Chapter sixteen: Nyla

I should be asleep. The whole house is wrapped in silence, the kind that usually rocks me to rest. But tonight, my eyes are wide open, staring at the ceiling like it's going to spell something out for me. My cheeks are still warm—he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world worth staring at.

I press my palms against my face, muffling the laugh that bubbles up. I laughed when we were that close. He leaned in—his hands on either side of me, the kitchen smelling like warm butter and burnt sugar—and I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because I didn't know what else to do. I was scared of what might happen if I didn't.

I roll over, hugging my pillow tight, letting the memory flicker and play in loops. The flour on his jaw, the way he looked when the dough stuck to his fingers. That soft smile. That almost kiss. God, I could still feel how heavy the air was between us. And when I looked away, so did he. Like we were both caught in something too fragile to touch.

What was that?

I don’t know what it was. But I know I want it again.

I flip onto my back and stare at the ceiling again. This time, slower thoughts settle in, quieter but heavier.

Maybe I laughed away the kiss because I was scared. Because deep down, I knew he might regret it soon after. And he was the one who told me—that this isn’t something we should rush into. That we should feel it completely, not just in the moment, but in our hearts.

And I agreed. I do agree.

But sometimes—like tonight—I wish I hadn’t laughed. I wish I had just let it happen. I wish I’d just felt his lips on mine, even for a second. Because I crave it. I crave him—his warmth, his silence, the way he looks at me like I mean something.

But still... it doesn’t feel right. Not yet.

Because right now, he’s jammed with his own thoughts. He’s untangling pain I haven’t even seen fully. He might jump to conclusions, might mistake a kiss for an escape, not for love. And I want mine—our first kiss—to be whole. To be ours.

When we come into sense… when we’re both ready… maybe then. Maybe then I’ll lean in instead of laughing.

But tonight, I’ll hold onto the almost.

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I walked into the café a little late. The moment I stepped in, I saw Jessica and Mr. Seth seated already. They were talking—well, Jessica was laughing like she always did, and he just sat there, a serious expression pinned to his face.

"I'm just kidding," Jessica said, brushing her hand lightly over his arm as she giggled.

I slipped into my seat quietly. "Hey," I greeted them both, trying to act normal.

I ordered a drink and opened my notebook, pretending not to notice the way Seth didn’t even glance in my direction. He didn’t say a word to me. The study session started, but something felt off. He gave us more work than usual—extra questions, rapid instructions, barely a moment to breathe. And by the end, he dropped a huge homework task on the table and left the café without so much as a goodbye.

It was just me and Jessica now.

I turned to her, still confused. "Is everything okay? What’s wrong with him?"

Jessica shrugged. "I have no idea. He was fine with me before you arrived. But the second you walked in, he just... shut down. Didn’t speak a word after that."

I blinked, trying to read between her words.

"Wait... what do you mean?"

She looked at me, head tilted slightly. "I mean, is there something going on between you two?"

I went quiet for a second. "What? No. He’s just my teacher, Jessica. What do you expect us to be?"

"Relax, I was just asking. Don’t take it seriously." She stood up, grabbing her bag. "Anyway, have a great day. It’s my brother’s birthday—I’ve gotta run."

"Tell him I said happy birthday," I mumbled.

"Will do. Bye!" she called as she left.

I sat there alone for a while, staring at the half-empty drink in front of me.

What just happened?

Yesterday, he was warm, funny—even kind. And now? It’s like I don’t exist. No eye contact. No small smiles. Just... distance.

Why is he pushing me away? Did I do something wrong?

I don't know. But this silence... it’s driving me crazy.

The next day, I didn’t even feel like going to school. I just knew… he was going to ignore me. Again.

Still, I walked through the hallway, heart heavy. My eyes searched for him without meaning to—and then I saw him. Just a glimpse. The moment our eyes nearly met, he turned and disappeared into the staff room.

I bit down the sting rising in my throat.

I had to talk to him. I needed to know if I’d done something wrong. Because how long was I supposed to keep living like this—ignored by someone I care about so deeply?

Classes passed in a blur. A busy day, nonstop. I kept hoping to catch him—during lunch, during intervals—but he was nowhere in sight. It was like he was avoiding me on purpose.

When school finally ended, I spotted him leaving, walking toward his house. Without thinking, I ran after him. I had to talk to him. I had to.

“Mr. Seth!” I called out, breath catching in my chest.

He stopped. His face looked tired, distant. Angry.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, soft but desperate.

He turned to me, his voice clipped. “Don’t you think… we’re getting too close?”

His words hit like a slap.

“What does that even mean?” I whispered, confused.

But he shut it down. “You should focus on your studies.”

“Can’t you just tell me what’s going on in your mind?” I pushed, voice trembling. “Please. Don’t leave me this confused. Just yesterday, you were—”

“Naila,” he cut me off sharply. “You need to study. That’s all that matters. It’s getting late. You should go home.”

Then he turned and walked away without looking back.

I stood there, stunned. My chest burned. My fists clenched at my sides. I felt the tears press up behind my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them fall.

Frustrated. Angry. Hurt.

I ran home. My heart pounded the whole way, my thoughts a storm. But by the time I got there… that fire inside had dulled into silence.

For the first time—with him in my life—I was angry. Truly angry. Angry at his actions, his silence, his words that didn’t make sense.

I didn’t understand him anymore. I didn’t want to understand him.

I was so mad I told myself I never wanted to see him again. Ever.

But deep down… deep down somewhere soft and stupid,

I just wanted him to hold me and say why.

I just wanted him to choose me.

Even in my rage, I wanted him.

And that’s what hurt the most.

One day, he’s joking around with me, sharing his snacks, walking me to the hallway like he’s the only person in this world who sees me... and the next day, it’s like I’m invisible. No glances. No smiles. Not even a simple 'good morning.'

And the worst part? He acts like nothing happened. Like none of it meant anything. And here I am—stuck, wondering if I imagined it all.

I'm not a toy. I'm not a passing mood. He doesn’t get to be warm one day and cold the next and expect me to stay quiet. He’s confusing me, driving me insane. And the more I try to convince myself that it doesn’t hurt... the more it actually does."

"I’m tired of trying to figure him out. If he has something to say, he better say it. Because I’m done guessing.

I laid down on my bed, the lights off, my face still warm from the tears I hadn’t even realized were falling.

I turned to face the ceiling, whispering into the silence, “Why are you doing this to me?”

And then, like a lullaby wrapped in old memories, I started thinking about my parents.

They weren't always the "ideal" couple you'd imagine. They weren’t the type to post anniversary pictures or go on dinner dates every weekend. But they had something different. Something softer. Something real.

Mama used to tell me how she met Papa during a summer festival in her hometown. She was wearing a simple white dress with yellow daisies on the hem. Papa was volunteering with some school kids there. She dropped her drink, and he picked it up, cracked a stupid joke, and somehow... that was it.

They didn’t fall in love like in the movies. No grand gestures. No violins. Just glances that grew into conversations, and conversations that turned into long walks and sleepy phone calls.

But the part that always stuck with me was when Mama said, "He was the only one who made me feel safe enough to fall apart."

I want that.

I want someone who doesn’t run when things get hard.

Someone who doesn’t change overnight without a word.

Someone who stays.

And maybe that’s what hurts the most—because with Mr. Seth, I thought I had that.

Maybe I still do.

But right now… it just feels like I’m the only one holding on.

I closed my eyes and pulled the blanket tighter around me.

Even if I couldn’t sleep, I needed the warmth.

Because tonight, everything felt cold.

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