Chapter Eight - Unread Messages
780 Words
I saw the message the same day she sent it.
“Hey! You looked familiar. Were you in the elevator the other day? I’m Mara btw!”
The name didn’t register at first. The account had no profile picture. No mutuals. Just a short message sitting quietly in my inbox, like a knock I wasn’t ready to answer.
I stared at it for a while, wondering if it was really her.
Then came the second message.
“Sorry, I’m being weird haha. Just thought I saw you around. Hope work’s treating you okay!”
This time, my chest tightened.
I knew it was her.
I didn’t respond.
Not because I didn’t want to—but because I wanted to too much.
And that terrified me.
She wasn’t supposed to notice me. I was the quiet one. The guy in the corner who blended into systems and lines of code. Not the type women remembered in elevators.
Especially not women like her.
She had this… presence. The kind that made rooms tilt slightly in her direction. I saw it that day, even before I knew her name. And something in me—a part still buried under grief—leaned toward her like instinct.
So I waited.
Not out of cruelty. Out of fear.
What if I responded too fast? What if she saw through me—through the ache I still carried, the silence I wrapped around myself like armor?
Two weeks passed before I replied.
“Hi. Sorry. I’m not usually online.”
It was the most honest lie I’d ever told.
When she replied with excitement, I smiled. Actually smiled. First time in months.
But even then, I kept my replies short. Kept myself guarded.
She didn’t seem to mind.
She talked like she was trying to fill the silence in both our lives.
I let her.
Until one night, she sent:
“Let’s go out.”
And I almost said no.
But something in me—some thread I couldn’t name—pulled taut.
“I live far from Quezon City,” I said instead.
“Let’s meet halfway then.”
It took me three hours to reply.
When I finally typed yes, I didn’t realize I’d also said yes to everything else that would follow.
The way she made me laugh when I thought I’d forgotten how. The way her voice made my nightmares go quiet.
I wasn’t ready for her.
But I was already falling.
Even if I hadn’t admitted it yet.
We decided on a coffee shop halfway between us.
Neutral ground.
Public.
Safe.
I arrived twenty minutes early. Sat near the window. Ordered nothing.
It was stupid—how nervous I was.
I kept telling myself this wasn’t a date. Just coffee. Just two people who talked too much at 2 a.m. and wanted to see if the conversation made sense in daylight.
But when she walked in—
Everything else fell away.
She looked… exactly like I remembered her.
From the elevator. From the dream.
From the ache that had taken root in my chest long before I ever learned her name.
She wore black jeans and a white shirt with tiny embroidered suns near the collar. Her hair was up. Her eyes scanned the place until they landed on me. And then—she smiled.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Like we’d done this before.
I stood, awkwardly. Almost knocked over the chair.
“Hi,” she said, sliding into the seat across from me.
“Hi,” I managed.
She grinned. “Still the quiet type, huh?”
I looked down. “Still the talkative one?”
She laughed. “You remembered.”
How could I forget?
We ordered drinks. She got something iced with too many syllables. I got black coffee.
We talked.
Not easily. Not like in the messages. There were pauses. Awkward gaps. I didn’t know how to look at her for too long without feeling like I was being seen too deeply.
But she didn’t seem to mind the silences. She filled them with little stories—about work, about her friends, about a stray cat she was trying to rescue in her condo parking lot.
And when she spoke, she leaned forward. Like she wanted me to know she wasn’t going anywhere.
That night, when I got home, I stared at the ceiling for hours.
I didn’t know what this was.
But I knew it was already more than I expected.
And when I closed my eyes—
For the first time in months, the woman in white didn’t come to me.
Because maybe, just maybe…
She was already here.
- Writer
