CHAPTER 6 — “Just Us, Just This”

We Never Said Goodbye

Evening settled over the city like a breath being held. The sky, painted in blurred lavender and slow-burning gold, looked peaceful—almost as if it had eavesdropped on every anxious thought Mark had earlier and chose to offer silence in return.

He sat on a bench outside the coffee shop they'd met at—hands tucked loosely into his jacket pockets, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his phone buzzed softly.

Aria 🧃:

"So… handshake?"

"After all the build-up, that was your move?"

Mark:

"In my defense, you looked like you might actually do the hug."

Aria 🧃:

"I was going to! Then you turned into a statue and I panicked."

"Mutual chaos. We're even."

Mark:

"Agreed. 10/10 awkward performance from both sides."

A breeze moved through the air—gentle, almost quiet enough to be ignored. But Mark felt it. He felt everything today. The nerves. The soft joy.

The moment he saw her in person for the first time and forgot how to exist for half a second.

She'd smiled at him the way only Aria could—like she knew him already, like the space between screens and real life didn't matter.

And then she'd reached forward, and he had… blinked.

Froze.

Offered a handshake like some internship candidate.

Still, she didn't make it weird. She just laughed.

Buzz.

Aria 🧃:

"My boyfriend texted earlier. Asked if the city survived my caffeine hunt."

He stared at the message. Not because it startled him—he had always assumed—but because it grounded the moment. Set the boundary. Reminded him that this was what it was, nothing more, nothing less.

Mark:

"Did you tell him the barista cried when you walked in?"

Aria 🧃:

"Obviously. He said, and I quote: 'You're the reason local businesses need therapy.'"

Mark:

"I support that analysis."

He leaned back, letting the metal bench press into his spine. No weird jealousy, no ache—just calm. Aria had been transparent without oversharing. That said something. And he respected it.

Mark:

"So… did I live up to the profile?"

Aria 🧃:

"You were taller than expected."

"Also: voice deeper. Smile softer. Shoes worse."

Mark:

"That's unfair. My shoes are misunderstood."

Aria 🧃:

"They look like they gave up on life."

Mark:

"They've been through stuff."

Aria 🧃:

"Like what? A war zone?"

Mark:

"A public bus. Same thing."

Their laughter—texted back and forth—did something unspoken. It sealed the awkwardness with warmth. Friendship didn't need perfection. It just needed presence.

And Aria? She was present in a way few people knew how to be. Not overbearing. Not distant. Just… real.

Mark:

"You ever meet someone and think—yep, this is going to be one of those strange little constants in my life?"

Aria 🧃:

"Like finding a weird mug in your kitchen and always using it even though it leaks?"

Mark:

"Exactly."

Aria 🧃:

"Then yeah. You're the mug."

He laughed, out loud this time. A passing couple looked at him weirdly. He didn't care.

She was unpredictable in the best way.

There was comfort in knowing she wouldn't try to be more than she was. That she wasn't waiting for him to be someone else either.

Aria 🧃:

"You're not disappointed, are you? With how it went?"

He thought about that.

About the moment she walked toward him with too much confidence and not enough logic.

About how her voice sounded the same as it did in voice notes—only warmer.

How they talked like they hadn't skipped a beat, even though this was their first time seeing each other.

Mark:

"Not even close. You were the same. Just louder in 3D."

Aria 🧃:

"I take that as a compliment."

Mark:

"Good. It was."

He tucked his phone into his pocket for a moment and looked up at the sky again. Purple now. Almost navy.

Some friendships didn't need definitions.

They just needed truth. Shared moments. Silly texts.

And the quiet knowledge that someone, somewhere, knew how to make you laugh when the day felt heavier than usual.

That was Aria.

She wasn't a love story.

She wasn't a fantasy.

She was real.

And Mark didn't want her to be anything else.He always thinks love as a gesture of life, joy and enjoyment with little drama, He was raised as a gentleman by his mom.