What We Never Said

Shadows of the Past

I woke up to the low sound of the AC. The room was a little cold, and I pulled the blanket tighter before reaching for my phone. I pressed the button, the screen lit up, and my chest sank when I saw no messages from Charles. Most mornings, he would send something. A simple “good morning” or even a meme, but today there was nothing.

I stayed there for a while, staring at the ceiling. The hum of the AC filled the silence. My heart felt heavier than it should have, all because of an empty notification bar. I told myself to stop overthinking. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he slept in.

Still, it bothered me.

After some minutes, I pushed myself out of bed and went straight to the bathroom. The shower water was warm, and I just stood there, letting it run down. I thought about him, about the way he laughs, about how different he sounds in person compared to when we text. The thoughts made me smile, then frown, then sigh.

When I came out, I wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at my face for a while. My eyes looked tired even though I had just woken up. I brushed my teeth, got dressed slowly, and picked out a yellow blouse and my faded jeans. Nothing special, but I wanted to feel comfortable. I tied my hair up, then let it down again, then finally pulled it back into a messy bun.

In the kitchen, mom was frying eggs. The smell made me hungrier than I thought I was. Dad sat at the table with his newspaper, glasses low on his nose, while Jesse scrolled on his phone with one hand and shoveled food with the other.

“Morning,” I said.

“Morning,” mom replied, already plating food for me. Dad nodded without looking up. Jesse grunted something that was probably “hi.”

I sat and started eating. The eggs were good, simple but filling. For a few minutes, it was just the quiet sounds of forks and spoons. Then dad looked up at me.

“So, Nana,” he said, folding his paper. “Have you made up your mind about college?”

I froze a little. “Not really. I’m still thinking.”

“You can’t think forever,” he said. “You need to choose something useful. Something that will give you a future.”

I swallowed my bread and said softly, “I want Fine Arts.”

Dad sighed. “Art is fine as a hobby. But you know it won’t give you stability.”

Mom turned from the stove. “Let her choose what makes her happy. She’s always loved drawing. Why should she throw that away?”

Dad shook his head. “Happiness doesn’t always pay the bills.”

The room went quiet. I stared at my plate, pushing the bread around.

Jesse looked up from his phone and smirked. “Don’t worry, Nana. If art fails, you can work for me. I’ll make you my personal assistant. You can carry my books to class.”

Everyone laughed, even mom. I smiled a little too, but it didn’t reach my chest.

The conversation moved on, but my mind stayed stuck. I wished I could ask Charles what he thought. Somehow, I felt like he would get it.

The rest of the day dragged. I cleaned my room, flipped through my sketchbook, and checked my phone more times than I want to admit. By evening, I was lying on my bed when I heard a knock at the door.

My heart jumped.

Charles.

I heard him greeting my parents before heading into the parlor with Jesse. I followed, pretending to read a book. I sat quietly in the corner while they talked and laughed. I laughed sometimes too, but mostly just at the sound of his voice.

Then Jesse’s phone rang. He stood up quickly. “I need to meet a classmate. I’ll be back later.” He grabbed his bag and left.

Now it was just me and Charles.

The parlor felt too quiet, except for the steady hum of the AC. I could feel my palms sweating even though it wasn’t hot. I lowered my eyes to the book, though I hadn’t read a single word.

“You’re quiet,” Charles said. His tone was light, almost teasing.

“I’m always quiet,” I replied.

“Not when we text.” He smiled a little. “You talk more there.”

I bit my lip. “Maybe it’s easier that way.”

He leaned back, looking at me. “Maybe. But I like hearing your voice too.”

I didn’t know what to say. My heart thumped loudly, but all I managed was a small laugh.

There was a pause. Then his face changed, more serious. “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“It’s about my ex.”

The word stung. I held my book tighter, but I nodded.

“Her name was Amara,” he said, looking down. “We were together for a year. She was… different. Loud, full of life, always pulling me into things I never thought I’d do. With her, everything felt exciting. When it ended, I told myself I’d never feel that again.”

He smiled faintly, but it wasn’t a happy smile.

I sat there, still, forcing myself not to react.

“But with you, Nana,” he continued, looking at me now, “it’s different. Not loud, not wild. It’s calmer. Softer. But it’s real. You make me feel something I thought I lost.”

My cheeks burned, my chest warm. But before I could reply, he added quietly, “Still… sometimes I feel like something’s missing. Like a part of me is still stuck back there. Maybe I’m just not fully over her. I don’t know.”

I swallowed hard and managed a small smile. “Maybe you just need time.”

“Maybe,” he said. His voice was low. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

We talked for almost an hour after that. Or rather, he talked, and I listened. He told me little stories about Amara—how she loved rooftops, how she made him climb one just to see the stars, how she always pushed him out of his comfort zone. He laughed as he remembered, but there was a shadow in his eyes that didn’t match the sound.

I nodded and smiled when I had to, but inside I was breaking in pieces I couldn’t show.

At one point, he looked at me. “What about you? Have you ever been in love before?”

I shook my head. “Not really. Not the way people mean it.”

“So this… this is your first time?”

I nodded, my throat dry.

He leaned forward slightly. “Then I should be careful with you.”

Those words stayed in my chest long after.

When he finally stood to leave, I walked him to the door.

“Thanks for listening,” he said.

“Anytime,” I whispered.

He gave me a small smile before stepping out.

I closed the door and leaned against it, my heart heavy.

That night, lying in bed, the AC hummed the same steady sound as always. My phone stayed dark beside me. No message, no “goodnight.” Just silence.

And in that silence, I asked myself a question I didn’t want the answer to: what if I was holding onto someone who still belonged to his past?