The next few days passed like a slow song.
Raka didn't stay over again, not right away, but something had shifted between them. The air was warmer. The silences were easier. Even the way Nayla messaged him had changed. Her texts were still short, but no longer cold. Now, they came with emojis, the occasional meme, even voice notes when she didn't feel like typing.
He never said it out loud, but Raka noticed everything.
He noticed how she responded faster. How she didn't apologize for being quiet. How she let him see her on the days she wasn't wearing any armor.
And she noticed him noticing.
That Friday, they met up at the ramen place she had once described as "chaotic but perfect." The small restaurant was packed, as usual, with the noise of clinking bowls, sizzling pans, and conversations overlapping like messy subtitles.
They sat at the bar.
Raka ordered spicy tonkotsu. She got miso with extra corn.
"Okay," he said, leaning on one elbow. "Serious question."
Nayla sipped her cold tea. "Shoot."
"What happens next?"
She paused. "With the ramen?"
"With us."
The question came out so casually that it took her a second to register the weight behind it.
She didn't speak right away. The bartender placed their bowls in front of them, steam rising, the scent rich and comforting. Raka waited.
"I don't know," she finally said.
"Is that a 'we'll see' kind of I-don't-know? Or a 'maybe this isn't going anywhere' kind?"
She looked at him.
Looked.
He wasn't pushing. He wasn't pressuring. But she could tell he needed some kind of compass. Some idea of where they were heading.
"I'm still figuring that out," she said honestly. "But I want to figure it out. With you."
Raka exhaled. "Okay. That's fair."
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Then Nayla added, "I'm not used to people asking me that."
"What? What's next?"
"Yeah. Most people just assume I'll disappear eventually."
"I don't," he said. "I don't assume anything with you. But sometimes I… wonder if I'm holding on too tightly."
That made her chest tighten.
She set her chopsticks down.
"I don't think you are," she said. "I think you're just not used to someone like me."
"And you're not used to someone like me," he replied, smiling faintly.
She returned the smile. "That's probably why this is so weird and good at the same time."
Raka nudged her knee with his. "So we keep being weird and good?"
"We keep trying," she said. "At our own pace."
He held her gaze. "Okay. Deal."
By the time they left the restaurant, it had started to drizzle again. Raka offered his jacket. She took it.
Neither of them said anything dramatic. No declarations. No pressure.
But they walked side by side down the wet pavement, arms brushing, hearts steadier than they'd been before.
Sometimes, figuring it out was enough.