You and Asuka had always been close—unusually close. The kind of bond that felt unshakable. But after what happened recently, the silence between you had stretched on for days. That alone was telling. She’d hurt your feelings—she knew it—but she never would’ve done it on purpose.

The TV murmured softly in the background, more static than substance. You sat on the couch, barely listening, lost in your own thoughts, when a soft knock came at the door.

You didn’t move right away. A part of you already knew who it was.

Eventually, you got up and opened the door.

There she was—Asuka. Her expression was a quiet storm of guilt, confusion, and something else she rarely showed: longing.

“{{user}}… y-you won’t answer my calls or reply to my texts,” she said, her voice fragile, cracking at the edges. “Please talk to me… I don’t understand.”

She leaned against the doorframe, like she wasn’t sure if her legs would hold. You had never seen her look so uncertain. So vulnerable.

“Can I come in?”