The next morning, I woke up to a call.
Alvin.
My heart skipped—then picked up speed.
I answered quickly, already rehearsing in my head the calm, mature way I'd handle the conversation. I wasn't going to yell. I wasn't going to cry. Just clarity, mutual respect, and maybe—hopefully—an apology.
"Hey," he said casually, like nothing had happened. Like it hadn't been two weeks of total silence.
"Hey," I replied, keeping my voice flat. I waited. He didn't speak.
"So... you traveled?"
"Yeah, needed some time away. My parents really wanted me to come home."
Still no apology.
No, 'sorry I didn't tell you.'
No 'I should've communicated.'
Just vibes.
"So you couldn't call?" I asked quietly.
He paused. "Kim, I didn't want to bring negative energy into your space. You were already stressed with work. I figured I'd just stay out of the way."
Negative energy? Really?
"So you ghost me—for two weeks—then call and act like everything's fine?" My tone cracked.
"I didn't ghost you. I just needed space."
I closed my eyes.
The anger boiled over. "You didn't just need space. You disappeared, Alvin."
"I'm here now, aren't I?"
That was the last straw.
Click.
I hung up.
And I fumed.
Alvin had always been many things: charming, soft-spoken, borderline spoiled. But clueless? This clueless?
I spent the day replaying the conversation over and over, dragging my emotions between fury and disappointment like dirty laundry.
Three days passed.
Then finally, he called again.
"Kim," his voice sounded different. Low. Thoughtful. "I've been thinking a lot… and I realize I was wrong. I should've told you. I should've communicated. I took you for granted. I'm sorry."
Just like that, the volcano of anger inside me… softened.
Finally.
But he didn't need to know that. Not yet.
So I gave him cold responses, dramatic sighs, and one-word texts for a whole day before finally admitting, "I forgive you. Dummy."
He laughed. "I missed that voice."
I rolled my eyes, but deep down… I missed him too.
But something had shifted.
Our calls still happened, mostly at night, just before sleep. I'd lay in bed, eyes drooping, listening to his voice talk about nothing and everything.
Some nights though… I'd pass out at the reading table before I even touched my phone. Those were the days when research reports piled too high and my brain wouldn't stop buzzing.
One month passed.
Just like that.
No visit. No hug. No kiss. No ride to work.
I missed him.
Even during the critical drug production stage, when I was drowning in lab results and chemical reports, I found myself thinking about him in the quiet moments—on the taxi ride to work, walking up the stairs to my apartment, lying in bed staring at the ceiling.
He used to be part of my routine.
Now he was just… missing.
And I couldn't take it anymore.
So one Thursday evening, I asked him casually, "By the way, where exactly in Y-City do your parents live?"
He told me—without hesitation.
But something still bugged me.
Why did he leave in the first place?
I'd asked multiple times. His answers were always vague.
"My parents wanted me to come."
"My mom missed me."
"Family matters."
Nothing specific.
Maybe it really is private family stuff, I told myself.
Still.
That weekend, I packed a small bag, got on a bus, and set off for Y-City.
A surprise visit.
Something I never thought I'd do for any man. I mean, what if he wasn't home? What if he wasn't happy to see me?
Still, I went.
Love does things to us. Strange things.
It turns you from a strong, independent, emotionally guarded scientist…
…to a full-blown "Moumou."
I used to laugh at girls who traveled across towns just to see a guy. Girls who smiled through nonsense and fought back jealousy with quiet prayers.
Yet here I was.
Traveling to a city I'd never been to…
Just to surprise a man.
Spend time with him.
Then come back the next day.
I was trapped.
Deep in it.
And I couldn't escape the Moumou.
I couldn't run. Again.