Shared Silence

It was a Thursday when I saw him again.

Not just passing by in the hallway. Not just sitting behind me in class.

We were both early.

I don’t know why I was early. I guess I just didn’t feel like staying home that morning. The classroom was quiet, the windows still fogged from the rain last night.

Michael was already there, sitting by the window, sketching something in his notebook.

I hesitated at the door.

Should I say something?

Should I sit somewhere else?

But then he looked up.

And smiled.

Not the awkward kind. Just a soft one. Like he didn’t mind me being there.

So I walked in and sat two seats away. Not beside him. Not across. Just close enough to feel the silence between us.

He didn’t say anything.

Neither did I.

But it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was the kind of silence that felt like a blanket. Like we were both wrapped in the same quiet.

I glanced at his notebook.

He was drawing a planet. Saturn, I think. The rings were messy, but I liked that. It looked like it was spinning too fast to be perfect.

“You draw a lot,” I said, finally.

He looked at me, surprised. “Yeah. Helps me think.”

I nodded. “I draw cats.”

He blinked. “Cats?”

I smiled. “They’re easier than planets.”

He laughed. “I’ve never tried cats.”

I opened my notebook, covered the words beside it and showed him one. It was curled up, sleeping, with a red string tied to its paw.

He stared at it for a moment.

“That’s cute,” he said.

I shrugged. “It’s just a doodle.”

But my heart was racing.

Because he saw it. The string. Not the real one—just the one I drew.

And he didn’t ask about it.

Which was good.

And bad.

I wanted him to ask.

But I didn’t want to explain.

So I just closed the notebook and tucked it back into my bag.

He didn’t push.

Instead, he said, “You were really good in the debate. I know I already said that, but... I mean it.”

I looked at him. “Thanks. You helped.”

He smiled again. “I didn’t do much.”

“You did enough.”

The bell rang, and students started pouring in.

The silence broke.

Michael moved back to his seat behind me.

I didn’t turn around.

But I felt the string pulse.

Softly.

Like it was saying, “You’re getting closer.”

And maybe we were.

Not in big ways.

Just in small ones.

Like shared silence.

And messy planets.

And cats with red strings.

Sigh,

Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

- Claire

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