Aira used to apologize without realizing it.
For taking space.
For asking questions.
For wanting clarity when things felt uncertain.
She didn't do it out loud anymore.
But the habit lingered quietly in her chest.
She noticed it when Reyhan asked,
"Are you okay with this?"
for the third time that day.
She paused.
Not annoyed.
Not frustrated.
Aware.
"Yes," she said.
"But I don't want to keep reassuring you every time I want something."
Reyhan looked surprised.
Then thoughtful.
"You're right," he said.
"I think I confuse wanting more with asking too much."
Aira nodded slowly.
"I'm not asking for perfection," she said.
"I'm asking for effort without guilt attached to it."
They were sitting under the shade near the back of the campus, books untouched.
"I don't want to feel like I need permission to want closeness," Aira continued.
"And I don't want you to feel like giving it makes you weak."
Reyhan leaned back, exhaling.
"I grew up thinking wanting more meant being dissatisfied," he admitted.
"So I learned to minimize it."
Aira looked at him gently.
"And I learned to apologize for it," she said.
That realization sat between them.
Quiet.
Heavy.
Necessary.
"You don't have to apologize for wanting me to show up," Reyhan said.
"And I don't have to apologize for needing time to learn how."
Aira smiled faintly.
"That's all I wanted," she replied.
"Balance. Not silence."
Later, while walking toward the gate, Reyhan slowed his steps deliberately.
Not to wait.
To match.
Aira noticed.
Didn't comment.
Sometimes effort didn't need applause.
At the gate, she stopped.
"I won't say sorry for wanting a relationship that feels real," she said quietly.
Reyhan met her eyes.
"And I won't make you feel guilty for asking," he replied.
They didn't hug.
Didn't touch.
But something aligned.
Aira walked away lighter than she had in days.
Not because things were perfect.
But because she stopped shrinking her needs to keep peace.
RULE #64: Don't apologize for wanting more.
Because asking for honesty isn't demanding—
it's self-respect.