Unspoken Realizations

Ryujin was behind her, pulling a sweatshirt over her head and watching the screen over Yeji's shoulder without meaning to. Or maybe she was meaning to. The message on Yeji's screen was long, scrolling by in a blur of text. Something about "trying harder" and "making time." Ryujin's eyes scanned the words, her heart sinking with a familiar squeeze in her chest — not jealousy, not exactly, just disappointment. The beat of silence was almost palpable as Ryujin read the message, her eyes lingering on the screen. Yeji seemed oblivious to her presence, her thumbs moving across the screen with a quiet intensity. Yeji murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "I think he feels like I'm slipping away." Ryujin's response was flat, detached, "Are you?" Yeji didn't turn around, but she let out a soft, breathy laugh. One of those tired ones that seemed to hold a world of exhaustion and frustration. Yeji's voice was barely audible as she continued, "I mean… sometimes I think I'm closer to you than to him." Ryujin froze, mid-movement, her sweatshirt halfway over her head. A chill ran up her spine, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Not because it was romantic — because it could be. The words hung in the air, heavy with a weight Ryujin couldn't quite process. She stared at the back of Yeji's head, her mind racing with the implications. That couldn't be nothing. But Yeji was still typing, still fixing things with him. Like her words meant less than they sounded. Ryujin said nothing, her throat dry and tight. She stepped past the bed, brushing her knuckles gently against Yeji's shoulder as she passed — a casual gesture — and muttered, almost too soft to hear, "You say stuff like that like it doesn't mean anything." Yeji glanced back, confused, "Huh?" Ryujin was already halfway out the door, her voice barely audible, "Nothing. I'm just tired." Yeji stared after her, puzzled, then shrugged it off — because to Yeji, they were just close. That's all. Ryujin stood and stretched slightly, rolling her shoulders and yawning. The sunlight was soft, casting slow patterns across the floor. "I'm gonna shower," she called out. Yeji's response was a distracted "Mhm, okay." Yeji didn't look up from her phone, curled at the edge of the bed, fully absorbed in her screen. Her thumb moved slowly, hesitantly, like she was deep in a conversation. Ryujin bent to grab her towel and toiletries, the small rustling sounds filling the air — the towel dragging off a chair, the zip of a pouch. She looked over her shoulder, just once, checking if Yeji had noticed her moving. She hadn't. Ryujin paused, the towel slung over her shoulder. She lingered for a second longer than necessary, shifting things around, making just enough noise to be heard — if Yeji was listening. But she wasn't. A quiet realization settled in, like a shift in the air. Ryujin's jaw clenched, her grip on the towel tightening. "Barely audible, she whispered, "Right." She walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her, her footsteps fading down the hall. Yeji didn't follow her with her eyes. Didn't call her back. The beat of silence that followed was almost deafening, a heavy stillness that seemed to press down on Ryujin's shoulders. For the first time, Ryujin didn't want Yeji to follow her. For the first time, Ryujin felt the quiet urge to pull back, not in anger, but in self-preservation. The sound of the shower turning on was a distant hum, a promise of a solitude Ryujin was suddenly craving.