The only sound audible is the quick click-clack of my fingers striking the keyboard of the laptop in front of me, with the occasional flip of the glossy textbook page. He sits across from me, silent in whatever productivity he manages to convince me that he is doing.
I like that we can sit in silence. There is a particular extent of beauty that comes from two people not needing to speak aloud to enjoy each other’s company. It is comfortable with him. I am comfortable.
Yet, I sense that he is not. The quickness of his breath lead me to finally glance up at him. He is already gazing at me.
“Do you know why I am always coming over to visit?”
My heart leaps as my stomach drops. The safety that silence once offered is now gone; it cannot be regained.
“Yeah, I think so,” I say warily.
I already do know. Of course I have known.
“So… I’m assuming that the feelings aren’t reciprocated, then?”
His assumption isn’t necessarily true, yet it contains an aspect of truth that I was not planning to unveil – especially to him.
The conversation ends not long after, and the silence between us returns. Click-clack goes the sound of the laptop keyboard; swoosh goes the flip of the textbook page. Neither of us speaks.
It is not comfortable.