Season 1 Episode 4: The Message I Didn't Read
˙. ꕤ ｡˚𑣲𝄞
Something about Zayyen had changed that morning.
I didn't know what.
But I could feel it.
Not in the way he sat.
Not in the way he spoke.
But in something he didn't do.
Usually, before the professor arrived, Zayyen would open his laptop and check his class notes. Every now and then, he'd ask whether I'd finished the part of yesterday's assignment.
Not that morning.
He arrived early, sat in his usual spot, and stared at his phone screen for several minutes.
After that, he put his phone in his bag.
No smile.
No conversation.
For a moment, I wanted to ask.
But I changed my mind.
I remembered my own words from the night before.
I wanted to know him as a person, not as a shadow I'd created myself.
If that was what I wanted, then I had to learn to accept that I didn't need to know everything about him.
At least not yet.
Class went on as usual.
But around the middle of class, the professor asked us to turn in our project drafts.
I opened my laptop.
The file I'd worked on the night before suddenly wouldn't open.
I tried again.
It didn't work.
I started to panic.
“What's wrong?”
I turned around.
Zayyen.
“My file won't open.”
He looked at the screen.
“Try sending it to me.”
I sent it.
Zayyen opened the file on his laptop.
A few seconds later, he said,
“The file's corrupted.”
“Can it be fixed?”
“Some of it.”
I let out a breath.
“The most important part?”
He checked.
“It's still there.”
I looked at him.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
I almost smiled in relief.
Zayyen handed my laptop back.
“Don't worry. We still have time.”
We.
One simple word.
But for some reason, it made me feel less alone.
I immediately scolded myself for thinking that way.
Don't get ahead of yourself.
I turned my attention back to the screen.
After class ended, everyone started heading out.
I was still organizing my assignment.
Zayyen stood up.
“Hana.”
I turned around.
“Hm?”
“I have to go.”
His tone was different.
Usually, if he had something to take care of, he'd explain.
Not this time.
“Where?”
The question slipped out.
Zayyen was quiet for a moment.
Then he answered,
“Family matters.”
I nodded.
“Oh.”
He picked up his bag.
“If you haven't finished that file, just send it tonight. I'll help check it.”
“Okay.”
Zayyen was about to leave.
But before he took a step, he stopped.
“Hana.”
“Yeah?”
“If I'm a little busy over the next few days…”
He didn't continue.
I waited.
“I might not be able to help much.”
I gave him a small smile.
“It's okay. I can do it myself.”
He nodded.
But his expression looked like someone who had just heard something that made him even sadder.
“Okay.”
Then he left.
I watched his back until it disappeared behind the door.
I didn't understand.
Why did such a simple sentence sound like a small goodbye?
That afternoon, Zila came to see me in the cafeteria.
“You look down.”
“I'm not.”
“Zayyen?”
I sighed.
“You have to stop saying his name every time I'm quiet.”
“Then it is Zayyen.”
I let out a small laugh.
“He has some family matters to deal with.”
“Seriously?”
I nodded.
“He said he'll be busy for a few days.”
Zila didn't answer right away.
She looked at me for a few seconds.
“So you're afraid he's pulling away?”
I didn't answer.
That was answer enough.
Zila leaned back in her chair.
“Han, don't jump to conclusions before you know what's really going on.”
“I know.”
“If he is pulling away, you can't immediately assume it's because of you, either.”
I lowered my head.
“I know.”
“But you're still thinking about him.”
I gave a faint smile.
“Yeah.”
Zila sighed.
“At least you're being honest.”
I looked at the glass in my hand.
“I don't want to hope for too much.”
“Good.”
“But I don't want to pretend I don't care, either.”
Zila fell silent.
Then she said,
“I think that's the hardest part of liking someone.”
I looked at her.
“We have to know when to protect our feelings and when to protect ourselves.”
I held on to those words.
That night, I worked on the assignment by myself.
9:15 p.m.
There were no messages from Zayyen.
I wasn't waiting.
At least, I was trying not to wait.
10:05 p.m.
My phone vibrated.
I looked at the screen immediately.
It wasn't Zayyen.
I felt stupid for being disappointed.
I set my phone down.
A few minutes later, I went back to work.
10:45 p.m.
My phone vibrated again.
This time, his name appeared.
Zayyen Al Abbas.
I opened the message.
Zayyen: Sorry for only getting in touch now.
I replied.
Hana: It's okay. How are your family matters?
The message was read.
There was no reply.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Five minutes.
Then:
Zayyen: Not finished yet.
I stared at the screen.
I typed:
If you need help…
I stopped.
Deleted it.
Then typed again:
I hope everything gets easier.
This time, I sent it.
A few seconds later, he replied.
Zayyen: Aamiin.
That was all.
I stared at the word.
I didn't know why it felt like something was being deliberately held back between us.
I turned off my phone.
I didn't chase after him.
I didn't ask any questions.
The next day, Zayyen didn't come to class.
The day after that, neither.
On the third day,
his seat was still empty.
I started noticing it.
Not because I wanted to.
Because the seat was right beside me.
Every time I saw it empty, I felt like something was missing from my routine.
I hated that feeling.
I even started wondering whether I'd grown too used to having him around.
On the fourth day, the professor handed back the project revisions.
I received quite a few notes.
One of them confused me.
I opened my laptop.
There was a new file.
Its name was:
Referensi_Hana_Final.
I opened it.
Dozens of pages had been marked up.
Several sections had small notes attached.
On the last page was a single sentence:
You should keep this part. The way you explain the problem is different from most people's.
I knew immediately who had made it.
Zayyen.
I picked up my phone.
There was a message from him, sent a few hours earlier.
Zayyen: I might not be able to come to class for a few days. But don't let your assignment stop, too.
I smiled without realizing it.
Then I read his next message.
Zayyen: Don't be too hard on yourself if the first result isn't perfect.
I fell silent.
That sentence felt too personal.
Not because it was romantic.
But because I really did that all the time.
How did he know?
I wanted to ask.
My fingers had already typed it.
Hana: How do you know I'm like that?
I stared at the sentence.
Then I sent it.
The message was read.
There was no answer.
Ten minutes.
Twenty minutes.
An hour.
I finally set my phone down.
Maybe I was hoping for too much.
That afternoon, I was walking toward the library when I saw someone standing near the campus gate.
Zayyen.
I stopped.
He looked different.
His shirt wasn't as neat as usual.
His face looked tired.
He was talking to an older man.
I didn't know him.
I almost walked over.
Then the man said something.
Zayyen lowered his head.
I stopped.
I didn't want to overhear a conversation that wasn't mine.
I turned around.
But before I left, I heard one sentence.
“If you keep going to class, who's going to take care of your mother?”
My steps stopped.
I turned my head slightly.
Zayyen didn't answer.
The man continued,
“Your younger sibling is still in school, too.”
I felt as though I had just understood a tiny part of something Zayyen had never told me.
I left before they noticed I was there.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Not because I was curious.
Because I felt guilty.
All this time, I'd only seen Zayyen as someone calm.
Someone who always knew what to do.
Someone who could help other people.
It had never occurred to me that behind that calm, he might be someone struggling just to hold himself together.
I picked up my notebook.
I wrote:
𝗪𝗲 𝗼𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝘀𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲.
I stopped.
Then I added:
𝗕𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝗮𝘆𝗯𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆'𝗿𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁.
I read the sentence.
Then I realized something.
I didn't really know Zayyen yet.
And maybe
I shouldn't be in such a hurry to know.
The night grew later.
I picked up my phone.
There was one new message.
From Zayyen.
Zayyen: Sorry if I've confused you these past few days.
I replied:
Hana: It's okay.
The next message came.
Zayyen: There's something I need to take care of.
I typed:
Hana: I hope everything's okay.
This time, his reply took a long while.
Then:
Zayyen: I don't know if everything will be okay.
I fell silent.
It was the first time Zayyen had said something that sounded so honest.
I wanted to ask.
What happened?
What can I do to help?
Why do you look so tired?
But before I could type, another message came in.
Zayyen: If I ever choose to distance myself, don't think it's because of you.
I read the sentence over and over.
My chest felt heavy.
I typed:
Hana: Why do you have to distance yourself?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Disappeared.
Then, finally, nothing.
No answer.
I waited.
Five minutes.
Ten minutes.
Nothing.
I set my phone on the table.
I tried to accept that maybe the conversation was over.
But a few seconds later, my phone vibrated again.
One message.
Not from Rayyan.
An unknown number.
I opened it.
There was only one sentence:
“Don't get too close to Zayyen Al Abbas.”
I froze.
I read it again.
There was no name.
No explanation.
I stared silently at the screen.
Then a second message came in.
“You don't know the real reason he approached you.”
My hands started to go cold.
I didn't know who had sent it.
I didn't know whether the message was true.
And what frightened me most was
I didn't know whether I could still see Zayyen the same way after tonight.
I closed my phone.
But before the screen completely went dark, one last message came in.
“If you want to know who Zayyen really is, ask about the night five years ago.”
I stared at the dark screen.
The night five years ago.
I didn't know which night they meant.
I'd never even heard that story.
But for the first time since meeting Zayyen, I felt something different from simple attraction.
Doubt.
And I realized
from that night on, I didn't just have to protect my heart.
I also had to find out who my heart was really learning to trust.
TO BE CONTINUED — EPISODE 5