It was rare, but Nayla showed up to the book club's monthly in person meeting.
Everyone was shocked. Not because she wasn't welcome, just because she seldom came unless it was mandatory.
This time, she came on her own.
Raka was already there, talking to someone near the snack table. When he saw her walk in, his eyebrows raised slightly, but he didn't rush over. He didn't want to spook her.
Nayla quietly found a seat near the edge of the group, nodding politely at familiar faces.
"She speaks!" someone joked lightly.
She gave a closed-mouth smile. "Only when necessary."
The group laughed.
Raka noticed the subtle shift. Some people leaned away after her comment, still unsure how to take her. Others chuckled uncomfortably.
But Raka watched with pride.
He loved that she didn't bend herself to make others comfortable. She wasn't rude, just honest. Quiet honesty.
When the discussion started, Nayla's insights were sharp, observant. She didn't talk a lot, but when she did, people listened. Even the ones who'd misread her before.
Raka kept glancing at her, catching moments, like when she pushed her hair behind her ear before speaking, or how she avoided eye contact when people praised her analysis.
She was trying, in her way.
Later, while people milled around packing up, someone asked Raka quietly, "You're close with her now?"
"Trying to be," he said.
The guy nodded. "She's... intense."
"She's thoughtful," Raka corrected.
Nayla approached him then. "I'm heading out."
"I'll walk with you."
She hesitated, then nodded.
She said on the way to the station, "I almost didn't come today."
"But you did," he said.
"I don't like crowds."
"I noticed."
They smiled. And walked the rest of the way in silence.
But a good kind of silence.