Jacob slipped into Amaya’s days the way habits did—quietly, consistently, without asking for permission.
It started with mornings.
Not every day. Just often enough to be noticed.
Good morning, he’d text.
Sometimes followed by, Did you wake up or are you still pretending to be asleep?
She’d roll her eyes at her phone before replying.
Excuse me, I’ve been awake for hours.
Lies, he’d send back. Hyderabad mornings are not that productive.
She didn’t realize when those messages became the first thing she checked after waking up.
Their conversations weren’t deep all the time. Most days, they were stupid. Playful. Comfortably pointless.
What are you doing?
Nothing.
That’s not an activity.
It is. I’m very talented at it.
She’d laugh softly, shaking her head, fingers flying over the screen.
Kerala people talk like this ah?
Only the charming ones.
So you’re saying you’re charming?
I’m saying you’re still talking to me.
Somewhere between teasing and banter, walls lowered.
He’d complain about the rain interrupting his plans. She’d send him pictures of Hyderabad skies glowing orange at sunset. They compared food, argued playfully about which state did it better, pretended not to care who “won.”
Your biryani is overrated.
Say that again and I’m blocking you.
Worth it.
Late evenings turned into longer chats.
Why are you still awake? she’d ask.
Talking to you, he’d reply, casually—as if it meant nothing.
But it did.
She caught herself smiling at messages she hadn’t even opened yet. Typing replies faster than she intended. Feeling disappointed when the conversation ended, even if it was past midnight.
Some nights, they talked about nothing at all.
Random thoughts. Half-formed jokes. Comfortable silences broken by a single text.
Still there?
Yeah.
Okay.
And that okay felt strangely reassuring.
Amaya noticed how easily she shared parts of her day with him—things she wouldn’t usually mention to anyone. A bad mood. A small win. A song stuck in her head. He listened without making it feel like effort.
That was when it hit her.
He wasn’t just someone she talked to anymore.
He was someone she expected.
His presence had settled into her routine—between classes, during breaks, in the quiet moments before sleep. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… there.
She tried to be careful. Told herself not to read into it. Habits, after all, could be broken.
But even as she told herself that, her fingers betrayed her—typing a message she didn’t need to send, just to keep the conversation going a little longer.
Somewhere between jokes and late-night “are you still awake?” texts, Jacob had become familiar.
And familiarity, she was learning, was dangerous.
Because habits didn’t leave without taking something with them.
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