The strange thing about comfort was that she usually didn’t notice it immediately.
It arrived slowly.
Quietly.
Like background music becoming softer after a loud day.
And somehow…
that’s exactly what her conversations with Kairo were becoming.
Comfort.
Dangerous, terrifying comfort.
Three days had passed since their late-night conversation.
And now talking to him had somehow slipped into her routine naturally.
Not constantly.
Not obsessively.
Just…
there.
Small conversations between busy schedules.
Random messages at midnight.
Memes Yahon accidentally sent from Kairo’s phone once.
Arguments about pineapple on pizza.
Tiny check-ins like:
> “Did your migraine get better?”
And annoyingly…
those simple messages affected her more than grand romantic words ever could.
Because they felt real.
Tonight the rain had finally stopped.
Her balcony smelled fresh after days of continuous storms while cool wind moved softly around her.
She sat wrapped inside her hoodie, staring at the city lights below while her phone rested in her lap.
A new message appeared.
> “Can I ask you something honestly?”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
> “That sounds dangerous.”
Seen.
Then instantly:
> “Probably.”
She laughed quietly.
The sound surprised even her.
Because lately…
laughing had started feeling easier somehow.
She typed again.
> “Okay. Ask.”
This time his reply took longer.
Almost like he was thinking carefully again.
Then finally:
> “Why do you always sound like you’re expecting people to leave?”
Her smile faded immediately.
The city noise below suddenly felt distant.
She reread the message slowly.
Once.
Twice.
Her chest tightened in that familiar uncomfortable way.
Because some questions hit too accurately.
And unfortunately— he had started noticing her too well.
Her fingers hovered above the keyboard uncertainly.
She could joke.
Avoid it.
Change the topic.
That’s what she usually did.
But strangely…
She didn’t want to lie here.
So instead, she answered honestly. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
> “Because people usually do.”
Seen.
No response immediately.
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned again.
Then:
> “Not everyone.”
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
She looked away from the screen toward the dark sky quietly.
That sentence shouldn’t have affected her this much.
But maybe tired hearts reacted strongly to gentle words.
She typed slowly.
> “You say that very confidently.”
A reply came moments later.
> “Because I know what it feels like when people only stay during your good moments.”
Silence.
Her eyes softened instantly.
There it was again.
That strange feeling.
Like underneath all the fame and attention…
he understood loneliness more than people realized.
And somehow— that made him feel closer instead of unreachable.
Her fingers moved carefully across the screen.
> “Doesn’t it get exhausting?”
Seen instantly.
> “Pretending?”
She stared at the message.
Then quietly typed:
> “Existing like everything doesn’t affect you.”
The reply took longer this time.
And for some reason…
Her heartbeat slowed while waiting.
Finally:
> “Yeah.”
Just one word.
Yet somehow it carried so much hidden exhaustion behind it that her chest hurt.
She hugged her knees closer while resting her chin against them quietly.
The wind felt colder tonight.
But the conversation didn’t.
And maybe that’s why she stayed there longer than usual.
Her phone vibrated again.
> “Can I ask something else?”
She smiled faintly.
> “You ask too many emotionally dangerous questions.”
> “You still answer them.”
Her breath caught slightly.
That tiny sentence felt warmer than it should have.
She looked down at the screen quietly before replying:
> “Fine. Ask.”
Seen.
Then:
> “When was the last time you felt genuinely peaceful?”
Her eyes widened slightly.
What kind of question was that?
She leaned on her head back against the balcony wall slowly. This story is hosted at g.com.
Peaceful.
Not happy.
Not distracted.
Peaceful.
The answer should’ve been easy.
But strangely…
Her mind went blank.
Because most days lately felt like survival mixed with pretending she weren’t emotionally tired.
She stared at the night sky quietly before typing honestly.
> “I don’t remember.”
The reply came faster this time.
> “That makes me sad for some reason.”
Her chest tightened again.
And suddenly…
the conversation stopped feeling like two strangers texting.
It felt personal now.
Softly personal.
Dangerously personal.
Her fingers moved before she could overthink again.
> “What about you?”
Seen.
A long pause followed.
Then finally:
> “Right now.”
Her breath stopped slightly.
The city noise disappeared again.
Everything did.
Because somehow…
those two words felt heavier than a confession.
She stared at the message for a long time without replying.
And deep inside— something inside her guarded heart softened quietly.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to scare her a little.
Meanwhile.
Inside another quiet hotel room, Kairo rested his phone against his chest while staring at the ceiling silently.
Schedules had still been exhausting.
People still needed things from him.
The pressure still existed.
Yet somehow…
these late-night conversations had started feeling like a place where he could breathe normally again.
No expectations.
No performing.
Just honesty.
And after a very long time— that peace felt rare enough to protect carefully.
Back on her balcony, she looked toward the night sky again while her heartbeat slowly settled.
And for the first time in months…
Her thoughts felt quieter.
Not because life suddenly became easier.
But because somehow— someone understood her exhaustion without needing an explanation first.
And maybe…
that was its own kind of peace.
✨
> *”The right people don’t make you feel emotionally loud for having feelings.
> They make honesty feel safe.”* 🌙