My Paper Planes

The days after our conversation felt like I was walking on a tightrope. Lia had made it clear that she needed time, and I was more than willing to give her that space. It wasn't easy, however. The uncertainty lingered in the back of my mind, always there, tugging at me whenever I wasn't distracted by schoolwork. It wasn't like I regretted being patient—it was just hard to know where things stood between us.

I had plenty of distractions to focus on. But even in the midst of all this, my thoughts often drifted back to Lia. It had become a routine now: college, work, and a quiet yearning to understand what was happening between us.

Our texts had slowed a little, which I told myself was normal. We weren't constantly talking, but when we did, it felt effortless. Lia would ask for help with math problems—ones I'd once thought were impossible, but somehow, with her patience, they became manageable. It was as if we were sliding into our old rhythm, and I almost didn't notice it at first.

It was late one evening after I had sent her a message about an upcoming test when I received her reply. It was simple—too simple—but it caught me off guard anyway. "Hey, can you help me with one of the questions? I'm stuck."

I smiled at my phone, not because the question was hard (I could handle that), but because of how natural it felt to be the one she reached out to. For a second, I let myself feel that quiet excitement of being the person she thought of when she needed help. Maybe it was small, but it meant something.

"Of course! What's the question?" I typed back quickly, trying to sound casual.

She sent me a screenshot of the problem, and we spent the next half hour going back and forth, solving it together. I tried not to read too much into it, but I couldn't help it. There was a sense of comfort in her messages, an ease that felt like it had been there all along, even when we hadn't been talking as much.

The conversation naturally shifted away from the math problem to something else. She mentioned a new book she had started reading and then asked about my latest research project. The back-and-forth felt like it always had, a mix of the mundane and the personal, and I was reminded of how much I appreciated these small exchanges.

But as we talked, I started to realize something else. As much as I told myself not to get ahead of myself, I couldn't ignore how much I missed her. It wasn't just the texts or the study sessions—it was the fact that we were still connecting in this way. The more I thought about it, the more it felt like something was growing between us. Maybe it wasn't romantic; perhaps it was just friendship, but the comfort in our conversations made me think it was something more than just a passing connection.

Then, almost as if the universe was handing me a moment, she texted something unexpected. "Hey, what's your weekend looking like? Got any plans?"

I didn't know why, but my heart skipped a beat. It was an innocent question, but it felt loaded. We'd never hung out one-on-one outside of school, at least not like this. I had a million thoughts racing through my head. Was this a casual hangout? Or was it something else entirely? I pushed the thoughts away, trying to focus on the simple question she'd asked.

"I'm free. What did you have in mind?" I replied, trying to sound casual. My fingers hesitated over the keys for a moment before I hit send.

Her response came quickly, with the name of a small café near the school. The kind of place where you could get lost in a conversation without anyone interrupting. I didn't know what to make of it, but I felt that familiar flutter in my chest. Was this just a way for her to ask for help with something? Or was it more? I couldn't tell, but I knew I couldn't turn down the invitation. Not when she'd taken the time to ask.

We agreed to meet on Saturday afternoon. The rest of the week dragged on, each day feeling like it was stretching out longer than it should. As Saturday approached, my nerves grew. What would it be like? Can we talk as easily in person as we did over text? Would it feel like old times? Or would it be awkward, full of pauses and missed glances?

I spent the entire Friday night trying to figure out what to wear—something casual, but not too casual, like I was putting in effort. I didn't know why it felt so important, but I wanted to make a good impression. When Saturday arrived, I spent way too long getting ready, second-guessing my outfit, and checking the time every five minutes. I was anxious but in a good way. This was a step forward, and I wanted it to be right.

When I arrived at the café, my nerves were almost unbearable. I was early, which meant I had to find a table and sit there waiting, watching the door for her to walk in. Each passing minute felt like an eternity. I kept imagining what I would say to her when she got here. Would it be like our messages? Would we pick up right where we left off?

Finally, after what felt like forever, I saw her walk in. She looked a little unsure, but when she spotted me, a small smile spread across her face. It was a smile I recognized, the same one she'd given me at the research camp. And for a moment, I felt like everything was going to be okay.

"Hey," she greeted, walking over to the table. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."

"No, I just got here," I said, trying to sound as calm as possible.

We sat down, and for a few minutes, we just looked at the menu, both of us avoiding the obvious question of what this all meant. It wasn't until the waiter came over to take our order that we actually spoke, and even then, the conversation was light, filled with small talk about what we were planning to get.

But even with the small talk, I could feel it. There was something different in the air, something that hadn't been there before. It wasn't overwhelming, but it was there, settling between us like an unspoken truth.