The silence in Leehan's room had become a physical entity-a suffocating, heavy. Four days. His phone sat on the desk with its screen dark, betraying no signs of life, no notification banners, no soft chime to break his spiraling thoughts.
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Leehan paced back and forth inside his apartment. His mind was a chaotic web of worst-case scenarios.
Did I ruin it for real big time? Was it the look on Cierran's face? Hindi na ba nya talaga ako kakausapin?
The cafe incident replayed in his mind in agonizing, high-definition slow motion. He had only wanted to see her, to be near her, but his impulsive arrival had shattered the professional mood of her photoshoot. He remembered look on Cordy's face-a mixture of surprise, fleeting embarrassment, and a guarded distance and of course it keeps haunting him.
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By the fifth day, the overthinking had curdled into genuine panic to the point where he had drafted dozens of messages, only to delete them, fearing he would sound desperate, or worse, annoying. He felt like a man walking a tightrope with no safety net.
Aren't I? Leehan groaned ruffling his own hair which was already messy.
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On the seventh day, Leehan found himself pacing outside her apartment door, his heart hammering against his ribs. When Cordy finally appeared, she froze, her expression shifting from surprise to a cautious, closed-off neutral.
