One quiet night beneath the brilliant moon of November, a message from Marvin lit up Liv's screen. It had been a while since he texted her. But Liv, buried under the never-ending stream of complaints and responsibilities as hostel captain, didn't have the time to dwell on it. Her phone buzzed again—this time, a much gentler message.
"Will you please send me the photos from the day we performed?" —Gus.
She smiled.
Liv was naturally soft-hearted when it came to quiet people, and texting them brought out her goofy charm. Though she had only ever had one boyfriend in her entire life. She simply never let anyone close. But texting? That was her arena. She was a witty, respectful, and effortlessly funny texter. And Gus? He didn't stand a chance. Even though her dm was dry for half a decade, she still was a great writer who could still join seven seas with her words, managing a super introvert like Gus was a piece of cake for her.
Their conversation flowed easily that night. What began as a simple photo request turned into something more. Neither of them realized it then, but something had started. Something quiet... but destined to change everything. A love not of flirtation and games, but something raw, real, and unconditional.
As they texted, midnight crept closer. The moment the clock struck twelve, the walls of Liv's hostel trembled with chaos. A chorus of girls on the upper floors erupted in celebration, their voices echoing through the building—Happy Birthday! they screamed, jumping and shouting.
Liv, seated cross-legged on her chair in a dark red bathrobe, her phone in hand, barely noticed. She was too engrossed in Gus's messages.
But then—a knock.
One of her roommates opened the door, revealing a line of first-year girls from the upper floor, all wide-eyed and trembling. "Captain Liv, please," one of them whispered, "The juniors are too loud. We can't study."
Liv sighed. Just moments before, Gus had typed the words that made her heart pause:
"I like you so much."
And before she could react, before she could even smile—responsibility called.
She dropped her phone on the desk and tightened her robe. With a commanding presence, she stepped out of her room and walked toward the source of the noise. Twenty of her batchmates followed behind like an army. As Liv approached the room of the noisy juniors, lights were switched off in panic. Doors creaked shut. Everyone hid.
Too late.
Captain Liv pushed open the door. Another senior flipped on the light behind her. Six girls slowly emerged from their hiding spots, laughing nervously but clearly terrified.
One of them—a junior from Liv's department—stepped forward. "We're sorry, Captain. It was our friend's birthday. We got too excited. One of us fell while jumping and we couldn't stop laughing..."
Liv's batchmates behind her were furious—they had tests to prepare for, and the disturbance was unacceptable. But they didn't speak. They waited for her.
Liv's expression was calm, yet cold. Her voice, measured and sharp:
"Clean up the mess. Go back to your rooms. And don't make me come here again. You know what happens if I do."
The girls nodded and scattered like leaves in the wind.
Crisis averted.
It wasn't until she returned to her room, dismissed her batchmates to continue studying, and sat back down that she remembered—Gus. Her heart dropped. She rushed to her phone and typed an explanation, apologizing for the delay.
She felt guilty. It was a crucial moment. She knew Gus wasn't the kind of guy to pour out feelings easily. He was quiet, gentle, the type who carried silence like a second skin. She hated that he'd had to wait. But Gus didn't seem upset.
Instead, the conversation resumed, comfortably, like water finding its path again.
"You sleep really late," he said. "You should try sleeping earlier."
Liv chuckled. If only he knew.
"I take a bath at 3 AM," she texted back, half-joking, half-truth.
"Wait, what? Who bathes at 3?"
"I have an illness. If I take a bath at 2 or 3, it helps me feel refreshed enough to sleep."
A pause.
Then Gus replied.
"Liv?"
"Yes, Gus?"
"Do you have hallucinations?"
Liv froze.
She stood up from her chair, her phone trembling in her hand. Her roommates, already half-asleep in their beds, sat up, alarmed.
"What happened?" one of them asked.
"Gus asked... if I have hallucinations."
The room fell into silence.
No one had ever asked her that before. Not even she had said the word aloud in years. Her illness—something her roommates had carefully hidden and protected her from being judged for—was now staring her in the face from a glowing screen.
She had suffered for years. She would wake up screaming, whispering to people who weren't there, her roommates softly waking her, comforting her, pretending it never happened. No one in the university knew.
"How do you know?" she accidentally typed.
"Even I have schizophrenia, Liv," Gus replied.
Chaos erupted in the room. Gasps, tears, stunned silence.
Eight billion people in the world—and Liv had unknowingly found the one boy who understood her demons.
No mask. No judgment. No fear.
Just one broken soul recognizing another.
And so, under the quiet moonlight of November, a confession sparked not just the beginning of love—but the birth of something sacred.
A mirror. A truth. A bond.