of a future without him felt hollow and terrifying.
She was trapped. Desperate to escape his grip, yet feeling like her entire world would go dark if he ever truly let go.
***