Almost
#
The days continued quietly. Perhaps too quietly.
There was no dramatic change between Ya Ridhwan and me after that afternoon.
If anything, our conversations became more ordinary.And I preferred it that way.
There was something comforting about not having to define what existed between two people.We were friends.
At least, that was what I called it whenever Hauwa asked.Not that she asked often. She had her own life to deal with.Lectures,Friends.The endless stream of people who seemed to know her on campus.
And, according to her, at least three different boys who had apparently decided they were dating her without informing her first.
“I don't understand these people,” she complained one afternoon.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing!”
“You must have done something.”
“I smiled.”
“That is your crime?”
“Apparently.”
I shook my head.
“You're trouble.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
She smiled proudly.
“Thank you.”
---
With Ya Ridhwan, things remained slow.
He didn't suddenly become attentive.He didn't start calling every night.He didn't send romantic messages.There were no grand gestures.If anything, he seemed careful.
Whenever our conversations became too personal, he would change the subject.
Whenever I teased him about relationships, he laughed it off.
Whenever I asked whether he had someone he liked, his answer was always vague.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I'm curious.”
“Curiosity will get you into trouble.”
I laughed.
“You're avoiding the question.”
“Maybe.”
“Ya Ridhwan.”
“Hm?”
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
A pause.
Then:
“Why?”
“Because I'm asking.”
He laughed.
“You ask too many questions.”
“You're avoiding it again.”
“Goodnight, Se’ad.”
I stared at the phone.
He had actually ended the call.
I laughed.
“Coward.”
---
There were other things I noticed.
The way he remembered small details I had mentioned casually.
The way he would ask whether I had eaten after hearing me complain about a long lecture. The way he sometimes called simply because he had nothing particular to say. The way he listened when I spoke.
Not the distracted kind of listening people often did while waiting for their turn to speak. He actually listened. And perhaps that was what slowly made him dangerous to my heart. Not because he was deliberately trying to win it.But because he wasn't.I began to understand why people became attached to quiet people.
They made you work for every little piece of them.A smile felt significant.
A compliment felt rare.A conversation that lasted longer than usual could occupy your mind for an entire day.
And without realizing it, you began filling the spaces they left empty with your own imagination.
I told myself not to.
I tried.
I really did.
But feelings rarely ask permission before entering a person's heart.
---
One evening, I was sitting outside the hostel when my phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Assalamu alaikum.”
“Wa alaikumussalam.”
It was Ridhwan.
“You sound tired.”
“I am.”
“Long day?”
“Very.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you tired?”
“School.”
He laughed softly.
“You and school.”
“What about me?”
“Nothing.”
I smiled.
There was a silence.
Then he asked,
“Se’ad?”
“Hm?”
“Do you ever think about what happens after university?”
I frowned.
“Of course.”
“What do you want?”
I didn't hesitate.
“I want to become a great pharmacologist.”
“And?”
“A businesswoman.”
“And?”
I smiled.
“A good wife.”
He was quiet.
“A good mother.”
Another pause.
“And a good daughter.”
He laughed softly.
“You've planned everything.”
“Not everything.”
“What haven't you planned?”
“Who I'll marry.”
He went quiet again.
I laughed.
“Why did you become quiet?”
“Nothing.”
“You're doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Going quiet whenever the conversation gets interesting.”
He smiled.
“I don't know what to say.”
“You always know what to say.”
“Not always.”
I smiled. For some reason, the conversation suddenly felt different.
Not romantic.Not yet.
But more serious.
As though we had accidentally stepped into a part of our friendship neither of us had intended to explore.
Then he asked quietly,
“What do you think love is?”
I looked down at my hands.
“Love?”
“Yes.”
I thought for a moment.
“Choosing someone.”
“Only that?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“Loving them when they're difficult.”
He remained silent.
“Loving them when they're not at their best.”
I continued.
“People think love is about finding someone beautiful or kind or perfect. But everybody is good when things are easy.”
“And when they're not?”
“You stay.”
There was silence on the other end.
Then he said softly,
“You really believe that?”
“Yes.”
I smiled.
“Why wouldn't I?”
He didn't answer.
The conversation ended not long afterward. But his question remained with me. You really believe that? I did. At least, I thought I did.
---
Months passed. My feelings deepened so quietly that I didn't realize how far they had gone until they were already beyond my control. It wasn't one particular moment.
There wasn't a single day when I woke up and decided I loved him. It happened through ordinary things.
Through conversations that lasted longer than they were supposed to.
Through the comfort of hearing his voice.
Through the way I began looking forward to his name appearing on my screen.
Through the strange peace I felt whenever he told me to take care of myself.
Through the way he could make me laugh when I was irritated.
Through all the little things that meant nothing individually but became everything when they accumulated.
I was falling.
And I knew it.
I simply didn't know whether he was falling too.
---
One evening, after a particularly long conversation, I asked him.
“Ya Ridhwan?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you like me?”
Silence.
My heart began beating faster.
He didn't laugh.
He didn't tease me.
He didn't change the subject.
Instead, he said,
“I care about you.”
I waited.
“That isn't what I asked.”
“I know.”
“So?”
Another silence.
Then—
“I don't know.”
I swallowed.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I care about you.”
“But do you like me?”
“I do.”
My heart lifted.
Then he added,
“Just not in the way you think.”
I didn't understand.
Not completely.
Not yet.
But I should have paid attention to the hesitation in his voice.
Instead, I chose hope.
Hope is dangerous when you love someone. It convinces you that uncertainty is merely a temporary obstacle.
That patience will eventually become reward.
That if you love someone enough, carefully enough, sincerely enough, they will eventually understand that you are meant for them.
So I stayed.
I loved him harder.
I prayed harder.
And whenever doubt whispered that perhaps I was building a future alone, I silenced it. Because I believed love was supposed to endure.
I didn't know that sometimes, love could endure everything except the truth.
---
The mystery Snapchat account remained exactly what it had always been.A streak.
Nothing more.A picture here.No conversations.No names exchanged.
No curiosity pursued. Eventually, I stopped noticing it. Life became too busy.
University demanded everything,Lectures, assignments, presentations and Exams
By the time I entered the final stretch of that academic year, he had become woven so deeply into my everyday life that imagining my days without him seemed almost absurd.
I knew his exam schedule. He knew mine.
we were both worried about each other’s exam, I know when he was stressed and gave hik spac
When something bothered him, even when he refused to say what it was, I noticed.I was no longer simply talking to him.
I had built a place for him inside my life.
And I had done it so quietly that I didn't notice how permanent the space had become.