The suitcase was slowly beginning to take shape.
Mine.
His.
Our belongings were mingling in a way that no longer felt accidental; it felt… natural. As if they belonged that way. As if we had been living like this for a lifetime.
The zipper remained open. I paused for a moment, hands braced against the edge of the bed, my gaze instinctively drifting toward the phone on the nightstand.
The silence in the house was soft.
It was broken only by the gentle shifting of Sun, Leo, and Nun, who had already settled comfortably on the bed.
They watched me as if they knew exactly what was happening—that I wasn't going anywhere today without them, or at the very least, without their supervision.
I smiled to myself.
And then—
The phone vibrated.
I looked at it almost too quickly, as if I had been waiting.
His name.
Of course.
I opened the message.
I miss you.
Simple. No unnecessary words. But it was enough to send a wave of warmth through my chest.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a second. Then, I slowly typed back:
You're at dinner.
A brief pause. And then:
Behave.
Sent.
Hardly a second later, the phone buzzed again.
I am.
A beat.
Barely.
I let out a quiet laugh, tilting my head back slightly as if I could see him standing right there—cool, composed… and completely unfocused the moment I crossed his mind.
Call me later, another message followed.
My expression softened.
I will, I replied.
I set the phone back on the nightstand, but I didn't return to the packing immediately. Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers absentmindedly sliding through Sun's fur as he pressed closer to me.
"Spoiled," I murmured softly.
But the smile didn't fade.
Minutes drifted by.
The suitcase was finally closed.
The zipper slid shut with a quiet finality, the soft sound somehow sealing everything that had been running through my mind just moments before. I stood there for a second, my gaze lingering on it—on the neatly packed clothes inside.
Mine.
His.
Ours.
My eyes drifted toward my phone on the nightstand.
Silence filled the house , calm but almost too still.
I exhaled softly, running a hand through my hair before turning away.
"Alright," I murmured under my breath.
If I was going to wait…
At least I wouldn't do it hungry.
Sun lifted his head immediately, as if he understood.
Leo was already moving.
Nun, of course, wasn't far behind.
A small smile touched my lips.
"Of course you're all coming with me."
They followed me out of the bedroom without hesitation.
The kitchen greeted me with that familiar evening quiet—cool, still, almost empty.
I turned on the light.
Warmth filled the space instantly.
For a moment—
that was enough.
I rested my hands on the counter, letting my gaze drift for just a second before I moved.
Slowly.
Unhurried.
I opened the fridge.
Simple ingredients.
Nothing special.
But enough.
The soft sound of the knife against the cutting board filled the room as I started preparing dinner, followed by the quiet sizzle of the pan heating up on the stove.
The smell came soon after.
Warm.
Comforting.
Filling the space in a way that almost replaced the absence of his voice.
Sun sat right by my feet.
Leo settled a little further away, but his attention never left me.
And Nun—
of course—
was already on the counter.
"No," I said immediately, glancing at him.
He looked right back at me.
Unmoved.
Unapologetic.
I sighed softly.
"You never learn."
But I didn't move him.
Instead, I continued cooking, my movements automatic, my thoughts quieter now—
or at least softer.
A few times, my eyes drifted back to my phone.
Still nothing.
He was probably still there.
With her.
The thought settled in.
I didn't push it away.
Didn't chase it either.
I just… let it exist.
Dinner was ready not long after.
Simple.
Warm.
Enough.
I set the plate down on the table and sat.
The silence returned.
But this time—
it wasn't empty.
Sun rested his head on my knee.
Leo shifted closer.
Nun… was already trying to steal something from my plate.
"Seriously?" I muttered, glancing at him.
A small smile slipped through anyway.
And I started eating.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Like I had time.
Like I was waiting.
Because I was.
And somewhere, quietly—
I knew—
he would come.
I didn't even realize when I stopped eating.
My fork rested lightly against the plate, my gaze drifting—again—toward my phone.
Still nothing.
The quiet stretched just a little too long.
I exhaled softly.
…Fine.
Before I could overthink it, I reached for my phone and tapped his name.
It rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then—
he picked up.
"What do you want, Non."
His voice was calm. Low. Controlled.
But it wasn't cold.
Something in my chest softened immediately.
I leaned back slightly in my chair, lowering my voice without thinking—
almost a whisper.
"I miss you."
There was a pause on the other end.
Not long.
But enough to feel.
Then—
"IMYT."
I blinked slightly, frowning just a little.
"What?"
A faint shift in his tone.
"I'll send you the documents."
That didn't help.
At all.
But I still nodded slightly, even though he couldn't see me.
"Okay."
A small pause.
Then, softer—
"When are you coming?"
Silence.
Brief.
Measured.
"Soon," he said.
Another pause.
"Send them to me. I'll review them."
Of course he would turn it into work.
A quiet smile tugged at my lips anyway.
"Okay."
For a second, neither of us spoke.
I could hear faint background noise on his side—voices, distant, muted.
That dinner.
With her.
My fingers tightened slightly around my phone.
Then, before I could stop myself—
"I love you."
The words slipped out softer this time.
Quieter.
But real.
There was no hesitation in his answer.
"Alright."
Simple.
Steady.
Like a promise he didn't need to explain.
And then—
the line went dead.
I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the screen for a moment after the call ended.
The house was quiet again.
But not empty.
Not anymore.
I set my phone down beside my plate, leaning back slightly in my chair as a small, almost absent smile stayed on my lips.
"IMYT," I murmured under my breath.
Still no idea what that meant.
But somehow—
it didn't feel like something distant.
If anything—
it felt like him.
My gaze was still resting on the phone when it vibrated again.
This time—
a message.
From him.
I reached for it almost immediately, unlocking the screen without thinking.
A file.
No explanation.
No text.
Just—
a document.
I frowned slightly.
"Documents?" I murmured under my breath.
That was fast.
Too fast.
Still, I tapped it open.
The screen shifted.
And instead of numbers, reports, or anything that even remotely looked like work—
there was a page.
Simple.
Clean.
And at the top—
my name.
Niran.
My breath caught for just a second.
I straightened slightly in my chair, my fingers tightening just a little around the phone as my eyes moved down the page.
It wasn't a report.
It wasn't anything official.
It was—
a letter.
For me.
---
To my artist,
I know you didn't understand what IMYT means.
So I'll explain it in a way you won't misunderstand.
It means—
I miss you too.
But in a way that stays, even when I'm sitting across from someone else.
Even when I'm supposed to be somewhere else.
Even when I look like I'm listening—
and I'm not.
Because my thoughts aren't there.
They're with you.
My fingers trembled slightly.
Just enough for me to notice.
I swallowed, my eyes continuing to read.
You told me to behave.
I am.
But only because I promised you.
Not because I want to.
Because right now
I'd rather be anywhere else but here.
Preferably—
with you.
---
A slow breath left me.
My chest felt tight.
Warm.
Too full.
You said you'd wait.
Don't. Eat. Rest.
Take care of yourself.
That's part of the contract too.
(Yes, I can add clauses whenever I want.)
A small, breathless laugh slipped past my lips.
---
And one more thing—
Don't try to understand everything I say immediately.
Some things—
I'll make you feel instead.
---
My eyes softened.
The words blurred for just a second before I blinked, focusing again as I reached the last line.
I'll be there with you soon. And I won't let you go. I love you so much my dear artist.
Chaky
My thumb hovered over the screen, tracing lightly over the last line as if I could somehow feel the weight of his words through it.
"Idiot," I whispered softly.
But the smile on my lips gave me away completely.
Slow.
Warm.
Unshaken.
I leaned back in my chair, phone still in my hand, my chest still holding onto every word like it didn't want to let go.
I miss you too.
Now—
I understood.
And somehow—
that made waiting even harder.
For a moment, I just sat there.
The phone still in my hand.
His words still… everywhere.
Then slowly, I exhaled and placed it down on the table, my fingers lingering for just a second before I pulled them away.
"Okay," I murmured quietly to myself.
Move.
Do something.
Anything.
I stood up, gathering the dishes from the table, the small, familiar routine grounding me again. The soft clink of the plate, the running water, the quiet rhythm of cleaning—it all settled something inside me just enough to breathe normally again.
Sun followed me into the kitchen.
Leo stayed by the table.
Nun… tried to jump up again.
"Don't even try," I said without looking.
A pause.
Then the soft sound of him jumping down anyway.
I smiled faintly.
By the time everything was clean and put away, the apartment had returned to that calm stillness.
Too calm.
I wiped my hands dry and walked into the living room, dropping onto the couch with a quiet sigh, my head falling back for a moment as I stared at the ceiling.
Silence.
My thoughts immediately drifted back to him.
His message.
That letter.
I turned my head slightly, eyes landing on my phone again.
Still nothing new.
I stayed like that for maybe a minute.
Two.
Then—
I groaned softly and sat up.
"This is impossible," I muttered.
Sitting still wasn't going to work.
Waiting like this?
Even worse.
Before I could think about it any longer, I pushed myself off the couch and headed down the hall.
Straight to my art room.
The moment I stepped inside, something shifted.
The air felt different there—quieter in a good way, more focused. Familiar. Mine.
I closed the door behind me.
Slowly.
Then walked to my desk.
My sketchbook was already there.
Waiting.
I pulled the chair out and sat down, flipping it open without hesitation, my fingers already reaching for a pencil like muscle memory had taken over.
For a second, I just stared at the blank page.
Then—
I started drawing.
The first lines were light.
Careful.
But they didn't stay that way for long.
Because I already knew what I was drawing.
Him.
Not his face.
Not this time.
My pencil moved more confidently now, sketching the lines of his shoulders, the structure of his chest, the way the fabric of his shirt always sat just right—but never quite enough to hide what was underneath.
The memory was too clear.
The way he stood.
The way he moved.
The quiet strength in every small shift of his body.
My hand moved faster, the lines deepening, shaping the definition of his muscles—not exaggerated, not forced, just… him.
Natural.
Controlled.
Power held back instead of shown.
I leaned slightly closer to the page, my focus narrowing completely, everything else fading into the background.
The room.
The time.
The waiting.
All of it disappeared.
There was only the sound of graphite against paper.
Only the image forming beneath my hands.
Only him.
A soft breath left me as I paused for just a second, my eyes tracing over what I had already drawn.
"…Chak," I whispered quietly.
And then—
I kept going.