Unspoken Words - A Night of Reflection and Revelation

This post is unique: AkM shares her reflections of that night—the laughter, silences, and a growing understanding between us—from her perspective. Her insights, woven with my own, reveal layers of connection I hadn’t fully realized. Reading her words felt like reliving the call, experiencing the night anew through her lens.

Here’s How I Remember My Night of April 27th:

Our 10 PM Ritual: The Quiet Anticipation

Those nightly 10 PM calls had become something I eagerly anticipated each day. As I completed my tasks, the rest of the world faded away, knowing that once the clock struck 10, it would be just the two of us in a space we had created together. But tonight, everything felt different. There was an unspoken understanding that this was the last time for a while, and that awareness made the call feel fragile—like something precious neither of us wanted to let slip away.

The day had been filled with a quiet, nervous anticipation as I watched the clock, wrapping up final interactions with friends and family. I kept messaging her as the evening grew closer, checking in, hoping she wouldn’t fall asleep before I could make it back to my place. I knew she was tired, balancing her daily life and these late-night calls that stretched on for hours, but there was something about this night that I knew we both felt—we both needed to be there, present with each other, even if exhaustion was tugging at us. It was a bond we couldn’t deny, a space that, even in its tiredness, felt like home.

Finding Each Other Again in Our Shared Space

Finally, after a long day of juggling everything and racing against the clock, I rushed back. The minute I opened Zoom, there she was, waiting patiently, her presence somehow dissolving all the day’s chaos in an instant. We slipped effortlessly back into our space, a place where no one else mattered, and time seemed to stretch only for us. For those few hours, it felt as though we were suspended between our two worlds—together in this shared silence and laughter, as if nothing else existed. The significance of this moment, this last night together in our own corner of the world, lingered in every word and pause, making the call unforgettable.

As we fell into our usual flow of conversation, the ease and warmth felt like home. Music played softly in the background, now as much a part of our calls as our voices, creating a familiar atmosphere where words seemed to fall naturally. Yet beneath our smiles and light-hearted talk, we both felt the weight of this night—a silent acknowledgment that tonight might be the last time we’d have this freedom—just the two of us, alone in this space we’d made our own. I caught myself glancing at her smile, now so familiar, and wondering how I’d manage without it starting tomorrow. I’d grown attached to this nightly ritual, this new comfort of her presence, which had somehow become a steady, quiet part of my day. I tried to push the thought aside, hiding it beneath laughter and small talk, but in every pause, there was the unspoken understanding that this ‘normal’ we’d created was slipping away, leaving me with an ache I didn’t quite know how to handle.

By now, even my mom had noticed my new routine of late-night calls (not knowing who was on the other end—sorry, Ma). So, she’d do a quick check around midnight, reminding me to turn on the air conditioner before heading back to sleep.

The Heart’s Truth: Words That Changed Everything

As the clock neared 2 AM, the realization struck me with new intensity—we’d have to end this call soon. In just a few hours, at 6:30 AM, I’d be leaving for my flight, and that knowledge lingered, making each passing minute feel heavier than the last. I tried to hide the struggle, not wanting her to see it on my face and feel the same pull. So, I excused myself with a quick, "I’ll grab some water," hoping a brief moment away would help ease the ache building inside. As I sipped the water, I took a steadying breath, knowing that when I returned, the time we had left would feel even more precious. All I wanted was to make the most of these final hours, cherishing every word, every laugh, aware of how fleeting they were.

It was nearly 2 AM, and by then, all sense of restraint had faded, swept away by our favorite song, “Tu jae jahan”, and the simplicity of sitting in silence, just watching her. There was something profoundly comforting in that quiet moment—an intimacy that didn’t need words, a peace I had come to cherish deeply. I found myself clinging to the sight of her, as if somehow, by holding onto that image, I could make time stand still.

But as the moment stretched on, a new, aching realization took hold: soon, this connection—and she—would be out of reach. Without thinking, something deep within me surged to the surface, and before I knew it, the words escaped—words I hadn’t even fully admitted to myself: “I think I’ve fallen for you. You’re more than just a friend to me now.”

The weight of it hung in the air, and immediately, panic jolted through me as I cursed myself for letting it slip.

She hadn’t caught it at first, and when she asked, "What did you say?" a strange calm washed over me. I repeated it, terrified but unable to lie to her. Fear clawed at me then, cold and sharp, because I knew what I’d just admitted was complicated, tangled in the realities of our lives. We both had families, marriages, and love that anchored us deeply to our spouses—bonds that were strong, steadfast, and irreplaceable. What I felt for her, though, was something different, something profound that didn’t diminish or undermine my love for my spouse. This connection wasn’t infatuation or some fleeting crush; it was a true bond, one I couldn’t easily explain but that resonated deeply within me. It was a love of another kind—a quiet yet undeniable connection that I could hold with respect, knowing it could exist alongside the love I cherished most.

For a long moment, she was silent, and a chill crept down my spine as I braced for the worst—that this might drive her away, that I could lose her entirely. Then, at last, she broke the silence, her voice calm but steady: "Let’s end this call and text."

Relief flooded through me, tempered by a lingering fear; I couldn’t bear to confront her reaction directly, but I knew I had to find the right words to explain what this meant. Without hesitation, I grabbed my phone, opened our chat, my heart pounding, suspended between hope and dread.

The Depth of a Bond We Couldn't Name: Our ‘Special Zone’

By around 2:30 AM, we switched to texting, and the conversation stretched on for hours as we tried to make sense of everything—my feelings, her reactions, and what we expected from each other. For the first time, we openly discussed what was unfolding between us, exploring what this connection truly meant. As we delved deeper, I realized just how unique this bond was—something neither casual nor fleeting, but real and enduring. This wasn’t the kind of love found in stories or movies; it was something different, something rare.

In the quiet of those texts, I found myself truly hearing AkM—Bachi, as I fondly call her. Her maturity and wisdom, qualities I hadn’t fully appreciated before, shone through in the way she expressed herself. In that moment, she became more than just someone I confided in; she was guiding me, helping me understand my own emotions. It felt as though I was seeing her in a new light, recognizing the depth and insight she brought to our connection.

In that conversation, we both realized we had crossed a threshold. We were no longer just friends, not even best friends—we had moved into something deeper, something that neither of us could easily label. We found ourselves in a space between friendship and love, a place where the bond was so profound, words felt inadequate. The connection was pure, almost indescribable, existing in a realm where titles like “friends,” “best friends,” or even “soulmates” fell short. Bachi, soulmate, friends —these were labels, but what we shared went beyond any words. It was something we felt deeply in our hearts, in the silences between our words, in the quiet comfort of simply being together.

After hours of pouring our hearts out through texts, we both knew it was time—time for the final video call.

The Final Call: A Pure, Unguarded Moment

An hour before sunrise, I knew I’d soon have to leave to catch my flight home. Yet, in that final call—our truest, most unguarded conversation—I felt fully present, as if time itself had paused. Looking at her, I realized she now held my deepest thoughts and feelings, parts of myself I’d never shared with anyone else. And for the first time, I felt no fear—no worry about losing her or the connection we’d built. Deep down, I knew this bond would endure, something we’d both carry forward, no matter where life took us.

In that quiet moment, I made a promise from my side: I assured her I would honor this unique space we’d created. I would respect the boundaries we’d set, never overstepping or falling short, always mindful of the trust that anchored us. I wanted her to know that if she ever felt I was straying from this commitment, she could tell me—anytime, every time. This promise was my way of preserving the essence of our bond, ensuring it would remain anchored in trust, respect, and understanding.

In truth, I’d never encountered anything like this “zone” before. I’d never known a connection could exist with such clarity and calm, where something so deeply felt could be sustained with maturity. Watching how she held that balance amazed me; I felt deeply grateful for her steadiness and understanding. For the first time, I felt a role reversal between us. I was no longer the one offering ‘Gyan’; it was Bachi’s turn to guide me, offering wisdom about emotions and feelings in a way I’d never expected. This connection was something entirely new to me, something I hadn’t realized was possible, and I knew its strength lay in the grace and wisdom she brought to it.

A New Beginning: The Connection Remains

Finally, around 4 AM, we knew it was time to end our last call from my hometown. Both of us needed at least a bit of sleep before dawn broke and I had to leave for the airport. But, of course, we couldn’t end it without our usual playful debate over who should hang up first. This time, though, we agreed to close the call together, each reluctantly pressing the button at the same moment. I drifted off almost without realizing it, and it felt like only a blink before my mom was gently waking me, reminding me it was already 5:45 AM, and I needed to get ready for my flight.

An Ending That Became a Beginning

The first thing I did was reach for my phone to send a “Good morning” text to AkM, someone who now shared a bond with me unlike anything I’d ever felt before. To my surprise and happiness, she was already awake and replied right away. I hurried through getting ready, exchanging texts with her the entire time, updating her on each small step as I packed up, had breakfast with my parents, and prepared to say goodbye.

By 6:20 AM, it was time to bid farewell to my parents and head to my in-laws’ place, where my wife, our son, and my brother-in-law were waiting to leave for the airport. All the while, I kept messaging AkM, giving her every tiny update—from when I left, to when I arrived, to when we set off for the airport. It felt natural, as if every detail, no matter how small, mattered and should be shared.

As we settled into the car and the music started playing, I couldn’t help but text her, laughing about how our tastes in music matched so perfectly, though they didn’t quite align with the more mainstream songs around us. We exchanged a few more messages, a blend of inside jokes and reflections on how these small, shared preferences had connected us so deeply over the past few days.

Even as I boarded my flight, I kept texting her, sharing each small milestone. The bond we had built didn’t need grand gestures; it thrived in these tiny moments, these shared pieces of our lives. Finally, at about 9:15 AM, I sent her a quick “boarding now” message—a small goodbye to the steady stream of zoom call and texts that had started the night before at 10 PM, barely interrupted by the few hours of sleep we’d managed to squeeze in. And as the plane took off, I knew that this connection would be there, ready to pick up exactly where we left off, whenever we reached for it again.

Here’s How That Night Unfolded, as Seen from AkM’s Perspective:

After four days of daily 10 PM Zoom calls, we had started to enjoy each other’s company more than anyone else’s. Each day, I quickly finished my work & home chores and eagerly waited for the clock to strike 10. This Zoom call was especially important to us, as it would be the last one before he returned to his life and my spouse came back. Neither of us wanted to miss it. Even before 10 PM, he was already in the chat window, updating me on every little detail. He couldn't wait to get home and take the call. He grew irritated with people who were too slow in ordering anything, annoyed that they couldn’t hurry to get home so he could return to his own. And as soon as it struck 10, I was on the Zoom call, waiting for him. And there he was… and we had returned to our small world.

The songs in the background, the unending, unfiltered, and easy conversations became something we had come to love. We spent hours talking, laughing, and simply being ourselves—without hiding or rephrasing our ideas, thoughts, or perspectives. Music had held a special place in our hearts from Day 1, and over time, we became fond of "our" music—and of each other, as a result of this musical connection. While the music remained the same from our first Zoom conversation, the connection and emotions deepened and grew stronger with each passing day.

My mind was racing with too many thoughts. Today, we would be saying goodbye to this carefree connection. The feeling that I could stare into his eyes forever lingered with me. Without speaking a word, we continued to gaze at one another—communicating in silence, attempting to process the reality that tomorrow we would return to our normal lives, and there would be no more chats or Zoom calls. We tried to make each other smile, despite the overwhelming flood of emotions. There was so much unsaid in our silence. His eyes were all I wanted to focus on—full of emotion and smiles. It felt as if I had known those eyes for years, and I could gaze at them forever.

Then, he said something completely unexpected: "I think I’ve fallen for you… You’re more than just a friend to me now." At first, I thought I had misheard him, lost in my own thoughts, imagining it. So, I asked him to repeat it. The once-beaming faces now fell into an eerie silence. I wanted to say so much, but I chose to stay quiet instead. Though I feared he might not understand, I wanted to tell him that I had fallen for him too—with the purest love. Looking into his eyes, which seemed to be silently urging me not to misunderstand, all I could manage to say was, "Let’s end this call and text." And with that, we hung up.

At that moment, too many thoughts flooded my mind. Had I given him too much freedom, allowing him to develop feelings like that? I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, because I am still very happy with my spouse, and my love for him hadn’t changed. I knew I needed to explain myself to him, and I was confident he would understand. I was certain that I would never give up on him so easily, because by this point, our connection had grown too special and priceless for me to lose.

Around 2:30 in the morning, we had a conversation that changed something between us. Even though I had always been his "Bachi," this time, "Bachi" was telling him how she truly felt.

Yes, he was more than a friend to me now; he had become far too special. By this point, I sensed we were in that "zone"—a space that’s slightly more than friendship but not quite the typical, overwhelming kind of love. It was a zone with no name, where he was incredibly precious and special. It was a delicate balance, a place between a little more than friendship and a little less than love. A zone where crossing any line—on either side—could ruin everything, with no way to go back. It was a zone too fragile to handle. I was scared to share it with him because I didn’t want to lose him.

I was juggling my own feelings of love, care, and fear—fear of losing this connection, fear of losing him, worry about him misinterpreting me, and skepticism about myself. I kept wondering whether this was right or wrong, especially since my love for my spouse had not diminished, and I still loved him deeply. But I could see that he was struggling with his emotions more than I was. By this point, I knew I would do everything in my power to help him and make sure I didn’t lose him.

We talked until almost 3:45, sharing our fears, feelings, opinions, doubts, our pasts, and our love for each other. We convinced ourselves—and each other—that this was the most beautiful zone we had ever experienced, and we wanted to stay here, without crossing any lines. With each passing minute of the call, I grew more confident in this zone and in him. I wanted to hold it close to my heart. I trusted him more, certain that he would never break my heart. And with that trust, I developed a deeper attachment to this zone.

Yes, I had fallen for him. I had fallen for his pure heart and the depth of his feelings. I had fallen in love with his smiling eyes. I had fallen for the way he cared for me. There was always a strange, undeniable connection between us.

We decided to have one last quick Zoom call, as it was really important to us before he had to catch his early morning flight. And here we were again—looking at each other, smiling, and falling for each other, but with the reassurance that this connection wasn’t going away. No matter what, it would always remain close to our hearts, unique in its own way. We were reluctant to be apart, so we ended the call with heavy hearts, but with the certainty that we had discovered something rare: a strange, new love and connection between us.

That Zoom call night was one of the most special conversations I’ve ever had with him, and it brought me closer to him than I had anticipated. It was unexplainable, yet incredibly special. I realized that no one else would understand, but here we were—loving and trusting each other in our own innocent ways.

Some people touch your heart and soul in the strangest yet most beautiful ways, and he was that person—coming into my life and making it beautiful by making me smile every day since he arrived, bringing my music back to me. By the end of this conversation, he already had my trust and a piece of my heart.

The next morning, here I was—texting with him, missing him, wanting to talk to him, and thanking him for being so true to himself and to me. Without these conversations, we would have misunderstood our own feelings and ruined something precious. This experience had transformed my understanding of love. It helped me grasp what pure, selfless love feels like. He had redefined it for me, and he was no longer just a good friend I had met about a month and a half ago. He was so much more than a friend, a lover, or a soulmate. I had an undefined yet pure bond with him that I truly loved and adored.

He reminded me of Rumi's quote: "Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right doing, there is a field. I'll meet you there.” And in that field, we met our true selves, regardless of whether this was right or wrong. By this point, we knew something. This may be right for some and wrong for others, but we no longer cared what anyone else thought because we knew that no one would truly understand. The selfless, pure love we shared was what made this so special to us, and we were ready to keep it close to our hearts forever. 

AkM, this has been truly beautiful. I know writing isn’t something you usually enjoy, so the fact that you did this means the world to me. To wrap things up, here’s something I thought would make the perfect ending to this post. I hope this image brings back some fond memories—just ignore the AI’s quirky, distorted faces ;)