She replied back years later...

I never anticipated that she would respond to my message. Not after I had poured my heart into that lengthy text—the kind that one reads multiple times before pressing send—and then she left me without a reply. There was no acknowledgment, no "I'm sorry, I'm not ready." Just an overwhelming silence.

That was a year ago.

Her name is Ada. We first crossed paths at church camp. While she wasn't the most boisterous person in the room, she possessed a captivating energy that drew people towards her. She would smile at you as if she already understood your secrets, yet she never judged. Our connection developed quickly; we shared conversations about life, our aspirations, and everything in between. Then, one evening, under a sky full of stars, and without a filter on my emotions, I confessed my feelings for her. In fact, I told her that I truly liked her.

She never responded.

For several months, I kept that conversation pinned in my chat. I cannot explain why—I suppose I held onto the hope that she might eventually say something. Anything at all. However, as the days turned into weeks and life progressed, I gradually stopped checking. Eventually, I tried to move on, or at least I convinced myself that I had.

Then—almost a year later—I received a notification: *“Ada is typing…”*

My heart skipped a beat. I initially thought it was a prank, perhaps a strange Telegram bot or a mistake.

Then she sent the message:

**“Hey… I know this is really late. I just saw your message again. I’m sorry.”**

I found myself staring at the screen for a minute, maybe five. Part of me wanted to respond with, “So now you remember I exist?” while another part felt an urgent need to reply before she vanished again.

So I responded: **“Took you long enough.”**

She replied with a laughing emoji, followed by a voice note. Hearing her voice again after such a long time stirred something within me; I hadn’t realized how much I had missed it.

In her voice note, she explained her silence. She confessed that she had ghosted me out of panic. Someone had betrayed her trust prior to camp, and when I opened up to her, it felt too intense, too soon. She was unsure how to cope with it, so instead of replying, she chose to withdraw.

I cannot deny that it hurt, but I understood her perspective. We all grapple with our own struggles, often unspoken.

We began texting again, gradually. This time, it felt different. There was less excitement and more caution. It was as if we both recalled how things had ended and were determined not to repeat the past.

One day, quite unexpectedly, she said:

**“I don’t want to pretend that I didn’t feel something back then. I was just scared.”**

I inquired, **“What about now?”**

She answered, **“Now… I want to discover what we missed.”**

And we did.

Our journey was not flawless. There were awkward pauses, delayed replies, and moments when I questioned whether we would revert to our old patterns. Yet, this time, we made the effort to show up—not solely during the easy moments, but also during the challenging ones.

She was no longer the same girl I had met at camp, and honestly, I had changed as well. However, this transformation seemed to work in our favor. We had both gained a deeper understanding of pain, patience, and the importance of taking our time.

Through this experience, I learned something significant:

We inhabit a world that demands speed—fast food, quick responses, instantaneous love. Yet, the most valuable things? They require time. They do not arrive when we desire them; they come when both individuals are prepared.

Ada did not ghost me out of indifference. She distanced herself because she cared too deeply and was unsure how to handle it. Perhaps I was not ready either; I just hadn’t realized it at the time.

Now, whenever I receive a text from her, I reflect on how painful it was not to see her name appear on my screen. I am grateful that, eventually, she chose to respond.

Even if it took an entire year.

Because sometimes… the journey is worth the wait.