The Space Between Us

"Somewhere between silence and confession, there's a place where hearts begin to whisper the truth."

The week after the student showcase, Yuna noticed something shift inside her.

Not all at once. Not something loud. Just a feeling—like walking into a room and realizing the window has been cracked open the whole time. She was breathing easier. Sleeping deeper. Her journal pages were no longer blank.

And people noticed.

Mina beamed every time she caught Yuna writing in public. Her classmates began asking her to lead group discussions, no longer surprised when she had something to say. Even Professor Hwang left a short note on her last essay: "Your voice is no longer whispering. Let it speak."

But the person who noticed the most was Eli.

He didn't say it out loud. That wasn't his style.

He simply started showing up a little differently.

He smiled more. Lingered at her table longer. Started giving her quotes that weren't just for comfort, but for courage.

One afternoon, he handed her a napkin that read:

"Let them see the light you tried to hide."

And Yuna had smiled so hard it ached.

That Friday, Yuna had only one class, so she spent the afternoon wandering the bookstore next to Mocha Moon. It had become her second favorite place in Havenbrook.

Noah, the owner, was organizing a stack of vintage records when he saw her.

"Poetry corner's over there," he said dryly.

"Do I look that predictable?"

"You've got that melancholy-but-creative look today. Screams Sylvia Plath."

She laughed. "I'm actually here for something warmer."

Noah pointed to a shelf. "Try Hanif Abdurraqib. Or Ocean Vuong. Or—if you're feeling brave—write your own."

"I'm getting there."

"You are," he said, surprisingly sincere. "Eli talks about you, you know."

That made her freeze. "He does?"

Noah nodded. "Not much. Just… the way he looks at you shows more than he says."

Yuna tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "He doesn't say a lot."

"He doesn't need to."

That evening, she found herself in Mocha Moon after hours.

The café was technically closed—Eli had locked the doors early so he could deep-clean the espresso machine and stock supplies—but when Yuna knocked on the glass, he didn't hesitate to let her in.

"You came back," he said, letting the door swing closed behind her.

"I wanted quiet. This place has the best kind."

He smiled, then glanced at her arms. "No journal?"

She held up a paperback novel. "Reading tonight. I need someone else's words for a while."

"Want something to drink?"

"Surprise me."

Eli moved behind the counter, pulling mugs and reaching for cinnamon. Yuna took a seat at her usual table, legs curled beneath her, watching him work.

The music was softer than usual—jazz, yes, but quieter, more mournful. She liked it. It suited the lighting. The mood.

When Eli brought over her drink, he didn't sit right away.

But he hovered.

And eventually, he did.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, folding his hands on the table.

Yuna sighed. "My mom texted me today."

Eli's brows lifted. "And?"

"She said, 'I watched your video. You looked comfortable. Maybe too comfortable.'"

Eli's jaw tightened. "That's… a loaded sentence."

"I know she doesn't mean it cruelly," Yuna said. "She just doesn't understand this version of me."

Eli nodded. "You can love someone and still not be known by them."

Yuna looked down at her cup. "It makes me wonder if I'm even allowed to feel proud of myself. Or if I'm just being… selfish."

"You're not selfish," he said. "You're surviving. And now, maybe, beginning to live."

She was quiet for a long time.

Then she said, "You hide a lot of yourself too."

He blinked.

"That's not a judgment," she added quickly. "I just… I see it."

Eli leaned back, sighing. "I know. I've gotten good at hiding. Especially the parts that still hurt."

"What still hurts?" she asked softly.

He hesitated.

Then, "Sometimes I still dream about the day I lost him. My brother."

Yuna didn't speak.

Eli's voice was calm—but quieter than usual.

"I wasn't even that late. Ten minutes. But those ten minutes haunt me. Because ten minutes earlier, and I would've picked him up instead of letting him walk."

"It's not your fault."

"I know that," he said. "Logically. But guilt doesn't live in logic. It lives in what-ifs."

He looked down, fingers fidgeting with the mug handle. "I haven't told anyone that in a long time."

"Why me?"

"Because you don't make me feel like I have to be fixed."

Yuna blinked against the sting in her eyes.

She reached out—tentatively—and touched his hand.

His fingers turned, lacing gently through hers.

And they sat like that, quiet, connected, saying everything without a single word.

The rain outside turned heavier. Thunder rumbled far away.

Eli stood and moved to the window, watching the water race down the glass. Yuna joined him, standing beside him as the light reflected their blurred silhouettes in the pane.

"I'm not used to being seen," she said quietly.

He looked at her, not turning away from the window. "You deserve to be."

They stood shoulder to shoulder, not touching.

Then he said, so softly it nearly got lost in the storm, "Can I ask you something?"

She nodded.

"If I ever fall for you… will that scare you?"

Yuna's breath caught.

She didn't answer right away.

Then: "I think… if you say it gently, I'll find the courage to stay."

Eli turned his head, finally looking at her.

He didn't kiss her.

But he stepped close.

And she didn't move away.

That night, back in her apartment, Yuna wrote something short.

Not a letter.

Not a poem.

Just a truth.

*"I'm not afraid of love.I'm afraid of being loved before I'm ready.

But with him…I think I get to decide the pace."*

And that was the most powerful thing of all.