Dear Jhi,

There’s a quiet battle happening inside my heart these days.

One part of me still wants to send you a simple “Good morning.”

I want you to know that someone out there is thinking of you and hoping today is a little kinder than yesterday.

Then, before the day ends, that same part of me wants to say, “Good night.”

Just to remind you to get some rest. Just to remind you that someone still cares.

But there’s another part of me. The quieter, gentler part.

The part that keeps telling me that maybe what you need right now isn’t another message.

Maybe what you need is space. Space to grieve. Space to heal. Space to find your way through everything you’re carrying.

So every morning, I stop myself from typing. And every night, I stop myself from pressing “Send.”

Not because I don’t care anymore. But because I care enough to respect the silence you’ve chosen.

I hope you never mistake my silence for indifference.

If anything, it’s one of the hardest things I’ve had to do.

Because loving someone sometimes means wanting to hold on… while choosing not to hold too tightly.

I don’t know if giving you space is the right thing. I don’t know if sending you a message would’ve made any difference.

All I know is that every day, I choose between reaching out and stepping back. And every day, I hope I’m making the kinder choice.

If you ever wonder whether I stopped caring… I didn’t.

I just wanted to love you in a way that gave you room to breathe.

Take all the time you need, Jhi.

I’ll be here, quietly hoping that your heart finds peace.

Love, Nikka

Dear Jhi,

Grief is a strange thing.

It doesn’t come with instructions. It doesn’t tell you how long it will stay or how heavy it will feel. Some days it lets you breathe. Other days it takes everything you have just to get through the day.

I don’t know exactly what you’re carrying right now.

I don’t know what your days have been like or how quiet your nights have become. I don’t know if you’ve been crying, trying to stay strong for everyone else, or pretending you’re okay when you’re really not.

But I want you to know that I’ve been trying to understand.

I’ve never been angry at you for hurting. I’ve only been hurt by not knowing where I stand.

I keep reminding myself that maybe you’re going through something bigger than I can see. Maybe that’s why you’ve become so quiet. Maybe you’re trying to survive one day at a time.

If that’s true, I hope you don’t carry it all by yourself.

You don’t have to be strong every single day. You don’t have to keep everything inside.

If you ever need someone to listen without judging, someone who doesn’t expect you to have all the right words, I’ll be here.

Not because I have all the answers. But because I care about you. More than you probably realize.

I wish I could take away even a little bit of the weight you’re carrying. I wish I could remind you that it’s okay to grieve, it’s okay to cry, and it’s okay to admit that life feels unfair sometimes.

I don’t expect you to be okay overnight. I just hope you’re allowing yourself to feel everything instead of carrying it alone.

At the same time, I hope you’ll understand something too. Your silence has been difficult for me.

Not because I expect constant conversations or endless attention, but because I don’t know where I belong in your life anymore.

I don’t know if you need space. I don’t know if you’re waiting for the right time. I don’t know if you’re slowly letting me go. And not knowing has been one of the hardest parts.

Still… I’ve chosen to believe that the person I came to know is still there somewhere beneath all the pain.

That’s why I haven’t stopped hoping that one day, when your heart feels a little lighter, you’ll find your way back—not because you owe me an explanation, but because I’d like to know how you’ve been.

No matter what happens, I hope you remember this:

You never had to pretend to be okay with me. You never had to carry your grief alone. And if there ever comes a day when you feel ready to talk, whether it’s about your pain, your fears, or simply how your day went, I’ll listen.

Until then, I’ll keep praying that healing finds you, little by little.

Take care, Jhi.

Someone out here is quietly hoping that yours becomes lighter.

Always, Nikka

Dear Jhi,

I wasn’t expecting my phone to ring that afternoon. Not anymore.

Somewhere along the way, I had gotten used to the silence. I had even put my phone on silent because no one really called me anymore.

So when you tried calling, I didn’t hear it.

Not the first time. Not the second. Not even the third. You called my mobile phone four times. You sent me a text.

And when I still didn’t answer, you called me on Discord. That was the call that reached me.

I was talking to my nephew when Discord suddenly started ringing. I looked at the screen, froze for a second, and quietly said, “Someone’s calling me.” Then I ended our conversation.

It was you.

After all those days of wondering if I would ever hear from you again, it was your name on my screen.

I don’t think you know how long I stared before answering.

Part of me was happy. Part of me was nervous. Part of me couldn’t believe you were really calling.

When I finally heard your voice, it felt strangely familiar, as if the silence between us had never happened.

You asked why I wasn’t answering.

I laughed and told you my phone had been on silent because nobody called me anymore.

Then you said, “Nagtatampo ka.” I only answered with a quiet, “Mmm.” I didn’t have to explain.

You already knew. You apologized.

You told me you missed talking to me. I smiled and admitted, “Same.”

We talked in little pieces. Every eleven minutes, the call would suddenly end.

Maybe it was the network. Maybe it was your phone. But every time it disconnected, you called again.

And somehow, I think that’s what I’ll remember most. Not that the calls kept getting cut. But that you kept calling back.

We talked about Mindanao, where you’d been.

We talked about the game I had stopped playing because, honestly, it just wasn’t as fun anymore.

You teased me. I teased you back.

For a little while, everything felt easy again.

When we finally said goodbye because you had to go to work, I realized something.

I hadn’t been waiting for a perfect explanation. I had only been waiting to hear your voice.

And that afternoon, after so many unanswered questions, I finally did.

Until the next call, Nikka