The space between us had started to feel heavier—not from the silence but from what was left unsaid. It wasn't just that we hadn't met in a while; it was the tension of something undefined, something neither of us had the words for. The messages had become infrequent, but every time I saw her name on my phone, my pulse would pick up, as if the very possibility of us reaching across that invisible gap was a fleeting dream.
Two weeks had passed since we last saw each other at that dimly lit café. Two weeks of avoiding questions, of pretending everything was fine when in reality, we were both stuck in the same loop, unsure of how to move forward.
I didn't want to overthink it, but that was all I did. I found myself wondering if the days had already piled up too high if the awkwardness had already settled into our friendship too deeply for anything else to happen. Was I even on her radar anymore?
Then, a message appeared.
"Hey, are you busy?"
I froze, reading the words over and over again. It was Lia.
"I've been thinking about something. Do you want to talk?"
She didn't say much, but the simplicity of her message struck me. She wasn't asking about the day-to-day things or sharing trivial details. She wanted to talk—about what, exactly?
I hesitated for a moment before typing back. "Sure, what's up?"
I couldn't ignore the sense of anticipation building inside me. Every interaction with her felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, not sure whether I should step back or take the leap. It was one of those moments where I wished I could read her mind, where I could understand whether she was reaching out because she felt something—or if she was just confused.
The response came quickly.
"Can I call you?"
I felt a rush of heat flood my face. There was something about hearing her voice that made the space between us feel even more tangible. We hadn't talked like that in weeks. But I agreed, swallowing my nerves.
The phone rang a minute later. I let it ring a couple of times before picking it up.
"Hey," I said, my voice just a little too light. It didn't come out as casual as I'd hoped, but it was too late to take it back now.
"Hey," Lia's voice came through the speaker, soft but clear. "I—uh, I don't know how to say this, but I've been thinking about… us. About what happened last time."
I shifted, trying to seem nonchalant even though my mind was racing. "Yeah?"
"You know how we both said we weren't rushing into anything?" she continued, her words slow, deliberate. "I think I might have been lying to myself about that. I've been trying to pretend it's fine, but it's not. And I don't know if I'm even ready to talk about what's really going on in my head, but I need to… I need to figure it out."
The weight of her words settled over me. She wasn't just speaking from a place of uncertainty—there was something deeper there, something raw that I hadn't anticipated. For the first time, I could hear the vulnerability in her voice.
"You don't have to figure it all out right now, Lia," I said, my own voice quieter. "You can take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
There was silence on the other end for a long moment. I thought maybe she had hung up, but then I heard her sigh. "It's just… I don't know what I want. I keep thinking I'm okay, but I'm not sure anymore. I don't even know if I'm thinking straight, or if this is just me being stupid."
I exhaled, feeling my own frustration building. But it wasn't frustration with her. It was with myself—for not being able to help her understand what she meant to me, for not having the right words to make her see that she wasn't alone in all this. But I couldn't say any of that. It wasn't the time.
"Maybe it's not about figuring everything out," I offered, trying to keep my voice steady. "Maybe it's just about seeing where things go without rushing to label it."
Another pause. I could practically hear her thinking, her brain working in overdrive, trying to catch up with whatever feelings had been building under the surface.
"I want to believe that," she said softly. "But I'm scared."
"Scared of what?" I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.
"Scared of feeling like I'm just playing with your feelings. I'm scared that I'm not being fair to you. That I might hurt you."
I felt my heart drop into my stomach. The idea of her pulling away because of fear was almost unbearable. She wasn't playing with me, but I understood why she'd think that. I wasn't clear on my own feelings either, but I wasn't going to let that stop me from being honest with her.
"You're not playing with me," I said, the words more firm than I intended. "I get that you're confused, Lia. But I'm not going to run away just because it's hard. I care about you too much for that."
Her voice was small when she responded. "I care about you too."
The line went silent again, this time longer than before. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but it wasn't exactly peaceful either. It was charged—both of us sitting with the gravity of what had just been shared, the acknowledgment of how complicated things had become.