Aira stopped pretending first.
It happened on a random afternoon, during a moment that shouldn't have mattered.
Reyhan cancelled plans.
Not dramatically.
Not rudely.
Just a simple message.
Reyhan:
Can we do this another day? I'm not in the headspace.
Aira stared at the screen longer than necessary.
She typed okay.
Deleted it.
Typed sure.
Deleted that too.
Finally, she put the phone down without replying.
Not because she was angry.
Because it hurt.
And pretending it didn't felt worse.
---
Reyhan noticed immediately.
The absence of her reply was louder than any argument.
He sat on his bed, phone in hand, heart racing.
I should've explained more, he thought.
I should've said something else.
But fear froze him again.
What if explaining makes it heavier?
---
They met the next day in the hallway.
No avoidance this time.
No silence.
Aira looked at him directly.
"Don't do that," she said.
Reyhan stiffened. "Do what?"
"Disappear emotionally and expect me to be okay with it," she replied calmly.
"I won't fight you—but I won't pretend either."
That honesty shook him.
"I wasn't disappearing," he said quickly.
"I was overwhelmed."
"Then say that," Aira replied.
"Don't leave me filling in the gaps."
Reyhan swallowed hard.
"I didn't want to burden you," he said.
"You don't get to decide what burdens me," she said softly.
"You get to trust me with the truth."
That landed.
Hard.
"I'm not made of glass," she continued.
"And when you pull away without explaining… it hurts."
Reyhan nodded slowly, guilt flooding in.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"I didn't mean to make you feel small."
"I know," Aira replied.
"But intention doesn't erase impact."
They stood there, the hallway moving around them, time strangely distant.
"I don't want to be strong all the time," Aira added.
"I want to be honest."
Reyhan met her eyes.
"I don't want to hurt you quietly," he said.
"But I don't always know how to stay when I'm overwhelmed."
Aira exhaled.
"Then we learn," she said.
"Or we admit we can't."
That was the line.
The one neither of them wanted to cross.
Reyhan nodded.
"I want to learn," he said.
Aira believed him.
But belief didn't erase the ache.
Not yet.
They walked away together—slower than usual.
This wasn't resolution.
It was exposure.
And sometimes… that was the most painful part.
RULE #60: Don't pretend it doesn't hurt.
Because unacknowledged pain doesn't fade—
it just waits.