Aira didn't text him.
Not because she wanted to punish him.
Not because she wanted distance.
Because she didn't trust herself to say the right thing yet.
That night felt longer than it should've.
Her phone stayed face-down on the bed.
Her thoughts didn't.
You overreacted.
No, you didn't.
He wasn't doing anything wrong.
But you still felt unseen.
Both things could be true.
That was the problem.
Across town, Reyhan stared at his own phone, thumb hovering over her name.
He typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Nothing sounded right.
Did I mess this up?
Or am I overthinking again?
He'd promised himself he wouldn't chase words when emotions were raw.
But silence felt heavier when it wasn't chosen together.
---
The next day, school felt colder.
Not literally.
Emotionally.
They passed each other in the hallway without stopping.
Not avoiding.
Not ignoring.
Just… not reaching.
Sia noticed immediately.
"Oh no. You two are doing the quiet thing."
Aira sighed. "It's temporary."
"That's what people say right before it becomes a pattern."
That stung.
In class, Reyhan sat two rows behind her.
Close enough to feel.
Far enough to hurt.
When the teacher asked a question, Aira answered without looking back.
Reyhan smiled faintly—proud, instinctive.
Then stopped himself.
Don't push. Don't pull. Just stay.
But staying still didn't feel like staying connected.
---
After school, Aira stood near the gate longer than she meant to.
She told herself she was waiting for Sia.
She wasn't.
Reyhan noticed her from across the courtyard.
Their eyes met.
For a second, both of them almost moved.
Almost.
Then someone called Reyhan's name.
He turned.
Aira exhaled sharply.
There it is, her mind whispered.
That hesitation.
By the time he looked back, she was already walking away.
Reyhan clenched his jaw.
This is how things break, he thought.
Not with fights. With pauses that last too long.
That night, Aira finally picked up her phone.
A message from Reyhan waited.
Reyhan:
I don't want this to become distance.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then typed.
Aira:
I don't either. I just don't want to be the only one noticing when something's wrong.
The reply came almost instantly.
Reyhan:
You're not. I just didn't know if speaking would make it worse.
Her chest tightened.
Aira:
Silence already did.
A pause.
Then—
Reyhan:
Then let's not let this win.
She closed her eyes.
Not solved.
Not fixed.
But acknowledged.
And that mattered.
Because misunderstandings didn't need villains.
They just needed one more honest moment to survive.
RULE #52: Don't let misunderstandings win.
Because distance doesn't always mean leaving—
sometimes it just means both of you are afraid to reach first.