Hendry_budisaputra

She was cold in chat. But when they met, her silence spoke louder than words.

Nayla is the kind of girl who leaves your message unread, not because she doesn’t care, but because she doesn’t know how to care in a way that fits inside a blue bubble.

Raka, a warm and extroverted guy, falls for Nayla’s quiet presence. But as their connection grows, so does his confusion. How do you hold on to someone who disappears every time the screen lights up?

This is not a story of grand declarations. It’s about pauses, glances, and the kind of love that lingers in silence.

Cold on Screen, Warm in Real Life is a slow-burn urban romance about learning to speak each other’s language even when one is made of noise and the other of quiet.

Cold on Screen, Warm in Real Life

The next day, Nayla didn't say much.

Not that she was ever particularly loud, but this was different. Her usual quiet came with stillness, but today it felt heavier. Her silence wasn't calm; it was a retreat. Like she had folded inwards, trying to disappear without leaving the room.

Her greetings were barely audible. She answered questions with clipped, polite nods. Her eyes seemed to skim past everything without really seeing. Even the click of her keyboard was missing her fingers hovered over the keys but didn't move.

He didn't approach her right away. Instead, he watched from across the office, discreetly, like someone trying not to spook a bird already halfway to flying away. It wasn't pity in his eyes, just concern. Gentle. Patient.

When lunch break rolled around and the others trickled out laughing, gossiping, and making loud plans, Raka stayed behind.

A few minutes later, he returned quietly, setting a small paper cup on Nayla's desk.

She blinked at it, then looked up at him.

"Chamomile tea," he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. "You looked like you needed something soft."

Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but something close. "Thanks."

She picked up the cup but didn't drink. She just stared at the steam curling into the air, like she needed something to focus on. Something steady. Something real.

He didn't move away. Instead, he sat in the break room nearby, giving her space without distance.

Her voice was not loud. Just enough. The kind of crack you'd miss if you weren't listening closely. But Raka heard it. And more importantly, he understood that it wasn't the kind of tired that sleep could fix.

He didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't offer advice. He didn't tell her to smile or cheer up or look on the bright side.

He simply said, "You don't have to talk. I just didn't want you to feel alone."

That, more than anything, hit something deep inside her.

Just… gently. Like someone brushing dust off a page she hadn't opened in a while.

After a long moment, she whispered, "You're… good at this."

He looked over, eyebrow raised. "At what? Being nosy?"

She laughed, small and startled by the sound of it. "Being there."

They fell into silence again. But it was different now. Less heavy. More shared.

The vending machine in front of them blinked with flickering LED lights, casting a soft glow over aluminum wrappers and empty calories. Neither of them made a move to get anything. It wasn't about snacks.

And somehow, for Nayla, that was enough. More than enough.

In a world where everything moved too fast, asked too much, and noticed too little, Raka simply stayed.

And for ten quiet minutes, she didn't feel like she had to hold the world up alone.

Chapter 18 – Rain in Her Voice