The worst kind of silence is the one you don’t see coming. The kind that shows up after a kiss, after a night you swore would change things. After you give someone everything—and they vanish like none of it mattered. That kind of silence? It doesn’t echo. It crushes.
I woke up alone. Sheets cold. Pillow untouched. My phone blinked blankly on the nightstand. No good morning. No sorry. Just nothing. I waited. For five minutes. Then thirty. Then two hours. At some point, the waiting became humiliation.
By noon, I’d convinced myself there was a reason. Maybe his phone died. Maybe something came up. Maybe his car exploded and he was trapped in a ditch. I went through every dramatic excuse I could come up with, because pretending helped.
But by nightfall, it hurt to breathe. The ache in my chest wasn’t even about what we did—it was about how easy it was for him to disappear after. I didn’t expect flowers. I just wanted him to stay.
Monday came too fast. The hallways were loud, but none of it touched me. My body moved, but my brain lagged five steps behind, still stuck in the shape of his hands. I heard whispers. Saw glances. My name spread like ash in the air.
And then I heard his.
“Coach lost it on Reyes,” someone muttered in the locker room. “Said he’s off the team if he pulls that gay shit again.”
I froze.
Another guy added, “His dad found out too. Bet he’s grounded for life.”
The sting hit deeper than I expected. Not because I was surprised—but because it meant it was true. He wasn’t avoiding me because of me. He was avoiding me because of them.
Still, that didn’t make the silence easier.
I skipped lunch and hid in the library. It was the only place that didn’t smell like sweaty teenage trauma. I shoved my hoodie tighter around me, pretending I was fine. Pretending my stomach wasn’t eating itself alive from anxiety.
Ezra found me during seventh period. He didn’t sit down right away. Just leaned against the bookshelf like he was waiting for my walls to crumble.
“They’re saying Luca’s benched,” he said. “Coach gave him hell.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I heard.”
Ezra frowned. “And?”
“And what?”
“You’re clearly falling apart. Thought maybe you’d want to talk to someone who actually gives a damn.”
I didn’t answer.
He sighed and sat across from me, dropping his voice. “Look, maybe Luca’s freaking out. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t care.”
“Then he should’ve said something. Anything.”
“Maybe he can’t.”
“Or maybe he doesn’t want to.”
That shut him up. For about two minutes. Then Ezra leaned in.
“Last time I checked, you weren’t the type to let someone walk all over you.”
“I’m not,” I snapped. “But it’s kinda hard to fight for someone who won’t even look at you.”
His voice softened. “He looked at you like you were everything.”
I shook my head. “He left, Ez. He didn’t even text. How do you come back from that?”
“By asking him why.”
I didn’t want to cry, but it crept up anyway. I pressed my hands against my eyes, like I could squeeze the hurt out. “I feel stupid.”
“You’re not.”
“I gave him everything.”
“And if he’s the guy you think he is… he’ll come back.”
I wanted to believe that. I really did. But hope’s a dangerous drug. And right now, I was going through withdrawal.
After school, I sat in the locker room long after the final bell. Everyone else left. I stayed. Stared at the dented metal, the peeling paint, the silence. It matched me. Hollow.
That’s where Ezra found me again.
“Noah?”
I wiped my face fast. “Don’t.”
He didn’t flinch. Just walked over, sat beside me like the seat had his name on it. “Still nothing?”
I shook my head.
Ezra leaned back against the wall. “He’ll text.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then he’s dumber than I thought.”
The quiet stretched between us, heavy but bearable. He bumped his shoulder into mine. “You deserve better. Just saying.”
“I know,” I whispered.
But I still wanted him.
That night, I curled under the covers with my phone pressed to my chest like a lifeline. My eyes burned from checking it every five minutes. Still nothing.
Until—
Buzz.
I didn’t even breathe as I read it.
Luca: We need to talk.