"TWO AND A HALF MONTHS LATER"
Inaya
The room is cozily filled with books. Postcards on the wall. Mugs of half-drunk tea. I sat on my windowsill, curled in an oversized hoodie (Rabin's), journal open on my lap. My phone buzzed beside me.
I didn't pick it up.
It's the third time today.
No new texts from Rabin.
"We've done distance before. But not like this.
Not with this silence.
Not with this much space between replies."
I flip a page and continue scribbling my poem… then stop.
My roommate knocks.
"Zoom reading in ten. You coming?" My roommate questioned
"Yeah. Just finishing something." I answered
I typed a message on my phone.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted again.
The draft just said: "Miss you."
I hit save. Not send.
Rabin
I sat at my desk surrounded by design sheets, floor plans, and the faint hum of classical piano playing from my speakers. My phone lay screen-down, and notifications were ignored. My hair mis essier than usual. eyes tired.
"You're ghosting your own girlfriend, Takahashi. Brave choice." Hideya screamed
"I'm not ghosting. I'm... recalibrating."
"What are you? A WiFi router?" Hideya asked dryly
"She's in London. I'm here. She's building her dream. I'm trying not to collapse under mine." I sighed
"She's not asking you to fix the world, man. She just wants to know you're still in it."
I didnt respond.
I flipped open my sketchbook — and tucked between the pages is Inaya's last letter.
He didnt read it.
Not tonight.
TEXTS THAT NEVER GOT SENT
Messages from Inaya's drafts:
"Is it me? Or are you just... somewhere I can't reach anymore?"
"I know you're busy. I just wish I didn't feel like a bookmark in your life."
"Tell me how to love you from here."
Messages from Rabin's notes:
"I hate silence. But somehow, I keep handing it to you like it's love."
"What if I'm not enough? What if I am and that's the scary part?"
"I don't know how to love loudly. I only know how to love completely."
None are sent.
Rabin finally video calls.
Inaya answers.
The lag is bad. The connection worse.
Rabin (smiling weakly): "Hey."
Inaya (too fast): "Hi. Hi, it's good to see you. You okay?"
Rabin (pauses): "I... yeah. Just tired."
Inaya: "You look it."
Silence.
Inaya (softer): "You haven't really been texting."
Rabin: "I've just had a lot on my plate."
Inaya: "And I'm not part of that plate?"
Rabin: "I didn't say that."
Inaya (cracking): "You didn't have to."
She shuts her laptop.
The screen goes black on both sides.
The city doesn't hum gently tonight. It vibrates with tension — flickering streetlights, too many sirens, too much left unsaid.
Inaya stands on one end of the rooftop, arms crossed, wind tangling her hair. Rabin leans against the railing, staring out like the skyline might offer answers.
They've been back in New York for four days. Four painfully awkward, silence-stuffed, too-polite days.
And now?
Now they're exploding.
"I thought this week would fix things. I thought maybe seeing each other — actually seeing each other — would make it feel right again." Inaya said her voice tight
"I didn't know we were broken," Rabin answered in a low voice
"Of course you didn't. You weren't here. You were in Tokyo. In your sketches. In your silence." Inaya said her voice giving away how hurt she is
"I didn't abandon you." Rabin said defensively
"You disappeared."
(Beat. The air shifts.)
"I needed you to show up. Not with letters or missed calls or 'Sorry, I was busy' texts. I needed you. But you were miles away — even when you were in my inbox." Inaya said sounding frustrated
"I was doing my best." Rabin said sharply
"Then maybe your best isn't enough for me anymore."
The words echo.
They both freeze.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm tired. Of chasing. Of guessing. Of loving you so loudly while you whisper your feelings through timestamps and emojis." Inaya said as tears rolled down her cheeks
She wipes her eyes angrily.
"Maybe we're not meant to be together after all."
She turns and walks toward the rooftop door.
"Inaya—"
"Don't. I can't do this right now." Inaya said without turning back
She's gone.
And just like that, the one week they thought would be healing?
Becomes goodbye.
Two separate terminals.
Two different flights.
Two broken people.
Rabin stands by Gate A19, hoodie up, headphones in — not playing music, just canceling the world. His carry-on has Inaya's initials on a tag. He hasn't taken it off.
Across the city, Inaya sits curled in a hard plastic chair near Gate B14. Her cheeks still feel warm from crying. Her fingers keep brushing her phone screen. But she doesn't text him.
They're both flying out hours before planned. Escape mode: activated.
"She's not okay. She's trying to be, but I can tell." Kavya said scrolling through her phone
"She hasn't said anything since they flew back. Neither has Rabin. That's not them." Ava mumbled before sipping some soda and continuing "You think something happened between them?"
"I don't know. Rabin's been zoning out again — origami at 2 a.m. levels of stress." Hideya said sounding lowkey concerned
"Do y'all know Inaya had a boyfriend before NYU?" Kavya sighs before putting her phone down
"Wait — what?" Ava and Hideya screamed
"Here we go." Arnav groans hating the topic
"It wasn't just a boyfriend. It was a walking, talking red flag. Controlling, emotionally manipulative. Used her insecurities against her. He made her feel like being too much was a crime." Kavya answered
"She never told me that." Hideya says his jaw tightening
"She barely tells herself. She buried that part of her. Pretends it didn't shape how scared she is to be seen."
"Rabin doesn't even know?" Ava asked softly
"No. And she won't tell him until she thinks she has to." Arnav answers
"And if Rabin keeps pulling away the way he is… she's going to think he's leaving for the same reasons her ex almost broke her." Kavya said sounding serious
"I'm not letting that happen." Hideya stood up abruptly
Rabin & Inaya – Video Call
INT. Rabin's Dorm Room – Late Evening (Tokyo Time)
INT. Inaya's Dorm Room – Late Morning (London Time)
They're on a video call. Both look a little drained — Inaya's hair is in a messy braid, laptop propped on a stack of books. Rabin's room is dim, his sketchbook open but untouched beside him.
Inaya (softly): "You've been… distant. Not mean. Not angry. Just… quiet."
(She looks down, voice brittle) "Every time I text, I brace myself for nothing."
Rabin (sighs, running a hand through his hair): "It's not about you. I swear it's not. I just—being back home? It brought a lot of stuff up. About me. My past. The kind of partner I even know how to be."
Inaya (blinking rapidly): "And instead of talking to me, you made space for the silence to speak for you."
Rabin: "I thought I was doing the right thing. Giving you time. Giving us time. I didn't want to hold you back."
Inaya (shaking her head): "You didn't give me time. You gave me doubt."
There's a long pause. The screen glitches for half a second, freezing their faces mid-pain.
Rabin (voice cracking slightly): "Inaya, you said once that being with me felt like coming home."
Inaya (quietly): "Yeah. I did."
Rabin: "What if I'm scared I don't know how to be that anymore?"
Suddenly, Rabin's phone rings. He flinches. A professor from his college.
Rabin (glancing at Inaya): "It's one of my profs. I'll just—hold on."
He answers. Don't mute the call. Inaya hears every word.
Professor (on speaker): "Takahashi-kun! We reviewed your portfolio. There's an opening for the six-month architectural immersion in Melbourne. It's a prestigious mentorship — your name was brought up by two senior architects on staff. We'd love to have you."
Inaya's face falls. Instantly. Like something physically left her.
She doesn't say a word. Just stares. Hands frozen above the keyboard.
Rabin (without skipping a beat): "No."
Professor (surprised): "I—sorry?"
Rabin: "I'm honored. But I have to decline. I've already committed I'm not willing to walk away from."
Professor (after a pause): "…Alright. Offer stands for another week, should you change your mind."
Rabin hangs up. Breathes. Hard.
Inaya (barely a whisper): "You said no?"
Rabin (looking straight at the screen, eyes honest, raw): "I said no. Because I already have something I'm terrified of losing."
Inaya: "Me?"
Rabin:"You."
Silence. Not heavy. Not suffocating. Just still — like the moment right before a leaf falls.
Inaya (smiling shakily): "You idiot."
Rabin (grinning, finally): "Takes one to love one."
They both laugh. A little broken. A little healed.
But very much still choosing each other.
The video call ends.
Kavya's pacing. Ava and Arnav are glued to their phones. Hideya is halfway through folding a paper flower when his phone buzzes.
"From Rabin. 'We talked. We're okay. No Australia. No running.'" Hideya read out the message
"Thank god." Kavya sighed
"Why do they always make us the side characters in their epic poetic arc?" Arnav sighed
"Because they have centuries of emotional repression to unpack." Ava said
"They're not perfect. But they're real." Hideya mumbled
"And that's enough." Kavya grins
They all exchange a smile.
The courtyard buzzes with early semester chaos — laughter, footsteps, the rustle of fresh notebooks and nerves. And in the middle of it all—
The doors swing open.
Inaya Mehta steps onto campus — notebook in hand, hair freshly trimmed, the faintest smirk playing on her lips. She's still her — chaotic, poetic, tea-powered — but there's something softer in her confidence now. Something earned.
Behind her, Rabin Takahashi walks with steady steps. He's dressed in all black again (some things never change), a leather sketchbook tucked under his arm. His eyes scan the campus like he's sketching it in his head. He doesn't look different, but the Tokyo glow-up? Unmistakable.
They don't even make it five feet before—
"MY WRITER GIRL. MY PAPERBACK PRINCESS." Kavya sprints towards her
"You're squeezing the Pulitzer out of me." Inaya laughs as Kavya tackles her into a bear hug
"Okay but make room—my turn to scream!! Inaya Mehta, published author?!" Ava sulked
"Our girl has a Goodreads page now. We've officially lost her." Arnav grinned
"And you, Mr. 'International Man of Concrete'? I saw your Tokyo panel. Don't act humble now." Hideya said nudging Rabin
"It was raining that day." Rabin deadpanned
"It always rains in Tokyo. It's part of the aesthetic. You still crushed it." Kavya said
They pile around them — hugs, fake sobbing, chaotic jumping. Someone tries to lift Inaya. She almost elbows them in the face.
It's loud. It's beautiful. It's home.
Ava pulls out a wrapped box and hands it to Inaya.
"We made you a cake. It says 'Welcome Back, You Overachieving Nerds'." Ava said clapping her hands
"I did the frosting. That's why it looks like an earthquake." Arnav said with pride
They laugh. They hug again. And then —
"You two okay?" Hideya questioned quitely
Inaya and Rabin share a look. A pause.
"We're better," Inaya answered softly
The NYU rooftop is quiet again, just like the first time. Same wind, same fairy lights. Different versions of them.
Inaya sits with her feet dangling off the edge, Rabin beside her, knees drawn up, sketchbook in his lap.
"You're officially a published author now." Rabin smiled at her proudly
"And you? Tokyo still hasn't recovered from you."
"They offered me a position," Rabin smirked
"What?" Inaya gasped
"Anywhere. Any office. They said my portfolio's already circulating. Singapore, Paris, even New York."
She turns to him slowly, the heart suddenly in her throat.
"And what are you going to choose?"Inaya asked
"I don't know. Haven't replied yet." Rabin shrugged
She watches him. He's tracing his fingers over the edge of the sketchbook, not meeting her eyes.
"Rabin…"
He looks up. Finally. His voice is raw.
"You came back with a book in your hands. I came back with… questions. About who I want to be. Where I want to be. But one thing I know?"
He pauses. Reaches over. Touches her pinky.
"I want you in all versions of that life. Wherever I go."
"Are you trying to propose to me with a pinky promise?" Inaya laughed with teary eyes
"Maybe."
They fall silent again. But this time, it's not heavy. It's everything.
"I'm scared, you know." Inaya confessed
"Of what?"
"Of growing into someone so different… that we don't fit anymore."
"Then let's keep choosing to grow toward each other." Rabin said leaning closer
She nods.
He takes out a folded page from his sketchbook — a letter. Old, crinkled. The very first one she ever sent.
"You wrote this on a bad day. When you thought no one was listening."
"I didn't think it would reach anyone."
"It reached me."
Their foreheads rested together, hands linked between them.
The skyline hums behind them.
They're not perfect. But they're here.
Still writing.
Still returning.
Still beginning — again.