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

Rain had been falling nonstop for hours, turning streets into rivers and windows into canvases of gray. The city buzzed with umbrellas and wet shoes, with groans about delayed meetings and soaked socks.

But inside a little bookstore tucked between a pharmacy and a tea shop, Nayla felt none of that mattered.

She was standing in the poetry aisle, flipping through a collection of local verse. Her hair was a little damp. Her shoes had tracked in tiny puddles. But she was still—calm in the way only someone who has stopped running feels.

Raka arrived ten minutes late, hoodie dripping, carrying a bag with two plastic-wrapped pastries.

"I come bearing offerings," he declared, holding them up.

Nayla grinned. "Your godhood is safe for now."

They found a corner in the back of the store two stools, a tiny wooden table, and a flickering lamp overhead. Outside, thunder rolled in the distance.

"This place is magic," Raka said, biting into a croissant.

"It's quiet," she replied. "That's magic enough."

He studied her for a moment, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she lingered on a page before turning it.

"I feel it," she admitted. "And I didn't think I'd feel that again."

He leaned back on the stool. "Funny how it sneaks up on you, huh? Peace. Love. The desire to stay."

She nodded slowly. "Even in the middle of chaos. Even when it's raining."

They spent the afternoon reading quietly, occasionally exchanging lines from the books they were holding.

"This one reminds me of you," Raka said, nudging her arm. He read aloud:

"She did not arrive like thunder

But like the scent of rainFamiliar, necessary, and impossible to forget."

Nayla didn't know how to reply. So she didn't. She reached over and placed her hand on his.

In that moment, it wasn't about grand declarations or deciding futures.

Without needing to prove anything.

They left the bookstore just before closing, the rain finally easing into a soft mist.

As they walked down the slick pavement, Nayla looked up at the sky, then at Raka.

"I used to hate the rain," she said.

"But now," she continued, "I think it's just the world's way of reminding us we don't have to be bright to be beautiful."

Raka slipped his fingers into hers.

"And that some of the best days," he added, "start with getting a little wet."

She laughed, and the sound echoed against the quiet street.

That night, as they parted ways at the train station, Nayla didn't feel heavy.

Only a beginning that no longer needed the sun to shine to be real.

Because today, the rain didn't matter.

Chapter 58 – The Day the Rain Didn’t Matter