The bus ride back home felt longer than the one that had carried Mavi away. He'd caved to Zuvi's steady insistence, her late-night reasoning that had been sharper than any lecture his parents ever gave. By the time he reached his street, the sun was already up. His father was gone for work. His mother barely looked at him, her silence heavier than shouting.
But through it all, Zuvi kept messaging. Checking in. Asking if he'd eaten, if he was okay. It was strange—this girl who had started out as nothing but a wrong number now knew more about his thoughts than anyone else.
That night, while lying in the dark, Mavi typed without overthinking:
"Zuvi, I think I like you."
His thumb hovered over the screen, debating whether to delete it. But he pressed send. His heart pounded in the pause that followed, every second stretching into an hour.
Finally, the typing dots appeared. Then vanished. Then reappeared.
"Don't."
Just that. One word. It should've crushed him. But instead, it made him smirk.
"Why not?"
Her reply was slower this time:
"Because feelings complicate things. And you don't even know me."
He lay there staring at her words, the weight of them sinking in. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was moving too fast. But still—he couldn't stop.
"Maybe I don't know everything," he typed, "but I know the way I feel when you reply. That counts for something, doesn't it?"
Her answer didn't come until morning. Just one sentence:
"You're impossible, Mavi."
And yet, he couldn't help but smile.