It happened ten days in.
Not suddenly. Not dramatically. Just enough to be noticed.
Amaya didn’t wake up one morning and decide she felt different. It crept in during the in-between moments—while brushing her teeth, while waiting for chai to boil, while staring at the ceiling a little longer than usual at night. A gentle restlessness she couldn’t name.
She began checking her phone more often. Not anxiously. Just… expectantly.
His messages hadn’t changed. Still friendly. Still easy. Still wrapped in the same calm consistency. And yet, something in her had tilted—like a picture frame nudged just slightly off-center. Subtle, but impossible to ignore once seen.
She noticed how her replies grew warmer. How she smiled at her screen without realizing it. How his name, glowing softly at the top of her notifications, brought a quiet comfort she hadn’t asked for.
Ten days wasn’t much. She knew that. She reminded herself of it often. People didn’t change your inner weather in ten days. Feelings didn’t grow roots that quickly.
And yet.
She found herself replaying conversations in her head. A line he’d said. The way he’d listened without interrupting. The way he remembered things she mentioned casually, as if they mattered. It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t overwhelming.
It was steady.
That scared her more than intensity ever could.
Amaya had always been careful with her heart. She didn’t hand it out easily. She believed emotions needed time, space, intention. And still, something was slipping past her defenses—not forcefully, but patiently.
She tried to rationalize it.
It’s just comfort.
It’s just habit.
It’s just someone being kind.
But kindness, she was learning, could be disarming.
One night, as she typed a reply and paused mid-sentence, she realized something that made her chest tighten slightly—she cared how she sounded. Not to impress. Not to perform. Just… to be understood.
That was new.
She prayed that night longer than usual. Not in panic, not in fear—but in quiet honesty. She asked for clarity. For grounding. For the strength to stay aware of her own heart. She didn’t ask for feelings to disappear.
She asked to understand them.
The shift didn’t announce itself with fireworks.
It arrived like a whisper.
A softness where caution once lived.
A curiosity that lingered longer than it should.
A warmth that stayed even after the screen went dark.
Amaya didn’t call it love.
But she knew something had changed.
And once something shifts inside you, there’s no pretending it didn’t.
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