The quiet didn't bother him.Not at first.
Alexander had gone days, weeks even, without talking to anyone outside of class, work, or necessity. It wasn't avoidance. It was just his way. He didn't reach for noise to fill space. Silence was something he knew how to sit in.
But this time, it was different.
Because this silence had weight.
Not from something said—but from something unsaid.
He hadn't heard from Elena in six days.
No texts. No blurry dance studio selfies. No sideways jokes about Naomi's "possessed" Civic. No unprompted questions like "Do you think birds understand parking lots?"—which still made him laugh when he thought about it.
Nothing.
Just stillness.
And at first, he told himself it was fine. She was busy. She had a life. He wasn't the center of her orbit.
He never expected to be.
But on the third night, he found himself scrolling back through their last few texts. Not because he was looking for something—but because he wanted to feel something again. That casual rhythm. That small but steady thread between them.
And it wasn't there.
Now, the quiet felt like something else entirely.
Not emptiness.
Absence.
He saw her across campus two days ago. Just a glimpse. She was standing by the vending machines, talking to someone—head tilted, ponytail swaying as she shifted her weight onto one foot. She was smiling, sort of, but not the way he'd seen her smile in the car. Not the soft, tired kind she gave when her guard was down.
This smile looked practiced.
He didn't wave.Didn't interrupt.Just kept walking.
Later that night, he sat in his room staring at a half-finished engine diagram, lines blurred, hands still. The metal didn't feel right in his fingers. Tools felt heavier. Thoughts louder.
He knew what was happening.
And he hated it.
He didn't like her.
Not the way people meant it when they said that.
But she occupied a space now. A very specific one. The kind that wasn't casual anymore—not really. The kind he found himself checking his phone for. The kind he started drafting a message to… only to delete it halfway through.
She was the first person in a long time who made him feel seen without demanding to know everything.
And that scared him.
Because part of him wanted more.
But he didn't know how to ask for it without messing up what already was.
He wasn't good with uncertainty.
So, for now, he let the silence stay.
Let it stretch.
Let it speak for him.
Because if she wanted to say something… she would.
And if she didn't?
He'd survive.
He always had.
But this time, he kind of hoped… he wouldn't have to.