It's strange how silence can feel louder than words. Sometimes, I wondered if the moments without text messages or calls were heavier than the ones where we spoke. I could almost hear the distance growing between us in those long gaps. But when she did the message, everything would go quiet again—like time slowed down, giving me just enough room to breathe before I'd jump back into the whirlwind that was Lia.
That night, I sent her a message just asking how her day had gone. Simple. Casual. But the moment I hit send, I regretted it. My thoughts spun in circles—was I pushing her too much? Was I reading too much into things? Maybe I was just clinging to any little shred of connection, afraid to let go of the idea that we were still figuring this out.
My phone buzzed.
"Hey, I'm sorry I've been distant. I've been thinking a lot."
I froze, reading her words again. Her apology made me pause. Thinking a lot? My heart skipped a beat as the words sank in. She wasn't just reaching out out of nowhere. Something had shifted for her, too. She was acknowledging the space that had grown between us, the weight of the silence we hadn't spoken about.
"It's okay. You don't have to apologize," I quickly typed back, but the truth was, I wanted to understand what she was going through. I wanted to know what was on her mind.
She took a little longer this time to respond, and I could almost feel her hesitating as her message came in. "I just… I don't want you to think I'm avoiding you. It's just been hard to figure out what I'm doing with all this. I guess, I'm afraid."
Afraid. That word sent a shockwave through me. Lia, always so sure of herself, now admitting that she was scared? I stared at the screen for what felt like forever, trying to make sense of it all. What was she afraid of? Was she afraid of me? Of us? Of what this could turn into? The questions piled up, but I couldn't bring myself to ask her all of them. Not yet. I had to let her lead the conversation and let her take the time she needed.
"What are you afraid of?" I replied.
The reply didn't come instantly. I paced around my room for a while, the silence in between our texts making everything feel ten times bigger than it was. My heart beat a little faster with every passing second. I had no idea what I would say if she told me something I wasn't ready for, something that would break whatever fragile thread we had been holding on to.
Finally, her message pinged back. "I don't know. I guess I'm scared that I'm not being fair to you. I'm scared that I'll hurt you. I don't want to drag you into this if I'm still figuring things out."
The words stung, even though I understood them. I could hear the uncertainty in her voice even through the text. She was caught between her feelings and the fear of making a mistake, of being the one to let someone down. But I also heard something else in her words—something that told me she wasn't trying to push me away. She was scared because she cared, and that scared her even more.
I took a deep breath, trying to settle my feelings before I responded. "You're not dragging me into anything, Lia. We're both figuring things out. But I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, even if it's messy." I wanted her to know that. She didn't have to do this alone.
The phone went quiet again. I wasn't sure if I should say more or if I should just let her process. It felt like a tipping point, like everything we'd said in the past—the teasing, the careful conversations, the doubts—was building to something we both needed to face. I couldn't rush her, but I couldn't stay silent either.
Her reply finally came. "Maybe I need time. Maybe I need space to think this through. I don't want to make a decision now, but I want you to know that I don't want to lose you. Not yet. Not when I'm still figuring things out."
I felt a warmth spread through me, a mix of relief and gratitude. She was being honest, and that was enough for me right now. We didn't have to figure it all out tonight. We didn't have to have a perfect solution; it was a neat conversation where we both walked away with answers. We just needed to be real with each other, and for once, we were.
"I'm not going anywhere, Lia," I said, my voice gentle but certain. "We don't have to have everything figured out right now. We just need to take it one step at a time."
She sighed on the other end of the line, but it wasn't a sigh of frustration. It was a sigh of relief. "I think I can do that," she said softly.
For the first time in weeks, the weight on my chest lifted. There was no more pretending, no more wondering if this was all just a game. We had both taken a step forward, not by making grand promises, but by simply allowing ourselves to be in this moment, unsure but committed to seeing where it took us. It wasn't perfect. It wasn't clean or clear. But it was enough.
"Good," I said, my smile finally breaking through the tension. "We'll figure it out."