It started with a question.
A simple one. The kind that didn't seem dangerous until it was already out in the open.
"So… you're still talking to Dito?" Raka asked, offhandedly, while flipping through her bookshelf.
Nayla looked up from the couch. "Yeah, sometimes. He sent me a podcast episode he thought I'd like."
Raka paused. "The ex-Dito?"
"Yes, the ex-Dito," she replied, not sensing the shift yet. "We're friends. Barely even that, honestly."
"Okay," he said slowly, still not facing her.
The tension crept in quietly. Like a shadow under the door.
Nayla frowned. "You sound weird."
"I don't mean to," Raka replied. "It's just… I didn't know you were still in touch."
"Is that a problem?"
He turned around now, leaning against her bookshelf. "Not if you're being honest about what it is."
That stung. More than it should have.
She sat up straighter. "Why wouldn't I be honest?"
"I didn't say you weren't. I'm just look, forget it."
"No," she said, standing. "Don't dismiss it like that. Say what you mean."
Raka exhaled hard. "Fine. It bothers me, Nayla. I know I'm not the jealous type, but the idea of you talking to someone who used to matter to you messes with my head."
She blinked. "Used to matter. Past tense."
"People don't always stay in the past," he muttered. "Especially when emotions were involved."
Something inside her hardened. "Do you not trust me?"
"I trust you," he said. "But that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to feel a certain way."
"Then maybe this is about your insecurity," she snapped, surprising herself. "Not my boundaries."
The silence after that was brutal.
Raka looked like she'd slapped him.
"I didn't mean" she began, but he held up a hand.
"I get it," he said, grabbing his jacket. "I just need some air."
"Raka…"
But he was already out the door.
The apartment felt colder the second it closed behind him.
Nayla stood there, stunned by the aftershock of her own words. They hadn't argued before. Not like this. Not with raised voices or pointed fingers.
She sat down slowly, heart pounding in her chest. Her hand hovered over her phone, then dropped.
This wasn't something she could fix with a text.
It would take more than a soft apology.
It would take a choice.
A few hours passed before her phone buzzed.
"I'm okay. Just needed to breathe. We should talk. When you're ready."— Raka
She read the message three times.
Then typed:
"I'm sorry for what I said. You're not insecure. You were honest. I wasn't ready to hear it."
The dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
"Thank you. I'm sorry too. Let's not walk away next time."
She stared at the screen, something tightening in her throat.
They had fought.
And yet, the thread was still there. Unbroken.
They were learning. Not just how to love but how to stay, even when it got hard.