-Language barrier-

Chapter Nine

It was one of those chilly fall mornings when the air was crisp and the world felt quieter, like everything had slowed down just a little. I was sitting on a bench outside campus, waiting for my next class to start, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, but my mind was miles away.

Martin had been on my mind more than ever lately. That prayer I had a few nights ago kept replaying in my head, as if saying those words had unlocked something I wasn't ready to confront. I hadn't seen him much since, except for the occasional glimpse between classes, but today... something felt different.

The moment I saw him walking toward me, I felt it. That familiar flutter in my chest, the way my pulse quickened just a little when our eyes met. He looked nervous, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes darting around like he wasn't sure if he should be here. But there he was.

I put my phone away, standing up as he approached, trying to hide the sudden rush of nerves that hit me. "Hey, Martin."

He didn't say anything, of course, but he smiled—shy and soft, that little smile that always made my chest tighten. He pulled one hand from his pocket and held something out toward me, his eyes flicking between my face and the object in his hand.

It was a small notebook, just like the one he had given me before. My brows furrowed in curiosity as I took it from him, and he immediately stepped back, looking down at his shoes, his cheeks flushed.

"Another drawing?" I asked, though I knew he couldn't hear me. He glanced up briefly and shook his head, gesturing for me to open it. I did, flipping to the first page, and what I saw made me smile.

It was a comic. A simple one, sketched in the same neat, careful lines as before. The first panel showed a figure that was unmistakably me—tall, broad, with my signature messy curls and strong build—standing awkwardly in the middle of a room. The next panel had a smaller figure, definitely Martin, standing nearby, watching me.

In the third panel, Martin's character was holding out a small piece of paper—just like the one he'd handed me before—with little hearts drawn around it. In the last panel, my character was blushing, rubbing the back of his neck in that same awkward way I often did when I didn't know what to say.

I chuckled softly, glancing up at Martin, who was still avoiding eye contact but sneaking peeks at me from beneath his messy blond hair. His face was pink, and he was biting his lip, clearly nervous about my reaction.

I flipped to the next page, and there was a note in that same small, neat handwriting.

Would you like to go out with me?

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat as the words sank in. Martin was asking me on a date.

A date.

I swallowed hard, glancing up at him again. He was watching me now, his expression filled with uncertainty, like he was bracing himself for rejection. His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides, and I could tell he was anxious, waiting for my response.

For a moment, I was speechless. It wasn't that I didn't want to say yes—God, I wanted to. But everything else—the weight of my family's expectations, my own confusion about what this all meant, my faith—it all came crashing down on me at once.

But then I looked at him—really looked at him. His eyes were wide and hopeful, his cheeks still flushed, and in that moment, I knew I couldn't let fear hold me back. Not this time.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yeah, Martin," I said softly, my lips curving into a smile. "I'd love to go out with you."

His face lit up, that shy smile growing into something brighter, something more genuine. He nodded quickly, relief flooding his expression, and for a moment, I couldn't help but smile wider.

This wasn't what I'd expected. I never thought I'd be standing here, on campus, agreeing to a date with a boy who made my heart race. But it felt right, in a way that I couldn't explain.

Martin gestured for me to turn the page, and when I did, I saw the last drawing. It was a sketch of us, sitting together on what looked like a park bench, side by side. In the drawing, our hands were just barely touching, fingers brushing against each other. There was something sweet, almost innocent about it, and it made my chest ache in the best way.

I looked up at him, holding the notebook in one hand, and without thinking, I reached out with the other. Gently, I took his hand in mine, my fingers brushing against his, just like in the drawing.

He froze for a second, his eyes wide, but then he relaxed, his fingers curling around mine, warm and soft. We stood there like that, in the middle of campus, not saying a word. We didn't need to. The comic had said it all.

For the first time in a long time, I didn't feel confused. I didn't feel weighed down by expectations or fear. I just felt... happy.

And that was enough for now.