Morning After
Rai didn’t sleep.
Not properly.
He lay in the dark with his phone face down on the bedside table, the screen already dimmed, Nadia’s message still burning behind his eyelids like an afterimage.
Tomorrow… can we talk properly?
The word properly pulled at something in him. It sounded simple, the way people said proper meal or proper rest, like the solution was only a matter of doing something correctly.
But Rai knew better.
Properly meant without the cover of laughter and music.
Without Kelvin’s jokes.
Without Brennan’s chaos.
Without a crowd.
Properly meant standing inside the truth instead of circling it.
He stared at the ceiling until the outline of the air-conditioning vent became familiar. The room hummed softly. Somewhere in the corridor, a door clicked. Somewhere farther, a low laugh faded into quiet.
Rai’s wrist felt heavy.
The watch sat there–steady, indifferent, marking minutes he didn’t know how to use.
He thought, briefly, of taking it off.
Not because he was ashamed.
Because it made him feel visible.
As if Nadia could see the parts of him he kept hidden simply by looking at his wrist.
He didn’t take it off.
Instead, he rolled onto his side and reached for his phone.
He opened their chat.
The message sat there, calm and unassuming.
A question.
An invitation.
A demand.
His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
He typed:
Yes.
Deleted.
Typed:
We can talk.
Deleted.
Typed:
Where?
His chest tightened.
Where was safe for things that had once been their whole world?
Where did you talk properly when the last proper conversation you had ended in someone leaving?
He stared at the blinking cursor.
His phone buzzed again.
Another message.
Not Nadia.
His mother.
Mum: Auntie in clinic now. Doctor say need observe. Tomorrow morning can you come early? Maybe need go hospital.
Rai’s chest sank.
He closed his eyes.
The timing felt almost cruel, like life had overheard Nadia asking for honesty and decided to test whether he would still choose responsibility first.
He had always chosen responsibility.
It was the easiest form of love for him–doing, fixing, carrying. It didn’t require speaking.
It didn’t require exposing the parts of him that were afraid.
But Nadia didn’t need him to carry chairs.
She had needed him to be present.
He had failed.
Now she was asking again.
Properly.
Rai exhaled slowly.
He typed to his mother:
Rai: Okay. I’ll come early.
Then he returned to Nadia’s chat.
The cursor blinked patiently.
He typed, before he could overthink it:
Rai: Okay. Morning breakfast? 9? Lobby.
He stared at the message for a beat.
It wasn’t romantic.
It wasn’t dramatic.
But it was a commitment.
He sent it.
A few seconds later, Nadia replied.
Nadia: Okay.
The same word.
Different weight.
Rai set the phone down.
He lay back.
The ceiling stared back.
And for the first time that night, his chest loosened just a fraction.
Not peace.
Just… direction.
Morning came quietly, as if the resort had been trained to be gentle after midnight.
When Rai stepped out of his room, the hallway smelled of fresh detergent and something faintly floral. The carpet muffled his footsteps. Cleaning staff moved in silence with carts of linens, their expressions calm and unreadable, as if they had seen too many versions of love to be impressed by any of it.
The elevator ride down felt too short.
When the doors opened into the lobby, Rai blinked against the brightness.
Daylight poured through the glass walls, turning the marble floor into a pale mirror. The piano corner was empty now. The lounge chairs were scattered with a few guests nursing coffee, faces soft with morning fatigue.
The wedding décor remained–floral arrangements slightly wilted at the edges, a welcome sign still propped near the entrance, confetti glittering faintly in corners where it hadn’t been swept.
Love’s leftovers.
Rai adjusted his watch unconsciously.
Nine o’clock approached.
He walked toward the breakfast area with the slow caution of a man approaching a room he wasn’t sure he deserved to enter.
The restaurant was already busy–families with children, couples speaking softly over pastries, groups of guests still in wedding makeup but now wearing casual clothes like armor.
The smell of coffee was thick.
Butter.
Toast.
Something savory, fried.
Rai scanned the room.
He saw Kelvin at a corner table, hair messy, laughing loudly at something on his phone. Sherlyn looked like she wanted to throw her croissant at him.
Jun sat beside them, quietly sipping tea.
Rai’s gaze moved past them.
Then he saw Nadia.
She sat alone near the window, facing the sea.
No bridal palette now.
No dress.
Just a simple white blouse and dark pants, hair tied back neatly, a faint trace of makeup remaining like a memory of last night.
Her posture was straight.
Composed.
But Rai could tell by the way her fingers tapped softly against her mug that she had been waiting.
He paused.
For a second, he felt the old instinct to turn around.
To keep distance.
To protect both of them.
Then Nadia turned her head slightly, sensing him.
Their eyes met.
No surprise now.
No narrowing lift doors.
Just morning light and the sea behind her.
Nadia’s expression didn’t change much, but something in her gaze tightened.
Rai walked over.
He stopped at the edge of her table.
“Hi,” he said.
Nadia’s fingers still on the mug.
“Hi,” she replied.
Silence settled between them.
It wasn’t hostile.
Just careful.
Rai gestured toward the chair across from her. “Can I?”
Nadia nodded once. “Yeah.”
Rai sat.
The chair scraped softly.
A waiter approached immediately with a polite smile. “Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee,” Rai said.
Nadia added, “He drinks it black.”
The waiter blinked, amused. “Okay.”
Rai’s chest tightened.
The fact that she still knew.
The fact that she still remembered his habits with the same ease she once had.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
But it did.
The waiter left.
Nadia stared at her mug for a moment.
Rai watched her, trying to read what she would do.
Would she begin with apology again?
With anger?
With the quiet politeness she used as a shield?
Nadia lifted her eyes.
“Thanks for meeting,” she said softly.
Rai nodded. “Yeah.”
Nadia’s mouth curved faintly, humorless. “We sound like strangers.”
Rai’s throat tightened. “Maybe we are.”
The sentence left his mouth before he could soften it.
Nadia’s eyes narrowed slightly–not anger, more like pain.
Rai immediately regretted it.
He exhaled. “I didn’t mean–”
“I know what you mean,” Nadia said quietly.
The calmness of her voice made it worse.
Rai’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
Nadia continued, “I didn’t ask to talk properly because I want to force something.”
Rai held her gaze.
Nadia’s eyes were steady now. “I asked because… I’m tired of pretending this is nothing.”
Rai’s chest tightened.
Nadia swallowed.
“I keep telling myself I’m okay,” she said softly. “And maybe I am, most days. But being here–seeing you–made me realize that I never actually… closed it.”
Rai’s throat moved.
Closed it.
He had never even tried.
He had simply learned to live with the door ajar, letting cold air in and calling it normal.
Nadia’s gaze flicked briefly to his wrist.
The watch.
Her mouth tightened.
Then she looked back up.
“I want to ask you something,” she said.
Rai nodded once, bracing.
Nadia’s voice dropped slightly. “Why didn’t you ever come after me?”
The question was quiet.
But it cracked something open.
Rai felt his chest tighten until it hurt.
He stared at her.
His mind scrambled.
There were too many answers.
Pride.
Fear.
Exhaustion.
The fact that he thought she was already gone, and chasing would only humiliate them both.
The fact that he didn’t know how to beg.
The fact that he didn’t think he deserved to ask someone to stay when he couldn’t promise he would change.
Rai swallowed.
Nadia’s eyes didn’t move.
She waited.
Rai heard the restaurant noise around them–cutlery clinking, a child squealing, a coffee machine steaming.
But inside his chest, everything was quiet.
He chose the smallest truth.
“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he said.
Nadia’s expression tightened.
“That’s not an answer,” she whispered.
Rai’s jaw clenched.
He forced himself to keep going.
“I thought…” He exhaled slowly. “I thought if you left, you were sure.”
Nadia’s eyes glistened faintly.
“I was sure I couldn’t keep feeling alone,” she said, voice thick. “That’s not the same as being sure I didn’t love you.”
Rai’s throat tightened.
He stared at her.
Love.
The word still landed like something dangerous.
Nadia’s fingers curled around her mug. “Do you know what it felt like?” she asked quietly. “Being with you, and still feeling like I was on the outside of your life?”
Rai’s chest tightened.
He did know.
He had watched her try.
He had watched her offer.
He had watched her slowly stop.
He had just never known what to do with it.
He kept his voice low. “I didn’t want to burden you.”
Nadia let out a soft, bitter laugh.
“That,” she murmured. “That’s exactly it.”
Rai’s jaw tightened.
Nadia’s eyes sharpened, not angry, but piercing. “You think love is a burden.”
Rai flinched.
“No,” he said quickly. “I think–”
“You think being loved means being responsible for someone else’s feelings,” Nadia said. “And you didn’t want that. So you kept everything to yourself, and told yourself you were protecting me.”
Rai stared.
The accuracy of it made him feel naked.
Nadia’s voice softened slightly. “But what you were doing was deciding for me. You were deciding what I could handle. You were deciding how close I was allowed to be.”
Rai’s throat moved.
He had no defense.
Because it was true.
He had always controlled his life by controlling what he revealed.
He had called it discipline.
He had called it being a good man.
Nadia had called it a locked door.
Rai exhaled slowly.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
The words felt inadequate the moment they left his mouth.
Nadia’s gaze held his.
For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then she replied, very softly, “I didn’t come here to collect apologies.”
Rai’s chest tightened.
Nadia’s voice steadied. “I came because… when I saw you yesterday, I realized something that scared me.”
Rai’s fingers tightened around the table edge.
“What?”
Nadia’s eyes flicked away toward the sea.
Sunlight glinted on water, too bright for this conversation.
“I realized that if you told me to try again,” she said quietly, “I don’t know if I would be strong enough to say no.”
Rai’s breath caught.
The admission hit him like heat.
He stared at her.
Nadia’s face remained composed, but her voice carried a tremor.
“And that’s terrifying,” she added, almost a whisper. “Because I don’t want to repeat the same pain.”
Rai’s chest tightened.
Hope rose.
Dangerous.
Stupid.
He tried to hold it down.
The waiter returned with Rai’s black coffee, set it down quietly, and left.
Rai stared at the cup.
Then back at Nadia.
He didn’t know what to do with what she’d just given him.
So he asked, carefully, “What do you want from me, Nadia?”
Her name felt strange in his mouth.
Not because it was unfamiliar.
Because it still mattered.
Nadia’s gaze returned to him.
“I want you to be honest,” she said.
Rai’s throat tightened.
Nadia continued, “Not polished. Not careful. Not the version of honesty that still hides.”
Rai’s fingers tightened.
He looked down at his hands.
He didn’t know how to do that.
Not quickly.
Not in a breakfast restaurant.
But she was asking.
And he had agreed.
Properly.
Rai took a slow breath.
He forced himself to speak.
“I didn’t move on,” he said.
The sentence landed quietly.
Like a confession in a room that didn’t know to hush.
Nadia froze.
Her fingers stilled on the mug.
Rai’s voice remained low, steady only because he was gripping the table.
“I tried,” he continued. “I told myself I should. But… I didn’t.”
Nadia’s eyes glistened.
She didn’t look away.
Rai swallowed hard.
“I’m not saying this to guilt you,” he added quickly, as if afraid of being misunderstood. “I’m saying it because you asked for honesty.”
Nadia’s throat moved.
For a moment, she looked like she might crumble.
But she didn’t.
She inhaled slowly, then exhaled.
“Why?” she whispered.
Rai blinked.
“Why didn’t you move on?” she clarified.
Rai stared at her.
He didn’t know how to explain that love wasn’t something he could replace like furniture.
He didn’t know how to explain that every attempt at dating had felt like trying to sit in someone else’s seat.
He didn’t know how to explain that he had never stopped measuring his life against the version of it he once imagined with her.
So he said the simplest truth.
“Because you were… my person,” he said.
The words felt too exposed.
He hated how raw they sounded.
Nadia’s lips parted.
She blinked fast.
Then she looked down.
A tear didn’t fall.
But the shine in her eyes was undeniable.
Rai’s chest tightened.
He wanted to reach across the table.
He didn’t.
He remembered the last time he reached too late.
Nadia exhaled shakily.
“I didn’t move on either,” she admitted.
The sentence was so quiet that Rai almost thought he imagined it.
His breath caught.
Nadia lifted her eyes again.
“But I built a life,” she said, voice firmer now, as if she needed to reassert control. “I built routines. I built friendships. I built… peace.”
Rai nodded slowly.
Nadia’s gaze sharpened. “And I’m not willing to burn that down for a version of us that still doesn’t know how to talk.”
Rai’s throat tightened.
It wasn’t cruelty.
It was a boundary.
It was the kind of boundary Nadia had needed to grow.
Rai understood.
He also felt the sting.
Because she was right.
He didn’t know how to talk.
Not properly.
Rai opened his mouth.
He wanted to tell her he could learn.
That he wanted to learn.
That he was tired of being a locked door too.
But his phone buzzed.
Once.
Then again.
Rai’s stomach dropped.
He didn’t need to check.
He already knew.
Family.
Always.
Nadia noticed the vibration.
Her expression shifted–recognition, annoyance, resignation.
Rai pulled the phone out.
A call.
Mum
He hesitated.
Nadia’s eyes held his.
Rai swallowed. “I have to–”
“Take it,” Nadia said quickly, too quickly.
Her tone was calm, but Rai could hear the crack beneath it.
He answered.
“Hello?”
His mother’s voice came through urgent. “Rai, doctor say need go A&E. Auntie blood pressure drop. We going hospital now. You can come or not?”
Rai’s chest tightened.
He closed his eyes.
The world narrowed.
He could picture it–clinic, auntie pale, his mother trying to carry worry alone.
He swallowed.
“I’m coming,” he said.
His mother exhaled. “Okay. I send location. Hurry but careful.”
The call ended.
Rai lowered his phone slowly.
His hands felt cold.
He looked up.
Nadia’s face had gone still.
Not angry.
Not surprised.
Just… tired.
As if life had proven her point for her.
Rai’s throat tightened.
“I have to go,” he said.
Nadia nodded once.
“Okay,” she whispered.
The word landed like a door closing.
Rai flinched.
“Nadia,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t plan–”
“I know,” she interrupted softly. “It’s family.”
Rai’s chest tightened.
He stood, chair scraping.
Nadia remained seated.
Her hands stayed around her mug, fingers tight.
Rai stared at her.
He felt the panic rise.
He was about to leave.
Again.
He was about to walk away mid-conversation.
Again.
And this time, he couldn’t blame pride.
He couldn’t blame fear.
He could only blame life.
But Nadia wouldn’t care about the reason.
She would only feel the pattern.
Rai swallowed.
“Can we meet again?” he asked, voice low.
Nadia’s eyes flicked up.
Her expression was unreadable.
Rai forced himself to keep speaking.
“Not like this,” he said. “Not in a resort. Not between wedding schedules. I… I want to talk properly. For real. In Singapore.”
Nadia stared at him.
Her silence felt like judgment.
Rai’s throat tightened.
He added, almost pleading without wanting to sound like it, “Please.”
Nadia’s breath caught.
She looked away toward the sea.
Then back.
“How do I know you won’t disappear again?” she asked quietly.
The question hit Rai harder than any insult.
Because it wasn’t dramatic.
It was reasonable.
It was built from years.
Rai swallowed hard.
He didn’t have a perfect answer.
So he offered a concrete one.
“Next Saturday,” he said. “Kovan. The café near the MRT–the one we used to go after hall dinners.”
Nadia’s eyes widened slightly.
She remembered.
Of course she remembered.
Rai continued, voice steady despite the fear in his chest. “Ten a.m. I’ll be there. If you come and I’m not there, you never have to speak to me again.”
Nadia stared.
Rai felt his heart pounding.
The restaurant noise faded.
All he could hear was his own breath.
Nadia’s gaze dropped to his wrist again.
The watch.
Then she looked up.
“Okay,” she said.
The word landed differently this time.
Not a wall.
A contract.
Rai exhaled, relief sharp enough to hurt.
He nodded once.
Then, before he could lose his courage, he added quietly, “I’ll text you the address.”
Nadia nodded.
Her eyes held something fragile.
Hope.
Or maybe just willingness.
Rai didn’t know.
He grabbed his phone, his wallet, his room key.
He hesitated, standing there, as if leaving without one more sentence would be a mistake he’d repeat for the rest of his life.
“Nadia,” he said.
She looked up.
Rai’s throat tightened.
He wanted to tell her she mattered.
He wanted to tell her he was still learning.
He wanted to tell her the truth he had never said when it counted.
Instead, he offered the smallest thing he could manage in public.
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
Nadia blinked.
Then her mouth curved slightly.
Not happy.
Not sad.
Just… human.
“Go,” she said softly. “Your family needs you.”
Rai nodded.
He turned.
He walked out of the breakfast restaurant with his chest tight and his hands cold, moving through the lobby where staff were already dismantling leftover decorations.
Outside, the sunlight hit him like a slap.
The sea glinted.
The resort looked peaceful.
Rai felt anything but.
As he hurried toward the taxi stand, he passed the ceremony lawn.
The chairs were being stacked now.
White seats folded and carried away.
The floral arch was half dismantled, petals falling onto grass like tiny, discarded promises.
In the front row, the reserved chair was being lifted too.
The framed photo removed gently, held by a staff member with careful hands.
For a moment, Rai slowed.
He stared at the empty space where that chair had been.
Then he thought of Nadia at the breakfast table–still seated, still holding her mug, still looking out at the sea.
A seat.
Empty now.
Because he had left.
Again.
Rai’s throat tightened.
He forced himself to keep moving.
Family.
Responsibility.
Life.
But as the taxi pulled away from the resort, as the sea receded behind him, Rai made himself a promise that felt like stepping into fire.
Next Saturday.
Ten a.m.
Kovan.
No excuses.
No disappearing.
No hiding behind “okay.”
He would show up.
Properly.
And if Nadia still chose to walk away after that–
At least this time, he would have finally said what he owed her.
The taxi merged into traffic.
Singapore moved around him, indifferent.
Rai stared out the window, his wrist heavy, the watch ticking steadily.
Time didn’t pause.
But maybe–if he was brave enough–
he could stop letting it take everything without a fight.