"Dude, you're obsessed," Juno said between mouthfuls of spicy noodles.
Raka poked at his bowl. The food stall buzzed around them students shouting orders, someone's Bluetooth speaker playing lo-fi beats, the comforting chaos of familiarity.
"I'm not obsessed," Raka replied.
"You bring her up every time we hang out," Juno countered. "But she never texts first, barely replies, and you're the one always chasing."
Raka exhaled. "She's not like other people."
"Oh, she's not," Juno muttered, wiping his mouth. "But are you sure you're not just into the challenge?"
Raka didn't answer.
He didn't know how to explain it. Nayla was quiet, yes. Unreadable, often. But she was also deeply present in person. She paid attention to things no one else noticed, like when he switched shampoo or when he was too quiet and trying to hide it.
She remembered the names of his coworkers he'd complained about once, weeks ago. She didn't say much, but when she did, it mattered.
"She's not a challenge," Raka said quietly. "She's a person who doesn't give herself easily. And that's okay."
Juno raised an eyebrow. "You sure she's giving anything?"
Raka didn't respond.
That night, back home, he stared at his phone. He could feel the weight of Juno's words pressing on his chest.
He typed:
"Are you still okay seeing me this weekend?"
Read.
No reply.
He waited fifteen minutes.
Then came the answer:
"Yes."
Short. Typical.
But it was enough for now.
Raka didn't need daily updates or emojis or twenty texts a day.
He just needed her to keep saying yes.