There was something beautiful in the silence. Between the crevices of the quiet, was a scream louder than any word. If actions speak louder than words, then perhaps silence speaks the loudest. They don’t say anything, choosing instead to sit alongside one another. The only sound is the light turning of pages as she engrosses herself in her book and he in his phone. Once in a while, she looks up, if only to check that he is still there. Despite the betrayals of her mind, he is always there, scrolling, never leaving. Then, when she looks down, she notices him looking at her from the corner of her eye. The sign makes her smile, as even in the silence, they communicate the same things. It’s a conversation of sorts; speaking through stares and questions through glances. This isn’t just how they talk; it’s how they love. 

It isn’t loud, it is quiet, silent enough that most don’t notice. It isn’t like him, and definitely not like her. The two scream loudly to others, her in excitement and him in serenity. Yet, their roaring voices cancel out when together. They are loud individually, but deafening when together. It is a beautiful thing to watch, even if only because it’s a lie. There is no peace in this silence; they are both screaming louder than anyone could imagine. 

She screams for love, acceptance, for something to break the silence. She’s been waiting and waiting for him, but he never comes. Her stare burns holes into her book as her mind runs miles per minute. Waiting at the end of every thought, every fantasy- is him. 

She never makes it to the finish line.

He screams for friendship, space, sometimes even for tranquility. He scrolls quickly, worried that if he stops- everything will. He will break the delicate treasured camaraderie because he knows, and he has for a while. But ignorance is bliss, and confrontation is counteractive. So he plants his feet in the starting line and stays there. 

She will never know. 

The silence is beautiful and painful, loving yet hurting, but never is the silence anything but theirs.

Written by AK.

Photo by Annie Spratt/Unsplash.