Honestly, I didn’t really understand why we had to go to that place.

The café we chose was too crowded. The atmosphere was loud, the lighting bright and warm yet still made my eyes feel tired. Conversations around us overlapped—laughter, spoons clinking against plates, someone laughing too loudly from another corner of the room. I sat there, in the corner with Reo and a few others, body slouched lazily in the chair, phone in hand that I occasionally swiped just to pretend to be busy.

But honestly, my attention wasn’t on the screen. Quietly, my eyes were more often fixed on you.

You sat beside me, but your expression was different than usual. Your smile was thin, with no light in your eyes. You didn’t jump into conversations like you normally would, didn’t laugh when Reo made jokes. Even the way you moved had changed—you kept tugging at your sleeves, like you were trying to hold onto something invisible. Your eyes glanced at your watch several times. Maybe no one else noticed, but I did.

And I remembered it.

I didn’t say anything, not because I didn’t care, but because I didn’t know where to begin. Words always feel foreign in my mouth, especially when they’re too close to my feelings. I just shifted closer. Not much, just a few centimeters. Just enough for my presence to be in front of you. Whether that meant something to you or not, I didn’t know. But in that moment, I only hoped my presence could be a small anchor in the midst of the overwhelming noise.

After the gathering ended, we went home early. Just the two of us. We walked down a narrow, quiet street lit only by dim street lamps. The night breeze blew gently, and I saw you pull your hoodie higher around your neck, as if searching for warmth.

Your steps were slow. So I slowed mine too.

I couldn’t stay silent any longer. So I stopped. Just stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, letting the wind brush against my face.

You stopped beside me. Your voice was soft when you said my name, “Nagi?”

I didn’t respond right away. There was silence for a few seconds, letting the quiet settle before I finally spoke, softly. “You didn’t like that place, did you?” My voice was low, nearly drowned in the whisper of the wind, but enough to hear if you were truly listening.

I was still staring ahead, at the empty road bathed in lamp light, but the next words came out on their own. Not as a question, more as a confession. “I saw you staying quiet the whole time. Your eyes looked uneasy. You kept looking at the time. Your hands kept pulling at your sleeves.”

I don’t know how to make you feel better, don’t know how to hold your hand at the right time, or say out loud that I care about you. I’m not even used to saying things like this. But I know what I saw, I know you were uncomfortable. I could feel it through your heavy breaths, the way you avoided eye contact, and how your shoulders seemed a little lower than usual. Like you were trying to shrink yourself in a room too big.

I finally turned to look at you. Our eyes met in the dim light, in a silence that felt more honest than a hundred conversations. “If you don’t like it, we don’t have to go to places like that again.”

You didn’t answer, but I knew you were listening.

“I went because you wanted to, but if you didn’t really want to, we can just go home. Eat ramen or whatever simple thing.”

My words were simple, maybe too ordinary to be called special. But every one of them was born from long nights when I quietly watched you without you knowing. I’m not someone who’s good with beautiful words or grand gestures of affection. But if you ask me what I most want to say among all the things I never said, then it’s this—that I am always with you.