The next morning, Yuka woke up with his phone tangled in his sheets and a grin still lingering on his face.
He checked the chat.
No new messages.
“Still a ghost, huh?” he mumbled to himself.
But instead of feeling disappointed, Yuka felt something else—curiosity. Samaka wasn’t just quiet. He was strange. Not in a bad way, but in a mysterious, delicate kind of way. Like a half-drawn painting waiting to be colored in.
Yuka:
> Hey, Ghost Boy. You still alive?
He waited. This time, the reply came faster.
Samaka:
> Yes.
Yuka laughed. “Wow. That’s deep.”
Yuka:
> Ever think about how weird it is that I texted you by accident?
Like, what if this is fate or something?
You could be a robot. Or a serial killer.
Or... a talking cat.
There was a pause. Then—
Samaka:
> I’m not a cat.
Yuka’s eyes widened.
“A joke? From him?”
Yuka:
> Wow, so you can joke. That’s rare. I like you already.
Samaka:
> You don’t even know me.
Yuka:
> So let me.
What’s your favorite color?
There was no answer.
Yuka tapped his fingers, then added—
Yuka:
> Okay, let’s try something simpler.
Do you like… rain?
A few minutes passed. Then the reply came.
Samaka:
> I don’t know.
Yuka blinked.
“You… don’t know?”
Yuka:
> Like, you’ve never thought about it?
Samaka:
> I never really think about things like that.
Yuka leaned back on his pillow, staring at the ceiling.
This boy wasn’t just quiet. He was... lost.
Not in the dramatic, movie-type way. But in the real way. The way people get when life never gave them time to find out who they are.
Yuka sat up and typed again.
Yuka:
> Then I’ll ask you one question every day.
About you.
We’ll figure out what you like. Bit by bit. Deal?
There was a pause. And then—
Samaka:
> Deal.
Yuka grinned, heart fluttering in a way he didn’t quite understand.
He didn’t know why this mattered to him so much.
He just knew:
He wanted to bring color to Samaka’s world.
Even if it was one pixel at a time.
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