The next evening arrived with a soft breeze drifting through the streets. The sky was pale, neither fully blue nor ready for night, caught in that familiar in-between state that Joya had come to associate with her own heart.
She stood near the school gate, fingers curled around the strap of her bag, pretending to scroll through her phone while watching every passing bicycle. Each time one appeared, her chest tightened, then slowly loosened again.
Then she saw him.
Sudom rode in slowly, as if unsure whether he should hurry or take his time. When he stopped in front of her, he smiled, that same gentle smile that always made her forget what she had planned to say.
"Sorry I'm late," he said. "The road was crowded."
"It's okay," Joya replied quickly, almost too quickly. "I just got here too."
They walked side by side toward the quieter street near the lake. The sound of water brushing against the shore filled the silence between them. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but it was heavy, filled with things unsaid.
Sudom stopped near the railing and leaned against it. "I wanted to talk," he began, then paused. His fingers tapped lightly against the metal, betraying his calm expression.
Joya waited. She didn't rush him this time.
"I feel like you've been carrying something for a while," he said slowly. "And I don't want to misunderstand you."
Her heart skipped. This was closer than ever before.
She looked at him, searching his face. "Sometimes," she said, choosing her words carefully, "people wait because they're afraid that saying something will change everything."
Sudom nodded, as if he understood more than she expected. "And sometimes," he replied, "not saying it changes things too."
The air between them felt thinner.
He took a small step closer, then stopped again, as if an invisible line held him back. "There's something I've been trying to figure out," he said. "About us."
Us.
That single word echoed loudly in Joya's chest.
Before he could continue, his phone rang. The sound was sharp, almost cruel. He glanced at the screen and frowned slightly.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I have to take this. It's my uncle."
Joya nodded, hiding her disappointment behind a small smile. "It's fine."
He stepped aside to answer, his voice low. Joya turned toward the lake, watching the reflection of lights ripple on the water. She wondered if this was how opportunities slipped away, quietly, without warning.
When Sudom returned, his expression had changed. "I have to go home earlier than I thought," he said apologetically. "But… can we continue this another time?"
She met his eyes. There was sincerity there. And hesitation. And something else she couldn't quite name.
"Yes," she said. "Another time."
He smiled in relief. "Thank you for waiting."
As he rode away, Joya stayed where she was, longer than necessary. The conversation replayed in her mind, every pause, every almost-word.
He hadn't said it.
She hadn't either.
But something had shifted.
Later that night, Joya lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Bijoy's soft breathing came from the other side of the room. She thought about how close she had been to hearing the truth, and how close she had been to saying hers.
Maybe tomorrow wouldn't bring answers.
But it would bring another chance.
And this time, she promised herself, she wouldn't let silence speak for her again.