The evening settled quietly over Joya's room. The sky outside her window was fading into shades of violet and gray, and the street below looked softer, calmer, as if the world itself was slowing down. She sat on the edge of her bed, her phone resting loosely in her hand, unread notifications blinking on the screen. Yet her thoughts were nowhere near them.
Sudom.
The name drifted through her mind like a familiar ache.
Ever since that small note he had left, something had changed. Not dramatically. Not in a way others would notice. But inside Joya, it felt like a door had been opened just enough to let light in, while still keeping the room mostly dark.
She replayed his words again and again.
"I noticed you yesterday. I'll try to understand you better."
They weren't a confession. They weren't even close. But they were not nothing either. And somehow, that made everything more complicated.
A gentle knock came at the door.
"Didi, dinner's ready," her younger brother Bijoy said from the other side.
"I'll come in a minute," Joya replied, her voice steady, though her heart was anything but.
When she finally joined her family, she barely tasted the food. Her mother talked about everyday things, Bijoy complained about school, and her father listened quietly. Joya smiled when needed, nodded when spoken to, but her thoughts kept wandering back to the same place.
What was Sudom thinking right now?
After dinner, she returned to her room and opened her notebook. The pages were filled with half-written thoughts, unfinished sentences, and little sketches she didn't remember drawing. She turned to a blank page, hoping words would come, hoping writing would untangle the confusion inside her.
Instead, she found herself staring at nothing.
The next day at school, she noticed him before she even entered the classroom. Sudom was standing near the window, talking to a classmate, his expression relaxed. When his eyes met hers, he paused for just a second before offering a small smile.
It wasn't shy.
It wasn't distant.
It was something in between.
And that space between felt heavier than silence.
Throughout the day, they shared small moments. A glance held a second longer than usual. A quiet "good morning." A shared laugh during class when the teacher made an unintentional joke. To anyone watching, it was ordinary. To Joya, it felt like walking on a thin line stretched between hope and fear.
During lunch, Sudom sat across from her, stirring his food absentmindedly.
"Joya," he said suddenly.
She looked up, her heart jumping. "Yes?"
He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. "You've been quiet lately."
She forced a small smile. "I'm always quiet."
He shook his head slightly. "Not like this."
For a moment, she thought he might say more. That maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment everything would finally be spoken out loud. But then he looked away, breaking the fragile tension between them.
"Never mind," he said gently. "Just… tell me if something's wrong, okay?"
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
That afternoon, as classes ended, rain began to fall. Not heavy, just enough to darken the ground and cool the air. Students rushed out, laughing and complaining, but Joya stayed behind, watching the rain blur the world outside.
Sudom approached her, holding his bag over his shoulder.
"Do you want to wait until it stops?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yeah."
They stood there in silence, listening to the rain hit the ground. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't easy either. The kind of silence that carried too many unspoken thoughts.
"I've been thinking," Sudom said quietly. "About you. About us."
Her breath caught.
"I don't always understand feelings right away," he continued. "Sometimes I need time."
She looked at him then, really looked at him. His expression was sincere, thoughtful, almost vulnerable.
"I'm not pushing you," he added. "I just don't want you to think I don't care."
The rain softened, and so did something inside her.
"I don't think that," she said softly. "I just… get scared of waiting."
He nodded, as if he understood more than she expected.
"Let's not rush," he said. "But let's not ignore it either."
Those words settled gently in her heart. Not a promise. Not a confession. But a shared understanding.
When the rain stopped, they walked out together. At the gate, Sudom paused.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said.
"Tomorrow," she replied.
As she watched him ride away, Joya realized something important. Love wasn't always loud. Sometimes it lived quietly, in pauses, in half-spoken sentences, in the space between words.
And maybe, just maybe, that space was where their story was truly beginning.