If He Never Looked My Way

Dora’s Point of View

The flight to Shanghai was quiet, but my mind was not.

I didn’t cry—not in public. Not while walking through the airport with my phone gripped like it might suddenly buzz with a message that said, “It’s not what it looked like.” Not even when the seatbelt sign lit up and the plane took off, dragging my body one way and my heart another.

But the moment the hotel room door clicked shut behind me, I sat on the bed and dissolved.

My knees curled to my chest, my chest curled to my knees, and I folded into grief like I had rehearsed it a thousand times.

Because isn’t that what heartbreak is?

And I was feeling all sought of things.

A performance no one ever sees.

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I didn't open his texts. I didn’t block him either. That would’ve been too final. Too loud. I needed the silence.