Chapter three:The soft boy and the silence
412 Words
The scarf was still in the passenger seat.
Liam hadn’t moved it — not since he dropped her off the night before. It lay there like a memory, still holding the warmth of her. A piece of her left behind, intentionally or not, and somehow, it felt too personal to touch again.
He sat in his parked car outside his apartment, watching the sky change from grey to gold through the windshield. The morning sun warmed the city slowly, painting the brick buildings in soft light. But Liam didn’t move.
He was still thinking about her.
About the way she’d said her name — Maya — like it meant something more than just a word. About the way she looked at the world, like she was waiting to fall in love with it again. About the way she listened — really listened — when he spoke, like every word mattered.
He didn’t know her well. Not yet.
But it didn’t matter.
Something had shifted inside him last night. Something he couldn’t explain.
She had smiled at him like they’d known each other in another life.
He picked up his phone and opened her contact. Just Maya, saved with a leaf emoji because she’d talked about how autumn made her feel like herself. He hovered over the message box, thumbs tapping the screen without pressing send.
Did you sleep okay?
Delete.
You left your scarf. Want to grab it today?
Too forward.
He sighed, then finally typed:
Hey. I think your scarf’s still in my car.
Simple. Honest.
He hit send and stared at the screen, half-expecting the “typing…” bubble to appear right away.
It didn’t.
Liam leaned his head back against the seat, closed his eyes, and let the silence stretch. He wasn’t used to this — the waiting, the not-knowing. Usually, his world was measured in quiet routines, not impulsive conversations or shared chai lattes.
But something about Maya had made him say things he wouldn’t normally say. Ask questions he wouldn’t normally ask.
Feel things he wasn’t prepared to feel.
He looked down at the scarf one more time, ran his fingers along its edge, and smiled to himself.
Even if she never texted back, even if she never spoke to him again, last night had been enough to wake something up in him. Something soft. Something real.
And Liam wasn’t sure if he wanted to go back to who he’d been before she walked into that bookstore.
- Writer
