Ali Arif stared at his phone long after he got home. Her number sat there, waiting like a question he wasn't sure he wanted answered yet.
Finally, he typed:
**Ali:** Hi. It's Ali. The book guy from yesterday.
Three minutes later, his phone buzzed.
**Ayesha:** Hi. Did the book dry?
He smiled faintly. That small, ordinary question felt heavier than he expected.
**Ali:** Pages are wrinkled… but it survived. Like me in the rain.
**Ayesha:** Then take care of it. Books remember how you treat them.
They laughed over text. A month went by, though they hadn't met again. Their conversations slowly moved from books and coaching notes to everyday life—little things, memories, random thoughts.
**Ali:** Do you always reread your favorite books when your heart feels noisy?
**Ayesha:** Maybe. And you?
**Ali:** I drink too much coffee. Pretend I'm not lonely. Works sometimes.
They talked about childhood—Ayesha shared stories about her little brother Hamza, mischievous and two years old, and her elder sister Sana, who she trusted with everything. She told him about her parents: her mother a patient teacher, her father a quiet government employee.
Ali told her about his parents, Arif and Samina, who ran a small restaurant, and about growing up as an only child.
Their conversations weren't always smooth. They teased, misunderstood, argued over silly things like whose favorite book was better, or why Ali preferred certain coffee shops. But even arguments felt comforting; they were both learning each other's rhythm.
Sometimes, the chat would go silent for hours, yet they didn't feel distant. Silence between them had weight, but it was safe—different from loneliness.
**Ayesha:** Do you ever feel like time moves faster when you're not paying attention?
Ali didn't answer immediately. He read it twice before typing:
**Ali:** Only when I'm afraid of losing something.
Ayesha didn't reply for a while. When she finally did, she wrote:
**Ayesha:** Then maybe we should pay attention.
And slowly, Ali realized—he was already paying attention. Every word, every pause, every little emoji she sent mattered more than he thought it would.
It had been a month of simple messages, small jokes, and quiet confessions neither dared to say out loud. Yet in those tiny exchanges, a bond was forming—a connection neither books nor rain could explain.