The days that followed felt different for Joya.
Nothing big had happened. No confessions. No dramatic moments. Yet everything felt heavier, more meaningful. Sudom had started noticing her in small ways—waiting a little longer after school, slowing his bicycle, walking beside her without saying much.
Sometimes silence spoke more than words.
One afternoon, clouds gathered unexpectedly. The sky darkened, and the wind grew restless. Joya stood under a tree, unsure whether to wait or run.
Sudom stopped beside her.
"It might rain," he said softly.
She nodded. "It usually does… when the sky looks like this."
He smiled. "Then let's wait."
They stood there together, listening to the wind rustle the leaves. Joya felt nervous again, but it wasn't fear this time. It was anticipation.
Sudom looked at her, then away, as if choosing his words carefully.
"You're very quiet," he said. "But somehow… your silence feels comfortable."
Joya's heart skipped. She didn't know how to respond, so she just smiled. Words felt dangerous. What if she said too much? What if she said too little?
The first drops of rain fell.
Sudom quickly took off his jacket and held it slightly over her head. Their hands brushed for a brief second.
That single touch sent a shiver through her.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He nodded, his expression gentle, almost thoughtful.
As the rain grew heavier, Joya realized something important. This was no longer just a hidden love she carried alone. It was slowly becoming a shared space—fragile, uncertain, but real.
Still, some words remained unsaid.
And sometimes, the unsaid words were the ones that mattered most.
Do you think Sudom is ready to say what Joya has been hiding all along?