It started with a doodle.
A sketch Tulip had scribbled late one night after finishing her homework. A silly little caricature of them Ren and her sitting on clouds, playing chess in the sky. She took a picture of it and sent it to him on WhatsApp with the caption:
"Us if we were gods of boredom."
Ren laughed. Replied with a meme of a grumpy cat wearing headphones that read:
"Mood while waiting for your message."
That was the last time they hung out in person.
No fight. No falling out.
Just a call that ended with quiet giggles and a sleepy
"Okay, goodnight, you weirdo."
And after that, life got in the way.
Or maybe, it didn't.
They still talked. Still tagged each other in reels. Still spammed silly couple memes.
Ren would recommend her anime. Tulip would send him vlogs that reminded her of their vibe.
They watched rom-coms on Discord with their mics off and hearts quietly full.
They drew together sometimes on random whiteboards, sometimes on call,
screens glowing while the rest of the room stayed dark.
They cooked together virtually once, too.
Tulip burned the toast. Ren forgot salt.
But they laughed. They always laughed.
And at night, they'd exchange voice notes.
Half-whispered truths. Stories they couldn't say aloud.
Ren would share his fears.
Tulip would hum songs.
Sometimes there were long pauses in between.
But never awkward ones.
They were not dating. But they were not just friends either.
A strange digital closeness bloomed between them.
Something in-between love and not-love.
Something safe.
Almost romantic.
Almost real.
But something was missing.
They stopped meeting outside.
Stopped asking to hang out.
Whenever Tulip brought it up, Ren gave vague replies.
"Let's see."
"Someday."
"Maybe next week."
She shrugged, said she was busy
but her voice wavered at the end.
A tell she didn't know she had.
Ren noticed. But said nothing.
It was easier this way.
No expectations. No risks.
Just two people orbiting each other with fragile gravity,
tied by pixels and playlists, silence and screen time.
They hadn't broken up.
But the distance between their hearts grew quiet and unnoticed,
like hairline cracks in a cup you still use.
Cracks that don't spill, but still hurt to hold.
They still talked. Still cared. Still sent each other things.
But some voice notes stayed unopened.
Some drawings went unacknowledged.
And some nights
they didn't talk at all.
It was them.
Just... not them anymore. And tomorrow, they'd talk again still tangled in what almost was.