Eli’s POV
Some nights feel heavier than others.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsFN9YZpnY9
Not because anything dramatic happens—9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrfNtmJurOo
but because nothing does.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDUQVHMCSqR
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.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡta0DmITrma
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.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzV8SgkElWd
Didn’t sit across from me, either.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXxTdWV516Z
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.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡknlZroAPhw
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.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡH1cefedzqw
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—9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpiMGcTAGv5
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.9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbNAIwrbV98
Just one.
“Don’t ask. Just listen.”
So I did.
ns216.73.216.77da2
and then Add to home screen.