Eli’s POV
Some nights feel heavier than others.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzCJyA4IpFI
Not because anything dramatic happens—36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgkQm8NxmEx
but because nothing does.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTuyAcoPS3T
No message. No new playlist. No sign of her.
And silence, once comforting, starts to echo.
I sat at Table Nine again tonight, though it was hours past morning. The café was nearly empty. Just me, a few laptop zombies, and the hum of soft jazz they play after the rush dies down.
I hadn’t heard from Mara since the note.
Part of me feared it was too much.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ91AV4BevgE
Another part feared it wasn’t enough.
I was mid-sentence—typing a line I’d probably delete—when she walked in.
Hood up. Shoulders tense. But her eyes found mine like they always did, even from across the room.
She didn’t order anything.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyFfdV7vRcG
Didn’t sit across from me, either.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHXSaLAkdmJ
She sat next to me.
That was new.
Neither of us said anything at first.
Then, quietly:
“Do you ever feel like you’ve told your whole story… and no one listened?”
Her voice wasn’t bitter.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkSLPe9308v
It was tired.
I closed my laptop and turned toward her. “Every day.”
She didn’t look surprised by my answer. Maybe she’d expected it.
“I used to talk to someone,” she said. “A lot. They knew everything. The bad days. The panic attacks. The nights I couldn’t sleep unless I heard their voice.”
She paused, then glanced at her hands.
“But they left. Quietly. No explanation. No fight. Just… silence.”
I didn’t speak. I didn’t have to.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZNjHOopZY9
Sometimes listening is the only answer that matters.
“I think I stopped telling my story after that,” she said. “Even to myself.”
And then, she did something I wasn’t ready for—36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ64H3hNZ0DR
She looked at me like I was a question she was finally brave enough to ask.
“What about you, Eli? Who did you lose?”
I smiled—tight and crooked. “I haven’t lost them yet. But I’m scared I will. Because I don’t let people stay long enough to leave.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward this time. It was honest. Shared. Like two shadows deciding whether to step into the light.
She reached into her coat pocket and handed me a folded slip of paper.
A song title.36Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrJKgYxc0jx
Just one.
“Don’t ask. Just listen.”
So I did.
ns216.73.216.247da2
