Inaya.The second I saw his name — Rabin Takahashi — I screamed.
Like, real scream.
Into my boba tea plushie.
Muffled. Desperate. Slightly concerning.
Dogs three blocks away heard me.
"OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. OHMYGODDDDDDDDDD."
I rolled off my bed. Literally. Onto the floor.
Kicked my feet in the air like a child possessed by a shojo anime spirit.
Laughed. Giggled. Then screamed again.
"IT'S HIM."
I read the email five times.
Okay, ten.
Ok,y I may have printed it out and stared at it on the floor like it was a sacred text.
Because — HE'S THE HALLWAY GUY.
THE FREAKING HALLWAY GUY.
Kavya burst into the room mid-scream. Holding a spoon of Nutella like a weapon.
"Is someone dying? Are you dying? Are we dying??"
"KAVYA. IT'S HIM."
"Him who?? Are you having a vision?? Should I grab the tarot deck—"
"RABIN. IS. THE. HALLWAY GUY."
I launched myself at her. We both fell back on the bed like a scene from an overdramatic K-drama.
She screamed with me this time.
Now the neighbors were definitely filing a complaint.
"YOU BUMPED INTO HIM BEFORE YOU EVEN KNEW—"
"AND I SAID 'TRAGICALLY, YES' AND HE PROBABLY WENT HOME AND WROTE A POEM ABOUT IT—"
"Oh my GOD. You were meant to be a movie."
I started crying. Laughing. Cry-laughing.
"What if I look stupid in person, Kav?"
"You look stupid in general and he STILL likes you."
"This is true."
"Let's make it worse," she said, whipping out her phone.
"Let's call Arnav."
"I need everyone to shut up for five seconds and tell me who we're hyperventilating over," Arnav said, 6 seconds after the FaceTime call began.
Kavya and I were practically vibrating through the dorm walls.
"The pen pal guy," I said.
"The one you wrote poetry for and got emotionally wrecked over?"
"Yes."
"The guy you called 'my emotionally unavailable twin flame' while watching a sad playlist at 3 AM?"
"YES."
"He's real?"
"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS."
"She already bumped into him on campus. Didn't know it was him. Thought he was hot. Lived rent-free in her head for a week." Kavya said like the ultimate hype girl she is.
Arnav blinked. Then slow clapped.
"You're living a fanfic."
"I know."
"I hate it here."
"Me too, bitch. But also I love it."
I laid on my bed.
Heart beating like a traitor.
Phone on my chest.
Laptop still glowing.
"I'll be there."
That's what he said.
To my invitation.
He's coming.
He's actually coming.
Tomorrow. 5 PM. Washington Square Park.
And maybe I'll mess up.
Maybe I'll say something stupid.
Trip. Panic. Spiral.
But I'm done hiding behind a blinking cursor.
Tomorrow…
I meet him.
For real.
I met him first through letters.
Then by accident.
And tomorrow?
I meet him by choice.
Rabin. "Okay. So. I told her." I said out loud for Hideya to listen.
"Told who what now?" He asked not even looking up from his snack.
"IM. Her name's Inaya. I told her everything. Like, full name, school, tragic boy confession and all."
"...Wait. You actually did it?" Hideya asked while putting down his snack slowly.
"Yep. 11:59 PM. Probably the bravest and dumbest thing I've ever done." I nodded with the weight of a thousand insecurities.
"You… committed to emotional vulnerability?" He scream said which was followed by a gasp.
"And it gets worse."
"How could it possibly—"
"She emailed me at the same time. The same. Freaking. Minute."
"YOU'RE LIVING A K-DRAMA. I HATE YOU." Hideya said falling dramatically onto the bean bag.
"No. No no no. This is bad. This is terrifying. We're meeting today. At 5."
"So what's the issue?" Hideya asked already on his third snack.
"WHAT IF I FORGET HOW TO HUMAN?"
"What if I freeze? What if she sees me and goes: 'Oh no not this socially-awkward mess with anxiety and too many playlists'??"
"You literally write poetry about loneliness and architecture. You are the drama." He said with a flat tone.
"I don't know how to meet her. Like. I've only ever known her through fonts. What if she hates how I talk? What if I breathe weirdly?"
"Do you… often breathe weird?" He deadpanned.
"I DON'T KNOW, HIDEYA. I MIGHT."
"Okay. Listen. Here's the truth."
"You're awkward. Overthink everything. And probably have at least one button undone at all times."
"...Wow thanks for the hype."
"But you also wrote to her when you didn't even know her name. You stayed. You listened. You didn't ghost when it got scary."
"That's the part she fell for, idiot." He smirked.
"What if I'm not enough when it's not in writing?"
"Then let her decide that. But don't lie to yourself before she even gets the chance."
"…God you're so annoying when you're wise."
"I know. It's exhausting."
"…Which shirt looks less like I'm trying too hard?"
"Black one. Sleeves rolled. Show those 'I'm mysterious but fragile' wrists." He said without hesitation.
She's seen every part of me that I was scared to say out loud.
And now she'll see all the parts I couldn't write.
This time, there's no backspace.
Only breath. And eye contact. And hope.
Inaya.Subject: okay wait this is dumb BUT
RT,
So… I know we're supposed to meet in like, what, five hours?
And I should probably be mentally preparing instead of screaming into my pillow and trying on fourteen outfits and then ending up in the first one again.
BUT.
Listen.
What if we talk a little before that?
Like not-letter talk.
Like Insta-stalking-each-other-and-making-fun-of-our-2017-selfie-phase talk.
Optional.
No pressure.
(Okay there's like 3% pressure but it's soft and non-threatening.)
Anyway.
Here's my Instagram: @chai_in_panic.
If you want to say hi there before you say hi for real… I wouldn't hate that.
P.S. Please ignore my "poetry in motion" reel from last month. It's dramatic and I was emotional and I had just watched Little Women.
Still nervously yours,
— Inaya
Rabin.Subject: Re: okay wait this is dumb BUT
Hey.
It's not dumb.
It's actually kind of perfect.
I don't really do the whole social part of social media, but... for you, I think I want to.
Here's mine: @bluelinesandramen.
You'll probably find pictures of buildings, shadows, tea, and like... 40 posts of the sky.
I don't post much.
But I'll respond.
See you soon.
And Inaya?
You could never be dumb.
You're too much poetry for that.
— RT
Inaya."GUYS HE GAVE HIS ID. HE SENT IT. RIGHT NOW. I CAN'T—" I screamed like the psycho I've been for the past few hours
"GIVE ME THE PHONE," Kavya said jumping on the bed.
"I have popcorn. Someone better cry." Arnav said munching on his popcorns.
I handed over my phone with all the grace of someone handing over their entire will to live.
"bluelinesandramen... ooh this is such a him username." Kavya read.
"Bet his captions are sad in an attractive way," Arnav said swallowing a fistful of popcorns.
Kavya opened the account.
Bio:
✒ architecture student | always overthinking
📍nyc
📩 still writes letters that don't get sent
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'STILL WRITES LETTERS THAT DON'T GET SENT'?? AM I BREATHING?? NO, I AM NOT." I asked as I buried my face in the pillow and kicked my feet violently.
Kavya scrolled to the first photo:
A shadow of a window on a blank notebook. Caption: "Some days I don't want to be understood. Just seen."
"He posts like he journals with jazz playing and pain in the background."
"He is so your type it's actually illegal."
Photo #2: A coffee cup, half full. Handwritten poem in the background.
Caption: "This wasn't supposed to hurt."
I screamed into my boba tea plushie
"Why is his angst kinda hot tho??" Arnav asked completely invested at this point.
"Because he looks like he's sad in French," Kavya answered.
Photo #3: The NYC skyline at night. A tiny origami crane in the corner.
Caption: "I named this one 'hope' but I almost called it 'her.'"
"This boy is writing cryptic origami love notes and you're out here pretending you're not in love??" Kavya said grabbing my face.
"I hate him. I love him. I'm deleting Instagram."
"Okay wait he's cute in that 'I'll write you a 3AM poem and never tell you it's about you' way." Arnav said
"And he's got the sad-boy architect aesthetic down to a science. The dark turtlenecks? The B&W edits? He's weaponized melancholy." Kavya said analysing his feed.
"I'm gonna combust. I'm combusting."
"Someone hold her before she DMs him her star chart," Arnav said as he continued snacking.
"You know what this means, right?" Kavya asked
"What?"
"If he's this poetic online, what the hell is he gonna say in person?" She asked freaking out
"I don't know… but I think I'm going to fall in love with him either way."
Kavya continued scrolling. Arnav was halfway into a bag of popcorn. My eyes were permanently dilated.
"Wait," Kavya says.
"STOP. STOP. STOP. THIS IS A FACE POST."
"WHAT??" I lunged across the bed like I am going to intercept a missile.
"GIVE ME THAT—"
But it's too late.
They're all staring.
@bluelinesandramen.
This post is from 2 days ago.
Photo:
A mirror shot. Just his reflection — soft golden light, dark turtleneck, loose strands of hair falling over his eyes.
He's got headphones slung around his neck, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a small origami crane between two fingers.
The caption?
"I don't know if I'm ready to be seen.
But I think I want her to see me anyway."
"WHAT THE ACTUAL LIVING BREATHING HELL."
"I—ARNAV, GET THE INHALER." Kavya gasped.
"He looks like he'd say 'I'm broken' in five languages and then apologize for feeling too much," Arnav said fanboying.
I rolled on the bed like my soul left the group chat.
Kavya had taken a screenshot. Eleven screenshots.
Arnav had changed his ship name to BinAya on his Notes app.
"NO WONDER HE HASN'T POSTED HIS FACE BEFORE."
"HE'S TOO POWERFUL. THIS IS A CRIME. HOW DO YOU LOOK LIKE THAT AND WRITE LIKE THAT??"
"I CAN'T MEET HIM. I REFUSE TO MEET HIM. I'LL COMBUST."
"WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE A GUY WHO'D RUIN ME WITH A WHISPER??" I screamed
"You bumped into THAT and didn't realize?? TRAGICALLY YES?? THAT'S WHAT YOU SAID TO HIS FACE??" Kavya said clutching her chest.
"If this was an anime, that's the brooding male lead reveal scene. The entire audience would faint." Arnav muttered.
"I AM NOT OKAY."
"I NEED HIM TO DELETE HIS FACE OR MARRY ME THERE IS NO IN-BETWEEN," I said grabbing my boba plushie and screaming into it once again.
"You realize he posted this two days ago, right?"
"Meaning… he WANTED you to see it," Kavya said, using her overly unused brain.
"…I think I already did."
"…I think I'm already his," I said already in a daze.
Rabin. "She sent me her Instagram," I said softly
"You opened it, right?" Hideya asked jumping out of his bed instantly.
"I stared at the username for ten minutes first."
"What is it? @maincharactercryinginchai??" He asked
"@chai_in_panic."
"…That is the most her thing I've ever heard and I don't even know her." He said as he stopped mid-way sipping coke.
Bio:
chaos in eyeliner. chai addict.
📍nyc
📩 still writing letters to strangers. oops.
"She kept the letter thing in her bio too." I said already melting.
"Okay. Posts. We need visuals. I need to know who's haunting your literary soul." He said scrolling through her feed aggressively.
First photo:
A hand, holding a chipped mug. Rings on every finger. The caption: "Some mornings hurt more than others. this one didn't."
"She even posts like she talks," I said.
"She sounds like she breaks up with people via poetry slam." He said making me chuckle
Second photo:
A blurry rooftop view with fairy lights and sticky notes taped to her wall.
Caption: "These lights aren't crooked. they're charmingly unstable. like me."
I choked on air.
"YOU'RE DOOMED."
THIRD PHOTO.
Post date: 1 day ago
Photo:
Her.
Her hair pulled back in a messy bun with strands framing her face.
Soft makeup. Big earrings. Her signature cardigan slipping off one shoulder.
A stack of books behind her, one cup of chai half-finished beside a crooked little candle.
She's half-smiling — like she's letting you in, but only a little.
Caption:
"if I look like a love poem today, pretend it doesn't hurt."
"OH MY GOD." Hideya audibly gasped.
"That's her?" I said blinking hard.
"That's her. That's your girl. That's the one you wrote literal death-by-metaphor letters to."
"She looks like… the aftermath of something beautiful. Like she could ruin someone without even trying." I said
"She looks like she'd read your mind, underline your deepest insecurity, and still hold your hand after."
"She looks like I already belong to her."
"She posted this yesterday. Not even for you.
She just EXISTED like this. Soft lighting. Soft smile. Soft everything.
And she dropped that caption like she doesn't know what she does to people??" Hideya, paced across the room like an older sister.
"if I look like a love poem today, pretend it doesn't hurt."
"She is the love poem." I said rereading her captions
This isn't about her being pretty.
This is about her being everything I imagined — and more terrifying because now she's real.
Because now there's a face behind the feelings.
And it's the kind of face you fall for when you don't mean to.
My phone is dimming.
I've been staring at @chai_in_panic for twenty minutes.
At the chai pics. The poetry quotes. The face revealed that nearly ended my soul.
Then—
I scrolled down to one caption.
A post with fairy lights in the background.
A blurry shot. Just her hand holding a stack of books.
The caption?
"crashed into someone. he asked if I was okay. I said 'tragically, yes.' I've never felt more fictional."
My heart stopped.
"No way."
I frowned. Scrolled back to my own feed.
Found the hallway photo.
The same timestamp.
Same freaking day.
I zoomed in on the edge of the frame.
Oversized cardigan. Fuzzy notebook.
"That was her?"
I set the phone down like it just burned me.
Then picked it back up and stared harder.
"That was her."
"Bro you look like you just solved the Da Vinci Code." Hideya said from across the room.
"I did."
"Did it involve a girl?"
"It always does."
The café smells like coffee beans, cinnamon, and someone's unfinished poetry.
The golden hour sunlight spills through the glass like honey, catching the dust in the air and making everything feel a little... softer.
A little more unreal.
Inaya walks in with her red notebook pressed to her chest like armor and a prayer.
Her heart is a jackhammer.
She's wearing that cardigan — the one she always ends up in when she's nervous.
Hair in a soft braid. Lip balm barely holding it together.
"Please don't trip. Please don't trip. Please don't cry."
She spots him immediately.
Black turtleneck.
Origami crane beside his cup.
Headphones curled around his neck.
Posture is straight — but his fingers tapping the table like he's trying not to fall apart.
He looks up.
And it happens.
Their eyes meet.
And something quite inside both of them snaps.
Recognition.
Shock.
Relief.
And something deeper — something they've both written about, but never dared to expect.
He stands. Slowly.
Like he's afraid to move too fast and break the spell.
"Hi," she said, and it's barely a whisper.
"Inaya," he sayed, like he's known the name forever but never had permission to say it aloud.
They sit. Time warps.
They're not strangers.
They're not just letters anymore.
They're two people who have already handed each other their whole heart, piece by digital piece.
"You're… real," she said, almost disbelieving.
"So are you," he said, softly.
"That's the scary part."
They talk.
Awkward at first.
Then suddenly easy.
Like they've been talking this way forever — just now with eye contact.
She laughed about her chai obsession.
He admitted he printed her first email and kept it in a book.
She blushed.
He tried not to show it's making his heart scream.
"I thought I'd be more composed," she said, sipping her tea.
"I thought I'd say something profound."
"Instead I just keep staring at you."
She smiles at that.
Wide. Real.
"You know what's insane?" she says.
"What?"
"We met twice before we even knew each other."
"Yeah," he says.
"And the third time… felt like fate."
The world outside moved — people, cars, life.
But inside that café, it's just them.
Two notebooks.
One origami crane.
The table between them slowly disappeared.
"I wrote you a letter for today," she said, reaching into her bag.
"So did I," he said, doing the same.
They exchanged envelopes.
And the camera would pull back if this were a movie.
Slowly.
As they read.
As they smiled.
As they fall, again, for the person sitting across from them.
No more hiding.
No more drafts.
Just two hearts.
On the table.
"So… what happens now?" she asked.
"Now we write the rest together." He smiled.