Friday afternoons felt lighter.
Even teachers seemed less strict.
In English class, they were asked to write a short paragraph about "Change."
Ariana wrote carefully:
"Sometimes change is not loud. Sometimes it happens quietly, without you noticing."
When the bell rang, she folded the page and slipped it into her notebook.
At home, the weekend atmosphere was different. Her mother allowed her to watch television for a while before studying.
But instead, she found herself thinking.
About conversations.
About pauses.
About how he always replied — even if late.
That night—
SilentStar15: Do you ever miss your old school?
She didn't know why she asked that.
There was a noticeable pause.
Longer than usual.
Then—
UnknownUser: Sometimes.
Her heartbeat slowed.
SilentStar15: What do you miss?
Three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
UnknownUser: Small things.
She waited.
No elaboration.
She typed slowly—
SilentStar15: Like what?
Pause.
Then—
UnknownUser: Certain people.
Her fingers froze above the keyboard.
Certain people?
Was that random?
Or—
She quickly changed tone.
SilentStar15: Nostalgic today?
UnknownUser: Maybe.
She didn't push further.
Didn't want to.
Something about that answer felt unfinished.
Suspended.
Like a sentence waiting for the right time.
Before logging off, she typed—
SilentStar15: Don't disappear suddenly.
She almost deleted it.
But didn't.
Pause.
Then—
UnknownUser: I won't.
Simple.
No promises.
No drama.
Just words.
But for some reason—
They stayed with her longer than expected.