"You're Like My Brother."

The car's silent. The kind of silence that wraps around you like a thick fog, pressing down on every word you don't say. I don't think Noah wants to know. Maybe he doesn't even care. But what if he does?

I shift in the seat, feeling my chest tighten. I can't tell if I'm waiting for him to ask or if I'm just torturing myself over whether he will.

Finally, I glance at him, my voice tentative. "Don't you want to ask who she is?"

He gives me a quick glance, barely a shift in his gaze, before his eyes snap back to the road. "No."

It's such a simple answer, but it feels heavy.

I don't know why, but a little knot forms in my stomach. I guess I'm disappointed. He's never been like this before. Noah's always been the one to ask questions, to listen, to care. So why is he pulling away now?

Maybe he just doesn't care enough to ask, I think bitterly.

"Right," I mumble, looking out the window, trying to avoid the tightness creeping up my throat.