The walls of the classroom could no longer contain what we had built. One day, in the middle of a casual chat after tuition, you brought it up with a soft smile, “Hey… do you use social media?”
It was such a small question, yet it felt like a turning point. I nodded, a little caught off guard but smiling back, “Yeah… I do.”
That was how it started. A friend request. A message. A new window where our world expanded beyond desks and textbooks. And just like that, our conversations became more frequent—playful late-night chats, random memes, thoughtful check-ins after long days. Every time my phone lit up with your name, it was like a little spark lit up my heart.
Soon, it wasn’t just chatting anymore.
We started planning moments together—tiny escapes into the digital world. Gaming nights were our little sanctuaries. Headsets on, laughter echoing in our ears, and that special feeling of being side by side in another universe. It wasn’t about winning or losing. It was about hearing your laughter when I made a silly mistake… or that light competitive tone when you tried to beat me. That was the real treasure.
Some nights, I’d find myself just staring at your status, hesitating before sending a message, wondering if I was being too obvious. Because somewhere between all the chats, all the shared victories and quiet losses, all the nights we stayed up just a little too late—I realized something.
I liked you.
And not just in a passing, momentary way.
It was the kind of feeling that crept in slowly—like sunlight breaking through morning fog. I caught myself rereading our old messages just to relive the way your words made me smile. I began to notice how I typed a little slower when talking to you, trying to choose the right words, the right emojis, as if every message mattered. Because it did. You did.
But I couldn’t tell you. Not yet.
There was a comfort in what we had, and a fear that if I said the wrong thing, it might all vanish. So, I let the feelings stay quietly tucked inside, choosing instead to be the one who’s always there—ready to play, ready to talk, ready to listen.
And every time I heard your voice through my headset, or saw your name lighting up my screen, I couldn’t help but smile… and wonder:
Could you hear the heartbeat behind my words?
Chapter 3.5: A Question I Asked The Wind
There were nights where the glow of the screen wasn’t enough to quiet the noise in my head.
Was this real?
That question would echo in the silence of my room, often after we ended a call or once I’d read one of your sweet, casual messages. My heart would flutter—but then my mind would step in, cautious, doubtful.
“Maybe it’s just because we’re friends.”
“Maybe I’m overthinking it.”
“Maybe I’m just happy someone actually sees me.”
It was hard to know. After all, feelings are strange things—they grow from warmth, from kindness, from moments of vulnerability. And you gave me all of that without hesitation. But part of me feared I was mistaking comfort for affection. That maybe… I liked the idea of being liked. That maybe this was just what it feels like to be noticed, and my heart, starved for connection, confused it with something deeper.
But if that were true—why did I remember your voice so clearly?
Why did I find myself replaying little jokes we made together?
Why did I smile when I saw your name, even when we hadn’t spoken in days?
And why… did I feel this small ache when you weren’t around?
I looked to the sky some nights, lying on my bed as my playlist softly filled the room—those love songs I never paid attention to suddenly sounding too personal. It was as if the universe was gently nudging me toward an answer I wasn’t ready to accept.
So I did what I always do.
I buried the question somewhere quiet… and let the wind carry it away.
Not for the answer. But to buy me a little more time… before my heart spoke louder than my fea
