The following weekend, Nayla did something unexpected.
She planned a date.
Not a "do you want to hang out" sort of date, but a real one with a reservation, a time, and even a small itinerary. She texted Raka on Friday night:
"Don't make plans for Sunday. Dress casually. I'm stealing you for the day."
Raka replied almost instantly.
"Who are you and what have you done with my shy girlfriend?"
She grinned at the screen.
"She's evolving."
—
Sunday arrived, warm and bright. Raka showed up in a dark blue T-shirt and jeans, sunglasses tucked into his collar.
"You look suspiciously normal," he said when Nayla opened the door.
"You're lucky I didn't ask you to wear a blindfold."
He raised an eyebrow. "Should I be scared or excited?"
"Both."
Their first stop was a quiet art gallery tucked behind a bookstore. Raka had once mentioned he liked art, not in the "I'm cultured" way, but in the "I stare too long at brush strokes" kind of way.
She watched him as he walked from painting to painting, hands behind his back, tilting his head thoughtfully.
"You're pretending to know what you're looking at," she teased.
"I'm faking it," he admitted. "But I like pretending with you."
Next, they wandered to a nearby food truck market. She led him to a stall that sold cheesy Korean corn dogs.
"This is dangerously close to romance," he said with a grin.
"You eat," she said. "I'll allow no complaints."
They found a bench under a tree. He took a bite and exaggerated a dramatic moan. "This is love. You've fed me fried cheese and validated my existence."
She laughed, genuinely. The kind of laugh that didn't feel forced or calculated.
And Raka looked at her like he always did with that steady awe.
"You're different today," he said gently.
"Because I planned something?"
"No," he said, lowering his voice. "Because you let me in more."
Nayla blinked. "I guess I did."
He took her hand and squeezed. "I want you to know every little thing you do, even planning this day, feels loud to me. Like shouting. In the best way."
She looked down at their hands, intertwined.
"I used to think love had to be big," she whispered. "Dramatic. But maybe love is also showing up on a Sunday with a list of places someone once said they liked."
"That's exactly what it is," Raka said. "Loud love doesn't mean noisy. It just means felt."
They finished their food in comfortable silence.
Later, as the sun dipped below the skyline, Raka turned to her and said, "You know what this is, right?"
She tilted her head. "What?"
"This is what people mean when they say they're building something."
And for once, Nayla didn't feel afraid of that word.
She felt… ready.
She leaned her head on his shoulder, closed her eyes, and whispered, "I want to keep building."
Raka smiled. "Then let's keep choosing each other. Even on days when it rains. Even when we don't get it right."
And under the soft gold light of the fading sun, that promise was made without rings, without vows, just two hearts finally beating at the same pace.