Between Sets and Signals

Chapter 7 - Again?

The buzz of the new city greeted Gabbi the second she stepped off the bus. It wasn't home, but it didn't feel like the city she left behind either. The air was cooler, saltier — heavy with ocean breeze and summer break energy. People spilled onto the streets in beachwear and sunnies, laughter echoing over the sound of trolley wheels dragging across concrete.

"Two weeks, baby!" Mira cheered, throwing her arms in the air dramatically as she spun to face the rest of their group. "We are not thinking about uni, grades, or guys unless it's beach-side flirting only."

Gabbi laughed, the sound a little freer than it had been in weeks. Their shared Airbnb was only a short walk from the beachfront — a white-walled apartment with soft throw pillows, tall windows, and a balcony view that wrapped around the coast like a postcard. Her suitcase barely made it into the bedroom before someone was already pulling her back out for groceries, another wanting a sunset walk, and a third suggesting matching drink orders to "mark the moment."

It was loud and chaotic — but good. Safe.

Still, sometime between the third grocery aisle and the balcony group selfies, Gabbi felt it: the absence of someone.

RJ.

She blinked it away quickly, unsure what to make of it. It wasn't romantic anymore — at least, not in the way it once was. The spark that had fluttered somewhere under her ribs back then? Gone. Or at least quiet. What remained was something quieter. Gentler. A soft ache, like when you remember to pack something for a friend who's not coming.

It was El who had messaged first before the trip, asking if RJ and the others were joining.

"They've got exams that run through the first week," El had texted, "and RJ's swamped with family stuff too. Kinda sucks, but makes sense."

Gabbi had only replied with: "Tell them we'll miss them."

Now, leaning against the balcony railing, plastic cup in hand, her phone buzzed once. A small message from RJ.

RJ:
Hope your trip's off to a good start. Don't forget sunscreen, city girl.

She smiled softly, typing a reply.
Gabbi:
Already burnt my nose, thanks. Hope exams aren't killing you.

That was it. No butterflies. No blushing. Just... warmth. A friendly warmth.

Behind her, Mira shouted something about card games and mango soju, dragging Gabbi back into the whirl of activity. But later that night, as everyone settled into bean bags and blankets with popcorn bowls and a terrible romantic comedy on mute, the thoughts crept back in.

It wasn't that she wanted RJ here in the way she once did. It was just that he would've liked this — the view, the sound of the ocean, the quiet moments between conversations where the world felt still. He would've said something poetic about the stars or doodled them onto a napkin while sipping lemonade. She missed that. Him.

Not as someone to kiss.

But as someone to talk to.

The next few days moved in a blur of sunrises, beach picnics, cheap seafood, and late-night truth-or-dare rounds. Gabbi's skin was a few shades darker, her legs sore from hiking cliffs she didn't know existed, and her phone filled with pictures of salty hair, spontaneous dance sessions, and Mira trying to befriend a stray seagull.

Still, at least once a day, she'd check her phone for an update from the others back at uni. RJ replied every now and then — mostly short texts, sometimes photos of his study desk covered in sticky notes and empty mugs.

Gabbi would screenshot them and send them into the group chat with captions like,
"Pray for RJ. Man's fighting demons."

Everyone would laugh.

But they all missed them, too.

One afternoon, while they were eating watermelon on the balcony, Poppy turned to her and asked, "Do you think he'll join the second week if exams are over?"

Gabbi shrugged. "He said he might try, but nothing's for sure."

"Would be nice," Mira added. "The group feels weird without the other half."

Gabbi didn't say anything.

Not because she had something to hide — but because she didn't know what to feel.

She missed RJ, yes. But not in the way that made her chest tight or her pulse race. She just... wished he could see this view. Hear the ocean with them. Laugh at the inside jokes they'd made in the last four days.

Maybe that was what friendships were like — when someone lingers in your mind not as a daydream, but as a "they'd like this too."

And maybe that was enough.

Later that night, as her friends slept tangled in couches and on mattresses pulled to the floor, Gabbi sat on the balcony alone. The city lights shimmered across the water, distant boats blinking like fireflies on a lake.

Her phone sat quiet beside her.

No new messages.

She took a deep breath, the salty air filling her lungs.

For the first time in weeks, she let herself admit it out loud — just to the stars above.

Maybe I miss him a little.

Just a little.

A thought that startled her with how unexpected it felt.

Because it wasn't the old fluttery crush. It was quieter. More complicated.

A whisper she hadn't been ready to hear.

She smiled, heart skipping for a moment, and wondered if maybe — just maybe — she still liked him.

And maybe that was okay, too.