Whispers Behind the Screen

Okomani had always loved the rush of online games-the fast clicks, the teamwork, the thrill of surviving the final circle. Though an extrovert by nature, she kept her mic off during games. Talking wasn't necessary. She let her skills speak for her.

That night, though, something felt different. The usual excitement had faded, replaced by a strange sense of heaviness she couldn't explain. So, on a whim, she did something she never usually did-she turned on her mic.

"Cover left," she said during the third match, her voice clear through the headset.

"Got it," replied a new voice-calm, steady. It belonged to a player named Seng.

They didn't say much else at first, but something about the brief exchange felt... natural. Like they'd played together for months, not minutes. The third game ended with a shared victory, and a shared laugh.

"Nice game," Seng said.

"Yeah, not bad," Okomani replied, a small smile creeping across her face.

After three rounds of smooth gameplay, he spoke again. "I'll play again later tonight. Around 10, if you're on."

"Okay," she said without thinking, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through her.

At 10 PM sharp, she was there-headphones on, game launched, waiting.

But Seng didn't log in.

She waited five minutes.

Then ten.

Then an hour.

Still no sign of him.

He didn't just miss the game. He didn't come online at all.

The next day, she opened the app again, hoping maybe he had sent a message. But his status still showed offline. A whole day passed with no sign of Seng. And despite her own surprise, she found herself getting irritated. Why did she care so much?

Maybe it was because of the way his voice had sounded-genuine. Like someone who meant what he said. Or maybe it was because, in that short time, he'd made her feel seen in a space where she was usually silent.

Frustrated, she tapped open the chat and messaged him.

"I'm angry with you."

It wasn't dramatic or poetic, but it was honest. And then, she closed the app, not expecting anything to come from it.

The next evening, as she lazily scrolled through her notifications, her eyes caught a pop-up from the gaming app.

Seng is online.

Her heart jumped before she could stop it. She opened the game, only to find a message waiting for her.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to vanish like that. Something came up. But... your message..."

The next line came a few seconds later.

"It made me smile."

Okomani blinked. Smile? She'd been mad. Furious, even. And now he was saying he'd smiled?

Before she could type a reply, another message appeared.

"I don't usually get messages like that. It felt... nice. Like someone actually noticed I was gone."

She stared at the screen, unsure of how to respond. But something about the way he said it melted her frustration. Maybe he really hadn't meant to leave her waiting.

"Fine," she typed. "You're forgiven. But only if you play right now."

He joined her game instantly.

That night turned into two hours of matches, laughter, and easy conversation. The tension from before had vanished. The way they communicated was effortless-teammates at first, but something else beginning to spark beneath the surface.

Over the next few days, they played together every night. Seng started telling her more about his life-his love for quiet moments, his obsession with perfectly executed game strategies, his odd collection of fantasy books. Okomani, in turn, spoke about college chaos, her wild group of friends, and how she used gaming to escape from the constant noise of her world.

With each session, their bond deepened. What started as a casual gaming connection slowly became a daily routine they both looked forward to. She no longer waited for him with frustration-she waited with excitement.

Then, one night, as they waited for a match to load, he asked, "Do you use Insta?"

She hesitated for a second, then smiled.

"Yeah. Want it?"

"Only if you want to."

She sent her ID without another word.

Within minutes, he followed her, and their conversation shifted from game lobbies to Instagram DMs. There, they weren't just gamers-they were real people. Faces, lives, moods, stories.

Her Instagram was full of color-pictures with friends, café visits, and the occasional silly reel. His profile, on the other hand, was quiet. A few scenic shots. Some blurry photos of books. A selfie with a dog.

They were so different. And yet, so drawn to each other.

That night, before logging off, he sent a message:

"I'm glad you messaged me that day. Even if it was out of anger."

Okomani stared at it for a moment, then typed back:

"Me too."