The evening sky leaned toward dusk when Joya returned home. The road below her window was alive with familiar sounds: bicycle bells, distant laughter, the call of a tea seller closing his stall for the night. She stood by the window longer than usual, her fingers resting against the cool glass, her thoughts drifting back to Sudom's quiet smile from earlier that day.
Nothing extraordinary had happened. No grand confession. No dramatic moment. And yet, something felt different. As if the space between them had shifted, just a little.
"Didi, are you going to eat or just stare at the road all night?"
Joya turned. Bijoy stood at the door, arms crossed, pretending to look annoyed but failing miserably. His eyes were curious, sharp in the way only younger brothers could be.
"I'm coming," she said, forcing a small smile.
At dinner, Joya barely tasted the food. Her mother spoke about neighbors, about rising prices, about things that usually grounded Joya in the ordinary rhythm of life. Tonight, however, her mind kept returning to the same question.
Did Sudom really mean what he wrote?
After dinner, she retreated to her room. The folded note was still hidden inside her notebook, creased from being opened too many times. She took it out again, reading the simple sentence as if it might change.
"I noticed you yesterday. I'll try to understand you better."
The words were gentle. Careful. Almost cautious.
Her phone buzzed suddenly, startling her.
A message.
Sudom: Are you free right now?
Joya's heart jumped. She stared at the screen, her thumb hovering over the keyboard.
Joya: Yes.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then appeared again.
Sudom: Can we talk for a bit?
She swallowed hard.
Joya: Okay.
A few minutes later, she found herself standing near the tea shop at the corner of their neighborhood. The air smelled of brewed tea and dust, the kind of smell that felt deeply familiar. Sudom was already there, sitting on his bicycle, one foot on the ground.
He looked up when he saw her. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"Thanks for coming," he said finally.
Joya nodded. "You said you wanted to talk."
"Yes. I did." He hesitated, then gestured toward the bench nearby. "Can we sit?"
They sat side by side, close enough to feel each other's presence, far enough to avoid accidental touch. The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable.
"I've been thinking," Sudom began. "About you. About us."
Joya's breath caught.
"I'm not very good at understanding feelings," he continued honestly. "Sometimes people expect me to see things I don't notice right away."
She looked down at her hands. "I know."
"But that doesn't mean I don't care," he said quickly. "When you were quiet yesterday, when you kept holding back… I felt like I was missing something important."
She finally looked at him. His expression was serious, almost vulnerable.
"I didn't want to push you," he said. "But I also didn't want to pretend I didn't notice."
Joya's chest tightened. The words she had carried for so long pressed against her ribs, begging to be released. Still, fear lingered.
"What if," she asked softly, "what if what I feel is more than what you're ready for?"
Sudom didn't answer immediately. He stared at the road ahead, watching a cyclist pass by.
"Then I'd want to understand it," he said at last. "Even if it takes time."
Her eyes burned.
"I'm scared," she admitted. "Because once I say it, I can't take it back."
He turned toward her fully now. "I'm scared too. But I don't think fear should mean silence."
The world seemed to narrow to the space between them.
Joya took a slow breath. "I don't expect promises. Or certainty." She paused. "I just don't want to feel invisible anymore."
"You're not," Sudom said immediately. "You never were."
The sincerity in his voice broke something open inside her.
"I like you," she said, the words finally free. "Not suddenly. Not lightly. I think I have for a long time."
For a second, Sudom said nothing. Then he exhaled, a soft sound, almost a laugh.
"I thought so," he admitted. "I just didn't want to assume."
She blinked. "You knew?"
"Not clearly," he said. "But I felt it. And now that you've said it… I don't want to run from it."
The tension eased, replaced by something fragile and warm.
"I can't tell you where this will lead," he added. "But I want to walk forward, not pretend this moment didn't happen."
That was enough.
They stood up as the tea shop lights flickered off. The night had deepened, stars barely visible.
As they walked back, their steps naturally aligned.
No hands touched. No promises were made.
But for the first time, Joya felt certain of one thing.
Her heart had been heard.
And sometimes, that was the beginning of everything.