Joya began to believe in small miracles.
After the note and those gentle gestures, she felt lighter when she came to school. Yet something still held her back. Sudom was kind, warm, and closer than before, but he was still walking inside a world where Joya's heart had no clear name.
That afternoon, the teacher announced a group project. Fate placed Joya and Sudom in the same team.
They sat together in the library, surrounded by the smell of old books. Sudom explained ideas about the project, drawing neat lines on paper. Joya listened, but mostly she watched the way his fingers moved, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her.
"Joya, you're good with writing. You handle the story part," Sudom said.
She froze for a second.
He trusted her with words, but not with feelings.
While working, Sudom suddenly asked, "What were you thinking yesterday on the road?"
The question hit her like quiet thunder.
Joya looked down at the table. "Just… many things," she whispered.
He studied her face, as if trying to read an invisible language. For a moment, Joya thought he would finally understand. But then the librarian called Sudom away, and the fragile bridge between them broke again.
That evening, rain fell over Rangamati hills. Joya stood by her window, watching the wet road, thinking about Sudom's question.
Would she answer next time?
Or would her heart stay unnoticed a little longer?
Some distances shrink slowly.
Others remain, teaching patience.
And Joya was still learning.