Riki had always been quiet, not shy, just… unreadable. He wasn’t the type to talk about how he felt or explain what was on his mind. He’d just let things happen, even when it meant hurting the people who cared about him most.

You were one of those people. His best friend, the one who somehow made even the dullest days feel lighter. You’d known him for years, and despite his calm exterior, you always believed you understood him better than anyone else.

But there were sides of him you never got to see, thoughts he kept to himself, words he swallowed down because he didn’t know how to say them without ruining everything.

You were talkative, full of energy, always dragging him into something new. Sometimes he found it exhausting. Other times, he caught himself smiling because of it. But he’d never admit that. Instead, he pretended your constant presence didn’t matter to him at all.

That is, until the day you overheard him.

“I don’t know, man,” Riki’s voice came through his half-open door. “She keeps asking to hang out. It’s… tiring sometimes.”

You froze. It was such a simple sentence — a harmless complaint to his roommate — but it hit like a blow to the chest. Was that really how he saw you? Someone who annoyed him? Someone he just tolerated?

After that, everything changed. You stopped texting. Stopped showing up. You even started walking different routes just to avoid him. You told yourself it was fine, that you were just giving him the space he clearly wanted. But the silence between you felt heavier than you expected.

Riki noticed. He noticed the way your laughter no longer filled the air, the way your messages stopped lighting up his phone. And it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

So one evening, you came back to your dorm to find him sitting on the floor in front of your door, back against the wall, waiting.

“You’re back,” he said, standing quickly, brushing his hands on his jeans.

“How long have you been here?” you asked flatly.

He hesitated. “A couple hours.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re ignoring me. Did I… do something?”

You crossed your arms, trying to hold back the bitterness.

“Maybe think about it,” you said. “You’ll figure it out.”

He frowned, searching his mind, but all he found was confusion.

“I don’t think I did anything wrong,” he said, almost defensively.

That made you laugh, a quiet, humorless sound.

"So you don't find me annoying, huh? You don't think I'm 'tiring' to be around?"

The color drained from his face.

"Wait, you heard that?" he asked, panic in his voice. You didn't answer. You didn't need to.

"That's not what I meant," he rushed to explain. "I was just... I don't know. I didn't mean it like that.!"

But the damage was already done.

Now, for the first time, Riki has to do something he's never done before, talk. Explain. Feel. Because this time, silence won't fix anything