THE THINGS HE DID NOT SAY
842 Words
The next Wednesday, Leila arrived on time.
It felt strange to Jayden—how something so simple, so ordinary, could make his chest feel lighter. Like her being there, without delay or doubt, was enough to stitch something steady inside him.
She slid into her usual seat, his spare hoodie still clinging to her shoulders like it belonged there now. She was holding two cups this time—both chai.
“For you,” she said, setting one in front of him.
Jayden raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You’re learning.”
“I figured you’d wait either way,” she shrugged, but the edge of her mouth pulled into a smirk. “Might as well save you the trouble.”
Jayden sipped his chai slowly, the warmth settling into his bones. He’d been cold all morning and couldn’t figure out why until now.
“Been thinking about you,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on his cup.
Leila’s smirk softened. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The café was quieter today. No rain, no music. Just the occasional hum of conversation and the clink of cups on saucers.
She studied him carefully. “What have you been thinking?”
Jayden twirled his pencil between his fingers. He’d drawn her so many times now—her laugh, her hands, her silhouette by the window. But not this version of her. This version that stayed.
“Been thinking…” He paused. “You always ask me things, but you don’t know much about me.”
Leila leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “That’s true. You’re very good at listening. Not so good at talking.”
“Maybe I don’t like the sound of my own story.”
“Try me.”
Jayden hesitated, his thumb grazing the corner of his sketchpad.
Could he tell her?
Would she stay if she knew?
“I used to draw with my mum,” he said finally, voice low. “She’s the reason I started.”
Leila’s gaze softened, but she didn’t interrupt.
“She was… amazing,” Jayden continued, his words slow, deliberate, like walking on ice that might c***k. “She could draw anything. She told me art was a way of keeping things alive. That people, moments, feelings—they could live forever in your sketches.”
Leila’s breath caught, sensing where this was going.
“She passed away three years ago,” Jayden said, his throat tightening around the words. “Cancer.”
A soft exhale. The weight of it settling between them.
Jayden traced the rim of his cup. “I stopped drawing for months. Couldn’t even hold a pencil without… breaking. Felt like every page I touched would just remind me she wasn’t here.”
Leila’s fingers crept across the table, brushing gently against his. A quiet offer.
I’m here. Keep going.
“I told myself I didn’t need it anymore. That life would just… move on without the sketches. Without her.”
His voice wavered.
“But then one day, I walked into this café, sat by this window, and watched the rain. And I don’t know why… but I started drawing again. I didn’t plan to. My hand just… moved.”
Leila’s thumb circled softly over his knuckles. “Maybe you needed to remember something.”
Jayden swallowed thickly. “Maybe.”
A pause.
“Or maybe,” Leila whispered, “you needed to save something from fading.”
Jayden met her eyes. The ache in his chest softened just a little.
“You’re not the only one who’s scared of staying,” he said quietly. “I don’t get close to people. I don’t know how to carry them. Or… how to be carried.”
Leila’s lips parted, surprised by the honesty, by the mirror he was holding up to her.
“We’re the same,” she said, almost in awe. “Different scars. Same running.”
He gave a small nod. “Maybe that’s why you didn’t scare me.”
“Good.” Her voice was steady now. “Because I’m not planning to leave.”
Something settled between them then. Not a promise. Not something loud or permanent. But something like a first step. Like choosing, slowly, to stop running.
Jayden flipped open his sketchpad, pencil poised.
“Stay,” he said.
Leila blinked. “I’m sitting right here.”
“No, I mean—stay still.”
She laughed softly but obeyed, her chin resting on her palm again.
He started sketching her as she was now—head tilted, soft smile, eyes a little less guarded. A version of her that hadn’t existed before.
“You’re not going to make me look like a superhero, are you?” she teased.
Jayden grinned. “No. Just real.”
“Real’s messy.”
“Real’s worth it.”
Their eyes met. And this time, they didn’t look away.
The rain didn’t come that day. Maybe it didn’t need to.
Because this time, they didn’t need the weather to give them a reason to stay.
- Writer
