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Link (Chapter 5): Chapter 5: What We Don’t Say
The silence didn’t arrive all at once.
It slipped in quietly between messages that took longer to reply to, between drafts Mira rewrote too many times, between lines of code Arin stared at without seeing.
They still talked. Just… less.
Mira told herself it was normal. Writing deadlines did that. So did life. So did the fact that intimacy, once acknowledged, demanded more attention than either of them had expected.
Arin noticed it too the way her messages grew shorter, warmer but cautious. The way she stopped sending lines from her notebook late at night. He didn’t push. He never did. He told himself patience was a kind of respect.
But patience came with questions.
Three days passed before she texted him again.
Mira:
I’m sorry I’ve been quiet. Can we walk tonight? Just walk.
He replied immediately.
Yes.
They met near the park just after sunset. The air was cooler now, autumn flirting with the edges of the evening. Mira arrived with her hands tucked into her jacket pockets, her hair loose but tired, like it had been through too many thoughts.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” he answered.
They walked side by side, not touching, but close enough that awareness lingered. Leaves crunched softly under their steps. The city hummed at a polite distance.
“I didn’t disappear,” she said suddenly, eyes forward. “I just… pulled back.”
“I know,” Arin replied. “I didn’t think you vanished.”
She glanced at him, searching his face. “You didn’t?”
“No,” he said. “I figured you were figuring something out.”
Her shoulders relaxed, just a little.
“I get scared when things start to matter,” she admitted. “Especially when they’re good. I start imagining endings instead of staying in the middle.”
He nodded. “I do the opposite. I stay quiet and hope the middle lasts.”
She smiled faintly. “That explains us.”
They stopped near the edge of the park, where the lights thinned and the noise softened. Mira leaned against the railing, staring at the dark stretch of trees.
“I don’t want to rush you,” she said. “And I don’t want to rush myself. But I also don’t want to pretend I don’t feel this.”
Arin stepped closer - not touching, just closing the gap.
“Then don’t pretend,” he said. “Just don’t disappear.”
She turned to face him fully now. The vulnerability in her eyes wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Earnest.
“I won’t,” she said. “But promise me something.”
He met her gaze. “What?”
“If I pull back again,” she said softly, “ask me why. Don’t assume.”
“I can do that.”
She exhaled, like she’d been holding that request for days.
They stood there for a moment, neither moving. Mira reached out, almost unconsciously, and hooked her finger into the hem of his sleeve - a small, grounding touch.
He let his arm relax under her hand.
“I missed this,” she murmured.
“Me too.”
The moment didn’t explode into anything else. It didn’t need to...
Sometimes closeness wasn’t about momentum - it was about choosing to stay.
They walked back slowly, closer now, steps matching without effort.
When they reached the corner where they would part, Mira hesitated.
“Next time,” she said, voice softer, steadier, “come over again. No pressure. No expectations.”
Arin smiled. “Just honesty?”
“Just honesty.”
She squeezed his sleeve once, then let go and walked away.
This time, he didn’t feel left behind.
He felt invited — carefully, deliberately, into something that was still becoming.
... Chapter 7
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