Aira started noticing things she hadn't meant to.
Not big things.
Not dramatic things.
Small ones.
The way Reyhan tapped his fingers twice when he was thinking.
The way he tilted his head when he listened—really listened.
The way he always waited half a second before responding, like he wanted to choose his words carefully.
She told herself it was harmless.
Just observation.
But observation turned into familiarity faster than she expected.
During morning assembly, she found herself shifting slightly so he could stand in the shade.
In class, she slid her notebook closer before he even asked.
At lunch, she reached for his favorite sauce without thinking.
That was when she froze.
When did I start knowing this?
Reyhan noticed her pause.
"What?" he asked softly.
Aira shook her head. "Nothing."
But it wasn't nothing.
It was comfort sneaking in through routine.
Later that day, they sat on opposite sides of the library table, studying quietly. No tension. No drama.
Too easy.
Reyhan leaned back. "You're unusually quiet."
"So are you," she replied.
"Good quiet or thinking-too-much quiet?"
She smiled faintly. "Both."
He studied her. "Want to talk?"
Aira hesitated.
Then chose honesty—again.
"I'm scared I'm learning you too quickly," she admitted.
"Your habits. Your moods. Your patterns."
Reyhan blinked. "That's… bad?"
"It can be," she said gently.
"If I stop noticing myself."
Reyhan leaned forward slightly. "Are you disappearing?"
"No," Aira replied.
"But I don't want to wake up one day and realize I built my routine around you."
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"That's fair," he said.
"I don't want to be someone's center before they choose it freely."
That sentence mattered more than reassurance ever could.
Aira relaxed a little. "You're not offended?"
"No," he replied.
"I'm relieved you noticed."
They packed their bags in silence.
At the door, Reyhan paused.
"You don't have to stop noticing me," he said quietly.
"Just don't forget to notice yourself."
Aira met his eyes.
"I won't," she promised.
"And you shouldn't get used to me filling the quiet either."
He smiled—soft, understanding.
"Deal."
They walked out together.
Not attached.
Not distant.
Balanced.
And for the first time, comfort didn't feel like a trap.
It felt… intentional.
RULE #42: Don't memorize his habits.
Because comfort should feel safe—
not like you're slowly forgetting your own.