The city was heavy with rain, as if last night's rain had washed away all its din. Laura sat by her window watching the droplets washing down the glass that never quite reached the bottom before another one collided. Her fingers rested over the keyboard, a half-written message on the screen —one she'd been working on for almost an hour.
It wasn't even a message. Just words she might never send.
"I saw your post today. You looked tired. But happy."
She let out a sigh, deleting the line for the tenth time. What was she even doing?
She sat by herself, frustrated. That's when her phone buzzed. A message from Evan.
Evan:
I saw your comment.
You've been here for a long time, haven't you?
Her heart skipped a beat and began to thump insanely as she read through it. For a moment, she thought she was hallucinating. She squinted her eyes and read the message twice to make sure it was from Evan. Evan, a figure who had long been a source of inspiration and admiration for her, had replied. His attention meant a world beyond her own, one of music, creativity, and recognition she desperately craved. It was surely a huge thing for her, even if it meant nothing to others. In Evan's success, she saw the realization of dreams she barely dared to speak. To Laura, he represented the possibility of belonging to something greater than herself, and his acknowledgment felt like a small step towards that distant reality.
Her hands trembled as she typed back.
"Yeah. I've been following your work for quite a while. You probably don't remember me."
She hesitated before hitting send. It sounded too desperate, too revealing, like she had been longing for his attention. But she sent it anyway.
She just froze there waiting for a reply. Just seconds later, there it was. Something so ordinary, but special to her.
Evan:
I remember some things better than people think.
She stared at the words that looked small but felt heavy as a rock, like they meant something they weren't saying outright. Evan didn't know her. Not really. Not the way she wished he did. But his world had grown to feel like home—the lights, the stage, the words she barely spoke, but somehow resonated with. She had been studying Korean phrases in secret herself, her notebook filled with Korean phrases, scribbles, and translations. There were times when she found herself whispering them under her breath, wishing he could hear her.
Before she could think of a reply, her phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't from Evan.
Aiden:
You home yet?
Don't ignore me Lau.
I didn't mean to yell earlier.
She sighed heavily, setting the phone down as threw herself on the bed staring at the roof. The guilt bothered her since their argument that afternoon. Aiden's words were sharp and unfiltered. It left small cuts she wasn't even sure how to heal yet. She knew He wasn't wrong, but he wasn't being fair either.
"I'm sorry, Aiden," she whispered to herself as she breathed heavily.
She sat back, finally replying to Aiden. But her fingers hung mid-air. The distance of time between their texts lately on the screen appeared to echo the tension between them. Before she could answer, another message from him popped up.
Aiden:
Forget it. I'm outside.
Laura immediately shot up from her bed. "Outside!?" she muttered, hearth thumping, rushing downstairs to open the door for him. Sure enough, Aiden was already there, resting against the doorframe, hair dishevelled, hoodie half-zipped, a familiar combination of frustration and love in his eyes.
"Are you crazy? It's raining"
He looked up, eyes dark and unreadable. "You weren't answering."
"That doesn't mean you show up at my house like this!"
"Then talk to me!" he snapped. "Just—talk to me, Laura!"
His voice cracked on her name. For a second, the fight left both of them. The rain softened into mist, and the silence that followed felt fragile.
Laura stepped aside, moving out of the way. "Come in. You're impossible."
Aiden hesitated before entering, water dripping from his hair onto the carpet. She handed him a towel without a word. He took it, rubbing the back of his neck, guilt flickering across his face. "And you're predictable. Laptop open, same music, same expression on your face."
She spun away. "What look?"
"That look you have when you're elsewhere. Somewhere way out of here."
She didn't answer. The air thickened with unspoken words. Aiden set out the food in silence, his jaw clenched, movements efficient and too deliberate. Laura sat on the floor beside him, observing his hands as he pressed one into her palm, passing her a fork. Their fingers touched. Neither of them said anything.
She sighed, her head hung low. "You were harsh."
"I know."
"Then why say it?" He met her eyes then— really met them— and felt his heart melting in a way that will only end up hurting him.
"You know," he went on at last, "you don't have to keep running after someone who doesn't even know you exist."
Her chest tightened. "Aiden—"
"No, listen to me." He turned his eyes on her, actually looked. His voice lowered to that gentle tone, the one that made her heart hurt for reasons she didn't care to define. "You're the type of person who assigns too much significance to little things. A like, a look, a dream. You interpret them as stories. But not everything signifies something, Laura."
She looked at him, wincing back the flash of tears in her eyes. "And perhaps that's why you'll never get it. Because you lost faith that things can mean something."
Aiden took a breath, his face weakening. "I believe in real things," he whispered. "Not pixels on a screen."
He squinted his eyes to hide the tears he was holding back. Aiden's voice was lower now, softer.
"I get it. He's… perfect. He's famous. He's everything I'm not. But do you even realize what it's like watching you drift further every day? Watching you smile at a screen when I'd do anything to make you smile in person?"
Laura swallowed hard as the tension between them thickened. "Aiden…"
The silence that followed, cut like a blade. It was almost merciless. Laura poked listlessly at her food, not able to meet his gaze.
He watched her for a long moment, something unspoken flickering behind his eyes — frustration, pain, jealousy, maybe a lot more he couldn't define. He wanted to tell her that he cared, that he'd been standing right here while she kept searching for someone far away. But the words never came. They never did.
Coward, he thought. You're a coward.
When she finally raised her eyes, her voice was steady, almost detached. "You think I don't know it's crazy? That I'm simply… chasing a dream? But Aiden, for the first time in my life, I want to feel something impossible. Something greater than this town, greater than I am."
Aiden's throat constricted. "And what about the people who make your life richer while you're off chasing impossible?"
Her eyes softened. "You mean you."
He chuckled softly, a cold, shattered sound. "Maybe."
They both fell silent again, the sort of silence that speaks volumes.
Beyond the window, the final light dissolved into the horizon. Laura rested her head back against the wall, eyes half-shut, fatigue gradually creeping in. Aiden observed her in the paleness — the curve of her lashes, the slight parting of her lips as she breathed out. Every aspect of her seemed out of reach.
His phone buzzed. A message from his dance team. He ignored it.
She was still looking at her screen, scrolling through Evan's new post — a candid photo of him sitting on a balcony in Seoul, the caption written in Korean.
She copied the text into her translator app. "There are people who stay in your mind even when you've never met them."
Her heart stumbled.
She read it again, and again, and then glanced up at Aiden, eyes shining dimly in the glow of her phone's screen. "See this? He said—"
"I see it," Aiden interrupted, his voice short. "But he's not referring to you, Laura."
She recoiled, the words striking her more sharply than she had anticipated.
For an instant, she thought he would say sorry. Instead, he turned away. His jaw was knotted, his knuckles white.
He wanted to take it back, but he couldn't. Because some part of him — the part that was tired of being second best — wanted her to hurt just enough to notice him.
"You should go," she whispered, voice trembling. "You've made your point."
He hesitated. The silence between them swelled with all that had not been said — how he'd been there for every broken heart, every sleepless night, every dream she'd told him half-asleep. How he loved her in secret, hopelessly, and how that love was devouring him now.
But still, he turned to walk away.
He stopped at the door. "You think love is about being noticed by someone far away. But sometimes it's about who's been here all along."
She followed him to the door, the rain a silver curtain between them. He paused before stepping outside.
"Just… don't lose yourself trying to reach someone who doesn't even know where you stand," he said softly. "And...I'm sorry."
Then he just left, fading into the rain.
Laura stood there long after he was gone, her heart caught between two worlds—the one she could touch, and the one she could only dream about. Her throat was burning, her chest was hurting, but she couldn't help herself from looking at the screen again — at Evan's post, at the words that seemed as if they were intended for her.
Perhaps not.
Perhaps they were.
And that slender possibility of being known by him — that fragile, idiotic maybe — was all it took to leave her holding on. Deep inside, she wished that those words were meant for her. Later that night, she sat on her bed, the city lights flickering through the window. She typed out a comment beneath Evan's post.
"Sometimes it's the people we've never met who feel the closest."
She hovered over the "post" button, her hand trembling slightly. Then she hit send.
When she looked at her reflection in the dark window, she barely recognized herself.
The girl who used to dream quietly was missing — had been replaced by one who craved to reach across the distance, even if she was bound to be shattered.
And somewhere else, in another corner of the globe, Evan reset his notifications.
A faint smile haunted his lips when he saw her name.
He didn't know why. But her words stayed with him.
Evan:
Do you ever wonder if timing ruins everything?
Her fingers hovered over the screen as she typed back:
All the time.