It was the kind of evening that hung quietly in the air—no drama, no tension, just two voices across a distance, carrying the weight of their thoughts with casual ease. We were talking, as usual. About nothing, about everything. These conversations had become a ritual neither of us ever said out loud, but both of us returned to like something sacred.
We were in that sweet, silent phase between overthinking and pretending we didn't care.
She said something about being tired of everyone around her being in relationships.
I laughed. "Single life's not so bad."
"You say that now," she replied, "but wait till it's Valentine's Day and you're watching other people share shawarma on their stories."
I scoffed. "You mean again?"
We laughed.
Then I said it. Maybe too quickly. Maybe too softly.
"Be mine then."
A pause. The kind of pause that lingers longer than it should.
She didn't answer right away. She laughed instead, but it wasn't the kind of laugh that erased what I said. It was the kind that kept it alive, wrapping it in a soft, teasing silence.
"Ohh?" she said, dragging the word like she was tasting it. "You're funny", still chuckling.
I leaned into the joke. "I'm serious, though. Think about it, we'd make a cute couple".
That made her giggle again. "You? Please, you don't even like talking to people."
"That's the point. I talk to you." was my instant reply, and factually, I've never felt more free talking to anyone other than her before, was almost too perfect, staged Infact.
The teasing turned soft, like something in the air had changed shape but neither of us wanted to admit it.
"It's just a joke, right?" she asked.
"Sure," I said, though I wasn't sure anymore.
We moved past it. Or pretended to. Switched topics. Laughed about school gossip. Compared people's fake relationships like we were above it all. But something in me kept going back to those three words.
"Be mine then"
It hadn't meant anything. Not really. But it had also meant everything.
She didn't bring it up again. Neither did I. That's how these things work. You touch something electric and act like you didn't feel the spark. Like it was all just friction and not fire.
But that night, she stayed longer on the call.
Didn't rush her goodbyes.
Didn't hide how much she wanted to stay.
And in her voice, in the way she said my name like it had layers, I started to wonder again.
Maybe the joke wasn't a joke.
Maybe it never was, who knows.