Happy Birthday Ren!

Cerpen

The wind drifts by, gently playing with my hair. The wide blue sky stretches far above me, making everything beneath it feel small. Mischievous white clouds try to cover the sun, while a distant grey mass slowly creeps in, as if ready to chase the light away. I sit on the worn-out rooftop of an old building—four floors up—letting my legs hang over the edge. My feelings are a mess. Longing, for some reason, has grown heavier than usual. If longing were a person, I would’ve punched it until it bruised. To me, longing is like a rubber band: the more you stretch it, the more it hurts. And it only survives because of one thing—trust. Below, a field buzzes with children playing soccer. I pull out my phone, check the screen that stays silent. I’m not waiting for any notification—only your name. I take a picture of the view from above, trying to steady the breath sitting tightly in my chest. Yesterday I called you. Three times. “Sunnah,” I muttered, laughing at myself. When the call finally connected, your voice came with a soft laugh. I asked about your day, if you were alright. And right when you said, “I’m dealing with something,” the wind grew harsher, nudging at my unease. Dark clouds crawled in. Thunder rolled. The children below scattered home, and the blue sky vanished in an instant. Raindrops started falling on my face—one… two… then all at once. Time to go home, isn’t it? I opened my frog-pattern umbrella and walked down the stairs, step by step, until I reached the ground floor. The moment I stepped outside, the wind snatched my umbrella and tossed it away. I just sighed. It was fine—I’ve always liked the rain. By the time I reached the boarding house porch, I was drenched. The yard looked wide, but unsettlingly quiet. The smell of wet earth crept softly into my nose. Then I suddenly froze. Panic surged through me. I rummaged through my bag, digging frantically. My wallet. After a long search, I finally found it. I opened it quickly—not for the money, but for something far more important: your photo. Still there. Still safe. I chuckled in relief. “Ren!” That voice—I turned slowly. The landlady stood at the door, frowning. “You’re soaking the floor… and laughing by yourself again.” I offered a small, tired smile. It seems the world doesn’t like seeing me happy for too long. But holding your photo is enough to keep me standing. --- That night, I sat on my bedroom floor, my back pressed against the bed whose coldness felt almost impolite. My phone was dead in my hand, still damp, and somehow… that little device made the room feel even smaller. Silence filled the air— a sharp, unforgiving silence that made even my breathing sound like a mistake. Thoughts came without permission. Soft whispers: “has she eaten?” “is she alright?” “is she telling someone else her day?” Then they turned sharper: “did I exhaust her?” “does she need space… or someone else?” “is longing something that only lives in me?” I tried to breathe, but it only made the tightness worse. The rain outside had stopped, but the storm in my head hadn’t. A final raindrop slid down the window—slow, quiet— and for some reason, it made my eyes burn. I stared at my dead phone. It almost seemed to whisper, “you won’t receive anything tonight.” I pulled my knees close, resting my head on them. Not out of theatrics— I simply no longer knew how to sit without hurting. The longing I’d been holding since noon had turned into a small monster in my chest. Every time I said “it’s fine,” it sneered. Every time I whispered “I understand,” it grew larger. All I wanted was one thing: a small message. Not long. Not sweet. Just proof that I still existed somewhere in the corner of your thoughts. But that night, the only things that came were rain, quiet, and myself. And the most painful part wasn’t the absence of a message— but realizing that I still waited, even knowing nothing would come. Just as I was about to give up, my phone finally lit up. Its screen flickered softly, as if still carrying the chaos of the day. A single vibration buzzed—gentle, hesitant—enough to stop my heartbeat. Your name appeared. A short message. “I’m sorry… I just got the chance. I miss you.” I froze. My mind had been spiraling all day, yet those two small sentences were enough to calm the storm that had been growling inside me. The tightness in my chest loosened, slowly. Not dramatically—just honestly. A small smile slipped out— the kind you make only when no one else is watching. The night remained cold, the floor still hard, but a quiet warmth seeped into the room. A warmth that made me think: Maybe I still matter. And for that night, that was enough.