There are things I can say easily.
And then there are things that sit quietly in my chest, growing heavier each time I choose not to speak.
With Gilang, most things fall into the second category.
It started with something small.
It always does.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
I looked up from the book in my hands. We were sitting on the low steps near the faculty building, the late afternoon sun stretching shadows between us.
"About what?" I asked.
"That I actually bought that book."
I frowned. "Why would you lie about buying a book?"
"Exactly," he said. "But my friends think I didn't."
"So prove it to them."
"I don't need to."
"That's the problem," I replied, closing the book with a soft thud. "You never feel like you need to explain anything."
He glanced at me, eyes narrowing slightly. "What should I?"
I exhaled, keeping my voice steady. "Because sometimes people need clarity. Not everything is about proving a point."
"And not everything needs to be explained either."
There it was again.
That stubborn wall.
"You always do this," I said quietly.
"Do what?"
"Turn everything into a stance. Like you're always ready to argue."
"I'm not arguing."
"You are."
"I'm explaining."
"No," I said, meeting his gaze. "You're resisting."
He went silent for a moment, like he was deciding whether this was worth continuing.
That was another thing about him.
When he didn't want to deal with something, he stepped away. Not physically. Just… emotionally.
And that scared me more than his stubbornness.
"I worry about you," I admitted.
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
He blinked, caught off guard. "Why?"
"Because you don't listen," I said. "You push back before you even try to understand. What happens when it's something that matters?"
His jaw tightened slightly. "Are you saying I don't care?"
"I'm saying you make it hard for people to feel that you do."
The air shifted.
Fragile.
"I'm not asking you to change overnight," I added.
"Then what are you asking?"
I hesitated.
"I just want you to try," I said finally. "To be calmer. To not turn everything into a challenge."
He looked away toward the trees lining the path.
"That's not easy for me."
"I'm not saying it is."
"Then why hope for it?"
"I don't expect it," I replied. "I hope for it."
He looked back at me, something unreadable in his eyes.
"That's worse."
"Why?"
"Because expectations can be broken," he said. "Hope just… lingers."
The words stayed longer than they should have.
"I'm still here," I said quietly. "That should mean something."
"It does."
"Then don't make me regret it."
This time, he didn't answer.
And somehow, his silence felt louder than any argument.
Later that day, we walked to the cafeteria together.
Or more accurately, he walked beside me while I tried to ignore the quiet awareness building in my chest.
We sat with a few of his friends.
They were loud. Easy. Comfortable with each other in a way that felt foreign to me.
Gilang wasn't.
He barely spoke, only answering when someone addressed him directly.
"Gilang, you coming later?" one of them asked.
"Maybe."
"Maybe means no," another joked.
He didn't react. Just shrugged, eyes drifting elsewhere.
I watched him for a moment.
This version of him felt different.
Quieter. Distant.
Like he didn't quite belong there.
"You're not very talkative with them," I said once we stepped away.
He glanced at me. "I don't have to be."
"But you're different with me."
"That's because you talk more."
I frowned. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"You seem… uncomfortable."
"I'm not."
"You don't look comfortable."
He stopped walking, turning slightly toward me.
"I just don't like being around too many people," he said simply.
"Why?"
He shrugged. "It's tiring."
That answer felt too small for something that seemed bigger.
"You're not as simple as you act," I said.
"And you think you are?"
I let out a small laugh. "No."
That night, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, my phone beside me.
No messages.
Of course not.
He was like that.
Present when he was there. Gone when he wasn't.
No in-between.
I picked up my phone, typing a message before stopping halfway.
What was I even going to say?
Do you like me? What are we doing? Why are you like this?
I deleted everything.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, dropping the phone back onto the bed.
Since when did I start overthinking someone like this?
Since him.
My friends were already starting to assume things.
"You and Gilang, huh?"
"We're not anything," I said quickly.
"Yet," one of them teased.
"There is no yet."
They exchanged looks I didn't like.
"You spend a lot of time together."
"That doesn't mean anything."
"It usually does."
Not this time.
Not with him.
Not when I still didn't understand what he wanted.
Or worse.
What I wanted.
I sighed and reached for my laptop.
If there was one person who could make sense of this, it was her.
Alya.
My best friend.
Currently somewhere in London, buried in her master's degree, living a life that felt miles away from mine.
I opened our chat.
"Are you awake?"
A few minutes passed.
Then the typing bubble appeared.
"It's early morning here. What happened?"
I smiled faintly. Of course she would answer.
"I think I'm in trouble."
"Academic or emotional?"
"Emotional."
"That's worse. Tell me everything."
I hesitated.
Then slowly, I started typing.
About Gilang.
About his stubbornness.
About the way he made me angry and curious at the same time.
About how I didn't know whether he liked me… or if I was just something he hadn't finished.
Her reply came faster this time.
"Do you like him?"
I stared at the screen.
Then I typed the only honest answer I had.
"I think I already do."
There was another pause.
Then:
"Then the real question isn't whether he likes you."
"What is it then?"
The typing bubble appeared again, slower this time.
"It's whether you're ready for someone like him."
Ready.
I wasn't even sure what that meant.
All I knew was that Gilang wasn't easy.
He wasn't predictable.
He wasn't safe in the way I used to define safe.
And maybe that was the problem.
Or maybe… that was the reason I couldn't walk away.
I glanced at my phone one last time before turning off the lights.
Still no message.
I shouldn't expect one.
And yet…
I closed my eyes, exhaling softly.
"Don't make me regret this," I whispered into the quiet.
I wasn't sure if I was talking about him.
Or myself.