Raka noticed it before Nayla did.
It was subtle like a shift in the air pressure. A delayed reply. A shorter voice note. A hug that didn't linger as long.
She hadn't pulled away completely, but something had curled inward. A quiet that felt different from her usual softness.
They were sitting on his couch one evening, watching a movie they both weren't watching. Raka's arm was draped along the back of the sofa, close but not touching.
Nayla had barely said anything since she arrived.
Not out of coldness, but exhaustion. Her eyes looked tired. Her mouth smiled politely.
When the credits rolled, she stood up and began gathering her things.
"You're leaving already?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light.
She nodded. "I have an early meeting."
"You okay?"
She hesitated.
"I'm just… tired," she said.
"Okay," Raka replied, though his chest tightened.
He walked her to the door.
"Text me when you get home?"
"Always," she said, managing a faint smile.
But she didn't say I miss you, or thank you, or see you tomorrow the little things she had been saying more often lately.
And that's how he knew.
Something was off.
—
Three days passed.
Her replies came, but slower. Shorter. The warmth was there, but dimmer.
On the fourth night, he called.
She picked up on the third ring.
"Hey," she said, her voice a little hoarse.
"I miss you."
A pause. "I know. I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry. Just… tell me what's going on."
She was quiet for a long time.
Then, finally: "I think I'm overwhelmed."
"By me?"
"No. With me."
He didn't speak, letting her find the words.
"I've been happy," she said slowly. "Happier than I'm used to. And I think part of me doesn't know how to hold onto it. So I'm... bracing. For the fall."
Raka closed his eyes, trying to steady the ache in his chest.
"I'm not going anywhere, Nay."
"I know that. But my brain keeps telling me you will. Or worse, you'll stay, and I'll mess it all up."
He breathed deeply. "Then let's mess it up together. I'd rather be inside the storm than outside of your life."
That broke something open in her.
She didn't cry. But her voice cracked when she whispered, "I don't want to disappear."
"Then don't," he said gently. "You don't have to run just because it's good."
She let out a breath. "Can I come over?"
"You never have to ask."
Twenty-five minutes later, she was at his door, hair slightly damp from the night rain, eyes tired but clearer.
He didn't say anything. Just wrapped his arms around her.
And in the silence that followed, something mended.
Not because they had solved it all.
But because they had stayed.
Even when it got quiet again.
Even when the old fear returned.
They stayed.
And maybe that was enough.