Maya believed in three things with unreasonable confidence.
Good coffee.
Deleting messages before she could send something humiliating.
And the idea that if a man wanted to talk to her, he possessed both a phone and opposable thumbs.
This philosophy had served her well.
Mostly.
It had not, however, prepared her for the pale pink envelope sitting on her usual café table on a Friday evening.
Her name was written across the front.
Maya.
No surname.
No explanation.
Just handwriting she knew immediately.
She stopped walking.
"Oh, absolutely not."
The woman at the next table looked up.
Maya smiled politely.
"Sorry. Not you. My terrible decision-making history."
The woman nodded in a way that suggested she understood completely.
Women have been communicating entire novels through one sympathetic nod since approximately the invention of men.
Maya sat down.
She did not touch the envelope.
Not yet.
Her latte arrived.
She thanked the waiter.
She checked Instagram.
She checked WhatsApp.
She checked Instagram again, because apparently something revolutionary might have happened in the previous eleven seconds.
The envelope remained there.
Patient.
Annoying.
Pink.
And written by Elias.
The man she had spent ninety-two days convincing herself she absolutely did not miss.
Which would have been more convincing if she had not counted the days.
This had technically been a situationship
Technically.
Maya hated the word.
A situationship sounded like two people had accidentally wandered into emotional customs without the correct paperwork.
But that was more or less what had happened.
She met Elias at her friend's birthday dinner three months earlier.
He was twenty-seven.
She was twenty-five.
Old enough to communicate clearly.
Young enough, apparently, to choose not to.
He had been sitting opposite her wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms.
Maya noticed the forearms.
This information was unnecessary.
Her brain filed it anyway.
"You're staring," he said.
"I am literally looking in your direction."
"Very intensely."
"You have a face. It's in front of me."
"Strong defence."
She disliked him immediately.
Unfortunately, she also wanted him to keep talking.
Which is how many problems begin.
He had too much confidence
Elias had the irritating calmness of somebody who knew exactly when a joke had landed.
He never rushed to fill silence.
Never checked whether she was laughing.
Never explained himself twice.
This gave him an unreasonable amount of aura.
Maya considered this suspicious.
Halfway through dinner, he asked what she did.
She told him.
Then he remembered.
Not just the job.
The details.
Two weeks later, he asked how a presentation she had mentioned once had gone.
This was dangerous.
A handsome man was one thing.
A handsome man with memory?
Society was not equipped.
They started texting.
Nothing serious.
Obviously.
Just every day.
Morning.
Lunch.
Midnight.
Random memes.
Photographs of ugly dogs.
Complaints about work.
One voice note that lasted seven minutes because Elias apparently believed podcasts should be personalised.
Maya told herself they were friends.
Her best friend Lina told her she was delusional.
"You're basically dating."
"We haven't even kissed."
"That doesn't make this better."
"We're just talking."
"You know his Starbucks order."
"That's public information."
"Maya."
"Fine."
Lina stared at her.
Maya stared back.
Both women knew she was cooked.
Then came the rain
It happened on a Wednesday.
They had gone for dinner.
Then dessert.
Then somehow walked forty minutes even though both of them had cars.
The universe, having no respect for subtlety, started raining exactly when they reached Maya's building.
They stopped beneath the awning.
Elias stood closer than usual.
Not touching.
Which was honestly worse.
There should be laws about standing that close to someone while smelling good.
Maya looked at him.
He looked at her.
Then his eyes dropped to her mouth.
Once.
Briefly.
But she saw it.
Every woman knows that look.
Your brain can be discussing taxes and suddenly every cell in your body goes:
Oh.
"Elias."
"Mhm?"
"What are you doing?"
"Thinking."
"That looks dangerous."
"For me, probably."
He stepped half an inch closer.
Maya could feel the warmth of him despite the rain cooling everything around them.
"About what?"
His voice lowered.
"Whether you're going to run away if I kiss you."
There are moments when a sophisticated adult woman should say something devastatingly clever.
Maya said:
"Oh."
Elite performance.
No notes.
He smiled.
She hated that smile.
Mostly because she wanted to kiss it off his face.
"Maybe," she whispered.
"Maybe you'll run?"
"Maybe you'll find out."
And then—
her phone rang.
Her sister.
Of course.
Civilisations have collapsed with better timing.
Then he left
Three days later, Elias flew to Singapore for work.
Originally, it was supposed to be ten days.
Then fourteen.
Then nearly a month.
At first, nothing changed.
They texted.
Called.
He sent her pictures from hotel windows.
She sent him increasingly unflattering selfies while eating dinner.
Then work got heavier.
Calls got missed.
Replies got shorter.
One night Maya sent:
you alive?
Four hours later:
barely 😭
That was it.
She stared at the message.
Then at his Instagram story uploaded seventeen minutes earlier.
Ah.
The ancient ritual.
Too busy to reply.
Not too busy to post.
Wonderful.
Her frontal lobe packed its belongings and left.
She did not argue.
She did something worse.
She became polite.
hope work gets better x
He reacted with a heart.
A heart.
The emoji equivalent of putting flowers on a grave.
Pride is a very expensive hobby
Elias called two nights later.
Maya let it ring.
He messaged:
everything okay?
She replied:
yeah just busy
A classic.
Nothing says emotional maturity like punishing someone for poor communication by communicating even worse.
They continued like this for another week.
Two people who obviously liked each other conducting diplomacy through lowercase messages.
Eventually, the conversation died.
No fight.
No breakup.
No dramatic speech.
Just silence.
That was almost worse.
You can hate somebody after an argument.
Silence leaves too much room for imagination.
Maybe he lost interest.
Maybe she had overreacted.
Maybe there was somebody else.
Maybe the whole thing had been significantly more serious in her head.
So Maya did what sensible people do.
She moved on.
Or, more accurately, she stopped talking about him and hoped everybody would confuse that with moving on.
Ninety-two days later
The envelope sat beside her coffee.
Maya finally picked it up.
Her pulse immediately became embarrassing.
"This is so cringe," she whispered.
She opened it anyway.
The first sentence read:
I tried writing this as a text six times.
She smiled.
Against her will.
Every version sounded like I was either resigning from a company or asking you to renew a phone contract.
Okay.
Still him.
She continued.
I owe you an apology before I owe you anything romantic.
I disappeared into work and expected you to somehow understand what I wasn't explaining.
Her smile faded.
Then when you pulled away, I convinced myself you didn't care.
Which was convenient because it meant I didn't have to admit that I did.
Maya stopped reading.
Her coffee suddenly required inspection.
Her throat felt tight.
Annoying.
Absolutely unnecessary.
She returned to the letter.
I liked you from the first night.
I liked you when you spent twenty minutes pretending you weren't staring at me.
I liked you in the rain.
I especially liked you five seconds before your sister ruined my life.
Maya laughed out loud.
Several people looked over.
She did not care.
I should have kissed you anyway.
Her stomach flipped.
Actually flipped.
Which was ridiculous.
She was twenty-five years old.
Her internal organs needed to behave professionally.
"You tuck your hair when you're nervous"
She kept reading.
You always tuck your hair behind your left ear when you're nervous.
You order coffee too hot and then complain that it's hot.
You pretend you hate romantic things and then cry at proposal videos.
And you say "I'm fine" in a completely different voice when you're definitely not fine.
Maya immediately removed her hand from her hair.
The man was not even present and still somehow irritating her.
I don't know if I've waited too long.
Maybe you don't feel this anymore.
Maybe you're seeing someone.
If so, I'll leave you alone.
But if there's even a small part of you that still wonders what would have happened if I kissed you that night—
look behind you.
Maya froze.
No.
Absolutely not.
She turned.
Elias was sitting three tables away.
Watching her.
He lifted one hand.
Maya stared.
Then mouthed:
You're insane.
He nodded.
Fair.
