Chapter 16 – Morning Texts
559 Words
The sun hadn’t fully risen when Kavya’s phone buzzed beside her pillow. Still half-asleep, she reached for it, blinking at the screen.
Aryan: Morning. Did you sleep well?
Her heart did that small, ridiculous skip again—the one it seemed to reserve only for him.
It had been just a few weeks since their first conversation, yet now, mornings felt incomplete without his messages. They weren’t grand or poetic—just small, thoughtful, grounding. The kind of messages that made the world feel a little softer.
She smiled to herself as she typed back:
Kavya: Morning. Barely. You?
Aryan: Same. Couldn’t stop thinking about that film you mentioned.
Kavya: The one with the quiet ending?
Aryan: Yeah. I get it now. The silence said more than any dialogue could.
Her fingers hovered for a second before replying:
Kavya: You notice things most people miss.
Aryan: Maybe I just like listening when someone talks like you do.
Her breath caught. She laughed softly, trying to brush it off—but the warmth lingered.
Aryan set his phone down, pretending to focus on his coffee. His apartment was quiet, the city outside still half-asleep. He hadn’t planned to message her so early, but mornings had become easier when they began with her name lighting up his screen.
Every word from her carried a kind of peace he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for.
He thought about deleting that last message—the one that almost sounded like a confession—but he didn’t. For once, he let the words stand.
Throughout the day, their texts trickled in between meetings and errands.
Kavya: Coffee or tea today?
Aryan: Coffee. Always. You?
Kavya: Tea. Always. Guess we’re opposites.
Aryan: Maybe that’s why it works.
She stared at that last text longer than she should have, her smile refusing to fade.
That night, the conversation drifted from small talk to quiet honesty.
Kavya: Funny how we’ve never really said much about ourselves.
Aryan: Maybe that’s why it feels easy.
Kavya: You think words complicate things?
Aryan: Sometimes. But with you, silence feels comfortable.
Her chest tightened in that strange, aching way again.
Kavya: Then what happens when silence starts saying too much?
Aryan: Then maybe it’s time to say something out loud.
For a long time, neither sent another message. Kavya lay in bed, the glow of the screen painting her face in pale blue. She typed and erased, typed again.
Kavya: I like our mornings.
She hesitated, then pressed send.
A minute passed. Then her phone lit up.
Aryan: Me too. Maybe because they start with you.
The next morning, her alarm didn’t wake her—his message did.
Aryan: Morning. Step outside.
Confused, she slipped on her sweater and opened her balcony door. The sun was just rising, soft gold spilling across the skyline.
Another message came.
Aryan: Thought you’d like the view.
She looked up instinctively, as if she could find him somewhere in the horizon. A laugh escaped her lips.
Kavya: You always know what to say.
Aryan: Not always. Just when it matters.
And in that quiet, golden hour, their words felt like a promise—gentle, unspoken, but undeniably real.
Two hearts learning that connection doesn’t always need grand confessions—sometimes, it’s found in the soft hum of morning texts that say “I’m here.”
- Writer
