Chapter Nine- Almost
377 Words
Almost is a place that haunts.
It is where everything meaningful pauses, trembling.
Where truth hovers close enough to be felt, but never close enough to be held.
They lived there for a while.
Not intentionally. Not recklessly.
They arrived there the way people arrive at dusk without noticing the light had changed.
Moments gathered between them, fragile and electric, unfinished by design. A glance held half a second too long before being withdrawn. A laugh that lingered after the joke had ended, searching for somewhere else to land. A silence that thickened unexpectedly, heavy with everything they refused to say.
Sometimes their eyes met and neither looked away immediately.
In those moments, the world narrowed. Sound softened. Time seemed unsure of itself, as if it were waiting for permission to move on. He became aware of his own breathing, the way his chest rose too quickly, the way his hands forgot what to do with themselves.
He felt it most strongly then.
Ṣé o rí i?
Do you see it too?
His heart leaned forward, hopeful in spite of discipline. For a breath just a breath he wondered if she felt the same tightening, the same pull toward truth. If she sensed the question hanging between them, fragile and dangerous.
There were moments when it felt possible.
When her gaze softened instead of retreating.
When silence stretched long enough to feel intentional.
But almost always, one of them moved.
She shifted her weight.
He cleared his throat.
Someone spoke about something small, something safe, something that returned them to themselves.
And the moment dissolved.
Má ṣe.
Don’t,
he warned himself each time.
Not because he didn’t want her.
But because wanting her did not give him the right to reach.
Almost contained everything that could have been every confession rehearsed and abandoned, every future imagined and undone, every life that would never be lived.
And nothing that ever was.
That was the cruelty of it.
And the mercy.
Because almost allowed them to feel without breaking anything.
To stand close without crossing.
To leave each moment intact, even if it left him aching.
Some people never leave almost.
They simply learn how to live there carefully, quietly until the haunting becomes familiar enough to call home.
- Writer
