That night—
Aiman was the one who sent the first message.
"Did you eat already?"
The message appeared on Alya's screen just before dinner.
She smiled immediately.
"Yes. What about you?"
Aiman replied faster than usual.
"Just finished."
Another message followed.
"Don't skip meals."
Alya laughed softly.
"You always say that."
"Because you always forget."
She stared at the screen longer than necessary.
Some things never changed.
And she liked that.
A few minutes later—
another message appeared.
This time from Aiman again.
"Rest early tonight."
Alya blinked.
"Why suddenly serious?"
"No reason."
But she smiled anyway.
At the same time—
Nadia's phone vibrated.
Aiman.
"Are you still working?"
Nadia leaned back in her chair.
"Yes. Almost done."
"Don't stay too late."
"I won't."
Then another message came.
"Drink water."
Nadia smiled slightly.
"You sound like an old person."
"Someone has to remind you."
She stared at that sentence longer than expected.
Because he always did.
Always.
That night—
everything still felt normal.
Warm.
Close.
Familiar.
Like before.
But something small had already changed.
Later—
Alya sent another message.
"What are you doing now?"
Aiman read it immediately.
But this time—
he didn't reply right away.
Minutes passed.
Then twenty minutes.
Then almost an hour.
Finally—
"I'm resting."
Short.
Simple.
Different.
Alya noticed it.
Just a little.
But she noticed.
Meanwhile—
Nadia sent another message too.
"Did something happen today?"
This time—
he replied even slower.
"Just tired."
No explanation.
No story.
No details.
Only distance.
Still polite.
Still gentle.
Still Aiman.
But quieter.
Much quieter than before.
That night—
before sleeping—
Aiman looked at both conversations again.
Alya's messages.
Nadia's messages.
He read them carefully.
Slowly.
As if memorising them.
Then he typed one last message.
To Alya.
"Sleep well."
Send.
To Nadia.
"Don't forget to rest."
Send.
Same words.
Same care.
Same warmth.
But this time—
his fingers stayed on the screen longer than usual.
Because he already knew something they didn't.
Soon—
even messages like this
would become harder to send.CHAPTER — The Distance Begins
At first—
nothing changed too much.
At least that was what Aiman told himself.
He still replied to Alya's messages.
Still answered Nadia's questions.
Still said good morning.
Still said good night.
Still asked if they had eaten.
Still reminded them to rest.
Everything looked the same.
Except it wasn't.
The messages became shorter.
Slower.
Carefully controlled.
One day—
Alya sent a long message about her work.
Aiman read it.
Twice.
Three times.
But he only replied with one sentence.
"Take care of yourself."
Alya stared at the reply longer than usual.
Normally, he would ask more questions.
Normally, he would joke a little.
Normally, he would stay longer in the conversation.
That night—
he disappeared earlier than usual.
The next day—
Nadia sent him three messages.
Morning.
Afternoon.
Night.
He only replied once.
"Busy today."
That was all.
No explanation.
No story.
No laughter.
No warmth.
Just distance.
Days passed.
Aiman started replying later.
Sometimes hours later.
Sometimes the next day.
Sometimes not at all.
But every time he returned—
he sounded normal again.
As if nothing had changed.
As if everything was still the same.
Except it wasn't.
One evening—
his phone vibrated again.
Alya.
"Are you okay?"
Aiman looked at the message for a long time.
Too long.
Then he typed slowly.
"I'm fine."
Send.
Another message arrived immediately.
"You sound different lately."
He didn't reply.
Instead—
he placed the phone beside him and leaned back against the wall.
His breathing felt heavier tonight.
Slower.
Careful.
He pressed his hand lightly against his chest.
Waited.
Counted his breaths quietly.
One.
Two.
Three.
Still manageable.
Still under control.
Still enough time.
Another vibration.
Nadia.
"You didn't reply yesterday."
He closed his eyes.
"I fell asleep early."
Send.
Another small lie.
Another small protection.
Another step further away from them.
Days continued like that.
Short replies.
Late replies.
Sometimes no replies at all.
And slowly—
his body began to change.
He walked slower.
Sat down more often.
Forgot to finish his meals.
Sometimes he stopped halfway while climbing the stairs.
Sometimes he needed to rest before continuing.
One afternoon—
he almost dropped his phone.
His fingers suddenly felt weak.
He caught it just in time.
He looked at his hand quietly.
Still steady.
Still normal.
At least from the outside.
But he understood now.
Time was moving faster than before.
That night—
his phone vibrated again.
Alya.
"You're avoiding us."
He read the message carefully.
Again.
And again.
Then he placed the phone down without replying.
Minutes passed.
Then another message arrived.
Nadia.
"If something is wrong, you can tell us."
Aiman lowered his head slowly.
His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table.
"I know," he whispered.
"I know."
But knowing was different from telling.
And telling would only make things harder later.
So he chose silence again.
Because distance was easier than goodbye.
And if they slowly got used to his absence now—
maybe
just maybe
it would hurt them less
when he was finally gone.