Her Quiet Run

CHAPTER 16 — WHEN SPACE FEELS LIKE DISTANCE

Malisa gets home that evening and collapses onto her bed, face buried in her pillow.

Her head pounds. Her body aches. Her emotions feel like someone turned the volume too high.

Her phone buzzes.

She expects it to be Rico.

It’s not.

It’s Keon.

Keon: Liss… please tell me you got home safe.

She stares at the message.

Her chest twists.

She types.

Deletes.

Types again.

Stops.

She hates this.

This distance.

This tension.

This fear of talking and fear of not talking.

She finally replies with the safest words she can manage.

Malisa: Home safe. Just tired.

The “…” bubble appears instantly.

Then stops.

Then appears again.

Keon: Can we talk tomorrow? Please. I need to see you.

Her heart clenches.

Keon wanting to talk should feel good.

Relieving.

Hopeful.

But instead, she just feels scared she’ll crumble again.

Malisa: We can talk. Just… slowly.

Keon: Slow is fine. I’ll wait.

She puts her phone down and exhales shakily.

Someone else texts right after.

Rico: You home?

She hesitates.

Then answers.

Malisa: Yeah.

Rico: Good. Rest, okay? And drink water. You looked pale by the end of the day.

Malisa: I will. Thank you.

Rico: Anytime.

The difference between Keon’s messages and Rico’s hits her too hard.

Keon feels heavy.

Complicated.

Painful.

Important.

Rico feels steady.

Warm.

Safe.

Simple.

And that scares her.

Because she doesn’t want to replace anyone.

She just wants to breathe again.

That night, she sleeps for the first time in days.

Not well.

Not deeply.

But without shaking.

And that feels like progress.