Unspoken Words

The days blurred into a quiet rhythm, each one marked by the soft patter of rain against Amara's window. It no longer felt oppressive—just there, a steady hum in the background of her life. A month ago, she would have resented the rain's unrelenting weight on her mood, the way it seemed to press against her world, persistent and unshakable. Now, she wasn't so sure.

Maybe it was because of the bookstore. Maybe it was because of Noah.

She told herself it was nothing—a casual friendship, a convenient routine. But deep down, she knew better.

She could still hear echoes of a voice from years ago, sharp as thunder. "Why do you always go silent?" her ex had snapped at her once, rain dripping from his jacket. "Just say something, damn it." The weight of that moment had settled deep in her bones, teaching her that silence wasn't safe. That letting someone in only led to disappointment.

And yet, Noah had become an unspoken presence in her life, steady as the city's pulse. He didn't demand anything. Didn't push. He just… showed up. And that both unnerved and warmed her.

That evening, after a long, stifling day at Hawthorne & Finch—deadlines piling up like storm clouds—she needed air. Needed space.

The rain had eased into a fine mist as she stepped outside, the chill brushing against her skin. But for once, it didn't feel heavy. It didn't feel like something she had to run from.

She didn't head home. Instead, she found herself drifting toward the bookstore.

The bell above the door chimed softly as she entered, the familiar scent of old pages and warm oak wrapping around her. The glow of the overhead lamps stretched golden across the floorboards, casting long, gentle shadows. It was quieter than usual—just a few patrons scattered between the aisles, the muffled shuffling of pages the only sound apart from the rain tapping against the windowpanes.

And there he was.

Noah stood in the fiction section, flipping through a book, his head tilted slightly in thought. His dark sweater clung to his frame, still slightly damp from the mist outside. He looked at home there, as if he belonged anywhere.

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping closer. "You always show up when I need an escape," she mused, setting her bag down near a display of hardcovers.

Noah glanced up, his smirk easy. "Maybe I'm just good at reading signs."

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Or maybe you just have a talent for finding people when they least expect it."

He closed the book, dark eyes studying her. "Rough day?"

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "You could say that. Deadlines, revisions—nothing new, but it's… heavy."

He didn't ask for details. Didn't pry. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, then turned, walking toward the poetry section without another word. She hesitated before following, something unspoken settling between them.

Noah ran his fingers over the spines before pulling out a slim, well-worn volume. The cover was creased, the pages soft with use.

Then, he started reading.

His voice, low and steady, filled the space between them, threading through the silence with words about rain-drenched streets and quiet resolve.

She didn't move. Just listened.

The rhythm of his voice washed over her, slow and unhurried, like the rain outside. Each word settled in the air between them, sinking deep into her skin, as if they'd been chosen just for this moment.

She remembered him mentioning it once—over coffee, maybe—how Jasper had given him this same book during a grueling architecture project. How the words had steadied him when he'd felt lost.

Now, he was offering it to her.

And maybe that was the difference. Her ex had always wanted her to speak. Noah? He just wanted her to feel.

When he reached the end of the passage, he didn't close the book. He just held it, waiting. No expectation. No pressure.

She reached for it, fingers brushing against his as she turned the page.

Then, she read.

Her voice, softer than his, carried the verses into the air. At first, the words felt foreign on her tongue, but as she continued, she let herself sink into them. The rain outside had softened to a faint drizzle, barely more than a whisper against the glass.

They stood there, trading lines back and forth, the shop's golden glow cocooning them in warmth.

The silence between readings wasn't empty—it was full.

Full of understanding. Full of something unspoken, something she wasn't ready to name.

By the time they closed the book, something inside her had shifted. The exhaustion from the day hadn't disappeared, but it no longer pressed down on her the way it had before.

Noah's gaze lingered, steady and certain. "Better?" he asked.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah. Better."

Neither of them moved right away. The bookstore was still, quiet except for the occasional rustling of pages from another aisle.

The rain outside had started up again, soft and rhythmic.

Its rhythm settled into her chest, no longer a weight but something alive—a beginning.