Chai & Matcha Diaries

I watched Reva’s face for any flicker of an answer. Her eyes held onto mine, wide, uncertain, searching. My words still lingered between us—”Be my girlfriend”—hanging heavier than the silence that followed. I didn’t know what she was thinking, and I hated not knowing. 

She didn’t move, didn’t speak. My heart thundered in my chest, urgent and raw. I was desperate—for any sign, any sound—that she might say yes. Anything to break the stillness and bring me closer to her.

But she didn’t. Instead, she shifted out of my arms, slipped out of my hold and stepped away. She dropped her gaze, her features shuttered. When she passed back to the kitchen, the air between us grew colder.

“I’m not joking, Reva. Why won’t you say something?” My voice cracked, too raw.

She turned away, “I need to go home.”

“That’s not my question.” My throat felt tight. “Can’t you just answer me honestly?”

She spun, eyes flashing. “What do you want to hear, Jace? You’re impossible. One day you stop talking, the next you list all my mistakes, and now you want me to be your girlfriend?” She scoffed, rolling her eyes—her frustration building until it made me flinch. “I don’t have an answer for you. I’m not clear—right now.”

She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. I watched helplessly as she headed for the door.

“Maybe I am impossible,” I muttered after a heavy second. “Ever since I met you, I’ve gone totally crazy.” My cheeks burned. For a second, I thought I saw her blush too. She hesitated at the threshold, and I almost wanted to reach out, pull her back.

“Reva, just promise me…” I didn’t know what right I had to ask, but the words spilled out. “Promise you’ll give me a chance. I get you can’t answer now. But at least—until you’re sure, don’t… don’t date anyone else.” My breath stuttered as I waited for her reply. Did I even deserve this? Maybe not. Everything was already a mess.

She paused, biting her lip. “Okay. I promise.” I knew she probably didn’t mean it. But right now that promise made me the happiest idiot alive.

She left, and as soon as she was gone I paced the kitchen, too elated to sit still. I cooked, humming to myself, and ate every bite like it was a small victory. I’d forced my way back into Reva’s orbit, and this time, I didn’t want to leave.

After that night, after the promise, I began to seep into Reva’s life—slowly, quietly, like water finding its way through cracks in stone. The misunderstandings faded, replaced by small comforts collected, by friendship and a sense of hope I hadn’t let myself feel in years.

We became close—closer than I’d expected. Office lunch together became routine. Sometimes, she’d join me for a shopping trip and tease me for my total lack of style.

She became my confidante, my safe harbor. She started sharing her office stories with me, asking confused questions she didn’t even know how to phrase, spilling her thoughts without filter.

And I opened up too. I started telling her about the chaos at my company, the vendor disasters, the sleepless nights. She listened so intently, like every word mattered. And shockingly, the things that stressed me out? They weren’t problems for her at all. She’d casually offer solutions like, “Just tell them politely but clearly that their opinion doesn’t fit this discussion—so next time, think before you speak.”

My God. Reva was so direct. For her, everything was simple. And when I was with her, the world felt easy too.

But there were things I never managed to say.

Like how adorable she looked when she brushed her hair away from her face with her palm, childlike and unselfconscious.

How when I flirted with her, she’d give me that expressionless stare—then turn her head and smile, just a little, thinking I wouldn’t notice.

How sometimes, when I was explaining something, she’d lean against my shoulder, exhale tiredly, and I’d feel goosebumps rise all over my skin.

And the best part—when she’d quietly come close, tilt her face up to look at me, then stand on her toes and rest her chin on my shoulder. Not quite a hug, but close enough that I could feel her presence, her breath, her stillness. In those moments, we didn’t need words. We just existed together. And it felt like all our problems dissolved.

Since Reva had become such a close friend, I asked her to dinner. It was a Friday, so she could go home late without worry. She agreed.

We dined at an open-air restaurant on a high-rise building—elegant, quiet, the kind of place that felt suspended above the city. After we finished, we found loungers near the balcony edge and lay side by side, staring up at the stars.

No noise. Just me, Reva, and the infinite sky.

She gazed at the stars with such wonder, her eyes twinkling like she’d gotten lost somewhere in the cosmos. And I got lost too—not in the sky, but in her. I tried not to stare, really. I glanced at the stars a few times, but honestly, they didn’t hold my attention. Not tonight.

Tonight, there wasn’t even a moon.

“There’s no moon in the sky tonight,” Reva murmured, almost to herself.

“Hmm,” I said softly. “That’s because the moon descended from the heavens… and sat down right next to me.”

She turned her head slowly and stared at me—her face completely unreadable. My heart started hammering. Oh no. Did I go too far?

Then she burst out laughing.

Phew. Relief flooded through me. For a second, I thought I’d blown it.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want,” I said, grinning. “But I’m not joking. You’re my moon, Reva. The one who came down from the heavens just for me.”

Her laughter faded into a shy smile. She looked away and said in the softest voice, “Stop it now.”

I wanted to tell her. I wanted to make her understand how much she meant to me. If only you knew, Reva.

“If only I could stop,” I whispered.

We both fell silent again, eyes drifting back to the stars. The night felt timeless.

Then, out of nowhere, she said, “I think… I’m losing here.”

“Losing?” I turned to her, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” She hesitated, her voice trembling slightly. “I want to just sit here with you like this. Forever. And let all the time in the world pass us by.”

My chest tightened. I smiled. “That’s not called losing, Reva. That’s called falling. Falling in love.”

We looked at each other—and then we both laughed, the kind of laugh that melts tension and brings you closer.

“So you think I’m in love with you?” she asked, teasing but curious.

“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation.

A slow, glowing smile spread across her face. She turned her head away, trying to hide it, like she was embarrassed.

“I love you.” The words left my mouth like they’d been waiting there all along. And the moment I said them, I felt something settle inside me—something peaceful, like all the symptoms I’d been feeling finally had a name.

Love. I love Reva. This feeling—this is Love.

“You know what?” she said softly, turning back to me. “No star in this endless sky could ever match the brightness you hold in my eyes. To me, you are the brightest light in the universe.”

“That’s called I love you too,” I whispered.

And this time, I couldn’t hold back. I leaned in and kissed her—soft at first, then deeper, like we were pouring everything we’d ever held back into that one moment. It was long-awaited. Tender. Electric.

When we finally pulled apart, the stars above us seemed brighter than before.