The unsent messages
862 Words
Lina’s POV
It’s been two days.
Two full days since Kai ghosted me.
No texts. No awkward nods in the hallway. Nothing but empty silence where connection used to hum like a quiet chord between us.
And the thing is—I don’t think I did anything wrong.
But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
---
Aria notices at lunch. She always does.
“You okay?” she asks, sliding her tray beside mine.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
She raises an eyebrow.
I sigh. “It’s Kai.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. Everything was fine… good, even. But after Friday, he just—cut me off.”
Aria nods slowly, like she’s putting pieces together in her head. “He was off Friday afternoon.
“You think something happened?”
“With Kai?” she says.You never know That’s the problem.”
---
Later that evening, I sit on my bed, phone in hand, and finally type out a message:
> Lina: I don’t know if I did something wrong, but if I did, I’m sorry. I miss our music. I miss you.
I stare at the screen.
Then I erase it.
Then I rewrite it.
> Lina: You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready. Just… don’t shut me out completely.
Erase.
My thumb hovers over send. My heart beats in this annoying, anxious rhythm that mirrors every lyric I don’t have the courage to sing out loud.
In the end, I don’t send anything.
Instead, I pick up my guitar.
And I write.
---
The song comes slow—soft and unsure, like I’m stepping on ground that might give way beneath me.
It’s not about heartbreak, exactly.
It’s about waiting.
About the ache of presence turning into absence.
About wanting to knock on someone’s emotional door without breaking it down.
“If silence is your answer, I’ll still hum your name…”
I record the chorus quietly on my phone. No background tracks. Just me, fingers trembling a little on the strings.
And I label it:
Draft for K.
No send.
Just save.
---
The next morning, I don’t expect him to be at the gate.
But he’s there.
Leaning against the fence like nothing happened. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Headphones hanging loose around his neck.
And the second his eyes meet mine, the world stops spinning for a beat.
“Hey,” he says.
I blink. “Hey?”
He shifts his weight like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. “Can we talk? Before first period?”
I nod.
We walk in silence to the music room, like some invisible string’s still tugging us there.
---
Inside, he doesn’t sit. He paces. Hands in his pockets. Jaw clenched like words are bricks stuck in his throat.
“I heard you,” he says finally. “Friday. Outside 3B.”
I freeze. “You… heard me talking to Aria?”
He nods. “About me. About Nathan.”
I open my mouth, then close it again. “I wasn’t trying to go behind your back.”
“I know.”
His voice is quiet. Not angry—just tired.
“I just… I don’t like being seen that much. I didn’t know how to react.”
I step closer. “I wasn’t trying to expose you, Kai. I care about you. That’s all it was.”
He nods slowly. “That’s what scared me.”
Those words c***k something in me.
“I’ve never had someone talk about me like that,” he says. “Like I was someone worth worrying about. I didn’t know what to do with it.”
“So you shut me out,” I whisper.
“I wanted to stop feeling like I needed you.”
“Did it work?”
His eyes finally meet mine.
“No.”
---
There’s silence between us, but this time it’s not heavy. It’s breathing.
Healing.
“I wrote something,” I say. “This weekend.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“It’s not finished. But… it’s about waiting. About how it feels to care for someone who won’t let you in.”
He steps forward, just slightly.
“Will you play it?”
I nod.
And this time, I don’t hesitate.
---
I sit at the upright piano instead of the guitar. Something about the keys feels gentler today. Like I can hide behind them if I need to.
Kai stands nearby, arms crossed—not closed off, just holding himself together.
I play.
It’s simple. Soft chords. No perfect structure. But it’s honest.
And when I reach the chorus—“If silence is your answer, I’ll still hum your name…”—I feel the emotion c***k in my voice.
I don’t look at him until the final note fades.
When I do, his eyes are glassy.
---
He crosses the room and kneels beside me.
No sudden moves. No dramatic declarations.
Just a hand reaching up, hesitating—and then resting lightly over mine on the keys.
“Thank you,” he says.
“For the music. For staying.”
- Writer
