Episode 8
1177 Words
Christopher POV :
The rooftop bar in Bali was buzzing with life—music low and rhythmic, waves crashing somewhere beyond the railings, laughter echoing off cocktail glasses and hookah smoke .
Christopher sat at the edge of a cushioned lounge chair, his beer bottle sweating between his fingers. He looked good. At least from the outside. Relaxed, sharp in a charcoal shirt with rolled sleeves, laughing at his PG mates’ jokes, a casual smirk on his face .
But his screen betrayed him .
“Karla deleted a message .”
He’d stared at that notification more times than he cared to admit .
He hadn’t heard from her in days. Not really. The last real message had been short, cautious. Then silence. Then this—half a sentence erased before it was born .
He kept her chat open, thumb hovering .
A feminine laugh drew his attention .
“ Dr. Hale ,” came a sweet voice , lilting and playful .
He glanced up to see Sharon , a third-year student with smoky eyeliner and a reputation for being a little too bold with the interns. She sat beside him without being asked, her bare shoulder brushing against his arm .
“Didn’t expect to see you here ,” she said, twirling a straw between her fingers, eyes too deliberate .
Christopher smiled politely. “Post-exam detox. PGs need to breathe too .”
“Don’t tell me you're drinking alone ,” she teased, glancing at his phone. “Or waiting for someone ?”
Christopher subtly locked his screen. “Not waiting .”
She leaned in slightly. “If you are, she’s lucky. You know half the girls in college follow your stories like a series. I’ve even heard them rank your captions .”
He chuckled lightly. “That sounds terrifying .”
She wasn’t wrong. He had noticed the influx of followers lately—girls from clinical rotations, DMs he never opened, replies to stories that he’d double-tap and leave at that. Flirty comments, flame emojis, even an awkward attempt at a voice note from a nursing student once .
But none of it made him pause the way Karla’s messages did .
None of them lingered in his mind at 2 a.m .
Sharon placed a hand briefly on his knee. “Well, if you’re ever free ...”
He smiled again, tight-lipped this time. “I’ll keep that in mind .”
She left eventually, sensing the disinterest. But Armaan had seen it all from across the table .
As soon as she was out of earshot, Armaan slid into the seat beside him with a smug look .
“You just dodged another groupie. Tell me again how Karla is ‘just another girl’ .”
Christopher gave him a warning glance. “She’s not.”
Armaan leaned forward, grinning. “Exactly. That’s the problem. You don’t let girls get under your skin, but this one—this girl’s in your head rent-free.”
Christopher didn’t deny it this time.
He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes scanning the moonlit beach in the distance.
“She’s different,” he said finally. “She’s not trying to impress me. She’s not waiting around for me to notice her. Hell, half the time she’s the one making jokes at my expense.”
Armaan smirked. “You like that.”
“I do,” Christopher admitted. “She’s real. She talks about things that matter. She overthinks. She sends random Snapchats of her cat. She asks me questions that no one else does.”
He opened her chat again, scrolled up.
One message stood out from weeks ago:
Karla: “Let’s play a game. You ask one, I ask one. But you have to answer honestly.”
It had started innocent. Favorite color. Dumbest thing you’ve ever done. Secret talent.
Then it got deeper.
Christopher: “What’s your biggest regret?”
Karla: “Trusting someone who didn’t see my worth.”
Then she flipped it back on him.
Karla: “You?”
He remembered typing slower that time. Pausing.
Christopher: “I cheated on someone once. She loved me. I broke her heart. I don’t think I’ve loved anyone right since.”
And she hadn’t judged him.
She’d just said:
“Maybe that’s why you run when things get too real.”
She saw him. Too well.
Christopher sighed.
“She makes me feel like I can be honest,” he told Armaan. “But that scares me. Because I don’t know if I should go there. Not just because of what I’ve done, but because of who I am now.”
Armaan raised an eyebrow. “You’re talking like you’re some kind of irredeemable villain.”
“I might be,” Christopher said quietly. “There’s the teacher-student thing too. Even though I’m not her actual prof , it’s a line. A code. We’re not supposed to get close. It’s messy.”
“Yeah, but do you want to get close?”
Christopher gave a soft, tired smile. “I already am.”
Silence hung for a moment.
Then Armaan said, “So what now?”
Christopher looked down at Karla’s last message again.
“Nothing important. Just overthinking like always.”
He knew what that meant. He knew she was doubting everything. And he didn’t blame her.
He started typing.
“I miss talking to you.”
Paused.
Deleted.
“I wish things were easier between us.”
Deleted.
In the end, he wrote nothing.
Just stared at the screen and let the silence hang between them like a thread waiting to snap.
Because for all the women who tried to catch his eye...
Karla was the only one who saw past it.
And that terrified him more than he’d ever admit.
Christopher’s thumb hovered over Karla’s profile picture for the fourth time that night.
Armaan, lounging next to him, caught the movement and smirked. “Liked her post again, huh?”
Christopher didn’t look up. “Yeah.”
Armaan raised a brow. “Accidental or deliberate this time?”
Christopher gave a tired laugh, setting his phone down on the table. “Deliberate. I saw it and— I don’t know. I guess I just... missed her.”
Armaan blinked, surprised by the honesty.
“Her caption was stupid,” Christopher added, trying to shrug it off. “Something like ‘when your coffee tastes better than your love life.’ But it made me think of our dumb chats. Her overthinking. The way she always finds a joke in pain.”
He glanced down at his phone again, now dark.
“I liked it so she’d know I was still there. Even if I’m not saying anything. Just… there.”
Armaan studied him, the smirk fading. “You’re in deeper than you think.”
Christopher didn’t respond. He just stared at the glowing city lights, thinking about the girl behind a post—waiting for a message he couldn’t seem to send.
- Writer
