A full year had passed since Ali's sudden disappearance, and yet for Syria, time did not flow forward — it circled her like a haunting wind. Days folded into one another. Nights fell heavy. The world moved, but she remained suspended in a season that never changed.
She waited.
Not with hope.
Not with anger.
But with an ache she carried quietly, like a bird too tired to fly yet unable to fall.
Anaya watched her friend with worried eyes. She saw the way Syria inhaled deeply, as if her soul had left her lungs and she was trying to bring it back with each breath.
"You love him," Anaya would whisper gently.
But Syria always shook her head, the same denial trembling on her lips each time.
"No… I can't. My family will never accept something like this. I don't even know what I feel."
But fate had never cared about rules, or families, or boundaries marked by fear.
Fate was weaving something else — and it chose the softest moment to begin.
The Code of Confession
Ali's birthday was only weeks away when the memory returned to Syria — a memory she had tucked deep inside her heart like a secret seed. A small code, something Ali once taught her casually, never knowing it would become a symbol of the heaviest truth she carried.
A code that meant I love you.
She did not plan it.
Her heart did it for her.
Her fingers trembled as she typed it.
The code glowed on the screen like a spark in darkness.
And she pressed send.
Immediately, her heart stopped.
What had she done?
What if he never replied?
What if he laughed?
What if he was gone forever?
She held her breath until her ribs ached.
But by then, the message had already crossed oceans of time and silence and reached him.
Ali saw the notification the next morning.
He stared at the unknown number.
At the strange code.
At the message that felt familiar, but the meaning escaped him completely.
He typed back, short and sharp:
Ali: "Sorry, do I know you?"
The words stabbed through Syria like icy shards.
Her hands shook. Her throat tightened. Her eyes stung with the kind of pain she could not explain — the kind that came from the soul, not the body.
That day, she felt herself wither like fallen leaves crushed under indifferent feet.
Still, she found the courage to answer.
Syria: "You… forgot me?"
A moment later, his message flashed.
Ali: "Syria? It's you?"
Something lit inside her — not joy, not relief, but recognition.
Two souls remembering each other after being lost in the dark.
Ali's heart stumbled too. The sound of her name brought back a softness he thought he had buried long ago.
He had fallen for Syria before — silently, secretly — but the code she sent confused him. He had forgotten its meaning, forgotten the small game they once shared.
Syria, terrified of losing him again, did not explain the code when he asked.
"I forgot," she lied gently.
"It doesn't matter."
But it did matter.
More than either of them realized.
Night Conversations
Now Syria had her own phone — a world she had never dared step into before. And with it, the nights transformed.
What began as cautious messages became long conversations under the stars. The darkness outside her window grew warm when his name appeared on the screen.
They spoke about everything and nothing.
The past, the present, the little moments they missed in each other's absence.
Syria found herself smiling at the phone like a girl discovering sunlight after living in snow.
Ali found himself waiting for her messages, feeling the flutter inside him grow with every passing night.
She finally asked him the question she had swallowed for a year:
"Why did you disappear?"
Ali paused before answering.
He told her almost everything — about life, chaos, pressure, fear of losing people.
Everything… except the truth that weighed the heaviest:
That he feared he couldn't take care of her.
That he feared he wasn't enough.
That Samira's words had shaken him.
Syria listened quietly.
She didn't push.
Somehow, she already knew there were pieces he wasn't saying.
And despite everything… she forgave him.
Names That Change Everything
One night, when the valley was asleep, Ali typed something he didn't think twice about.
Ali:
"Goodnight, darling."
For him, it flowed easily — just a soft word, light as wind.
But for Syria, the world stopped.
Her breath caught.
Her heart flipped painfully inside her chest.
She stared at the word "darling" like it was forbidden, dangerous, beautiful.
Her fingers froze above the keyboard.
She did not reply for minutes.
Ali noticed.
Ali:
"Are you asleep?"
No… she wasn't asleep.
She was drowning.
In feelings.
In fear.
In longing.
In love she still refused to name.
The Question That Could Break the Moon
Ali's birthday drew near. There was a shift in him — subtle but impossible to ignore. His messages grew softer. His calls longer. His silences warmer.
Something was blooming.
He felt it every time he talked to her.
He felt it every time her voice trembled softly on the call.
He felt it every time she asked, "Are you okay?"
It was the same feeling that scared him a year ago.
But now, running from it felt impossible.
So one night — a night when the moon hung low and red like a heart on fire — Ali finally said the words sitting on the edge of his soul.
His message came slowly… painfully… as if he typed it while wrestling his heartbeat.
Ali:
"Syria… I've been feeling something strange."
She blinked at the screen, pulse rising.
Ali:
"And now I can't ignore it anymore."
Her breath broke.
Ali:
"Tell me something…"
The world fell silent around her.
Ali:
"If you love me…
what do you think about me?"
Syria's heart slammed against her ribs.
The room spun.
Her phone slipped slightly from her hands.
This was it.
The moment everything changed.
The moment the truth she had buried under fear finally surfaced.
But she couldn't speak.
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
A thousand memories, a thousand feelings, a thousand unsaid words crashed inside her chest like a storm trying to escape.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
One word could tie their souls forever.
One hesitation could break them apart.
The night waited.
The stars waited.
Ali waited.
And Syria…
Syria trembled on the edge of a confession she was terrified to make.
The message box blinked.
Her heartbeat roared.
She typed—
and stopped.
The moment froze.
And the chapter ends here.