TEA AND SHADOWS
533 Words
The water in the kettle took forever to heat over the tiny gas flame.
Sofia leaned against the counter, watching the candlelight dance across Ethan’s face. He was standing near the far wall, his hands in his pockets, looking at one of her paintings.
His eyes didn’t just glance over it. They traced each line slowly — the way someone reads a letter they’re not sure they’re ready to finish.
“That one’s called The Street That Waited,” she said, breaking the silence.
His head turned slightly toward her. “Why?”
“Because it’s from a place I used to stand. Every day after school, I’d wait for someone there.”
“Did they ever come?”
Her fingers curled tighter around the counter edge. “No.”
He didn’t speak. The kettle whistled softly, saving her from the weight of his silence. She turned away, pouring hot water into two cups, watching the steam curl like smoke into the air.
She added tea bags, the string and paper tags swaying gently as they soaked. The smell of peppermint filled the space.
Carrying the cups to the table, she placed one in front of him. His hands wrapped around it instantly, as though he’d been waiting for warmth.
The rain kept tapping against the window, steady and endless.
“You live alone?” His voice was quiet, but it still cut through the sound of the rain.
“Yeah,” she replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. “My sister used to stay here, but she moved out last year.”
He nodded slowly. “It’s not easy… being alone in the dark.”
Something in the way he said it made her pause. The flicker of candlelight caught in his eyes, and for a moment, he wasn’t in her kitchen — he was somewhere far away, in a place that hurt.
“Have you been alone in the dark?” she asked softly.
His gaze stayed locked on the tea. “Too many times.”
Her chest tightened, but she didn’t push. She could feel the walls he had around him — high, thick, and carefully built.
She took a slow sip of tea. “Well,” she said, trying to lighten the mood, “if the rain keeps going, you might be stuck with me for a while.”
That brought the smallest lift to his lips, almost a smile. “I could think of worse things.”
The warmth that spread through her chest had nothing to do with the tea.
They stayed there for a while, talking about little things — her favorite books, the old records stacked in the corner, the plant she kept forgetting to water. He didn’t say much about himself, but every now and then, his eyes softened in a way that made her want to know everything.
When the candle burned low, she noticed him glance toward the window, his expression shifting.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing,” he replied, but his jaw tightened before he looked back at her.
And in that moment, she knew—whatever shadows followed him, they weren’t just in his head.
- Writer
