Episode 6: The Things We Don’t Say
1974 Words
I didn’t plan to stay that long.
That was the first lie.
The second was telling myself I could still keep this… whatever this was… under control.
Because somewhere between vending machine failures and quiet conversations in a hospital hallway, something had already shifted.
And I didn’t know how to go back.
—
It was past midnight.
The hospital had that strange kind of silence—the one that wasn’t really quiet, just… softer. Like everything was trying not to make things worse.
Aidan and I were sitting side by side again, our shoulders almost touching, both staring at nothing in particular.
He exhaled slowly.
“You ever notice how time moves weird in places like this?”
I glanced at him.
“Weird how?”
“Like…” he gestured vaguely, “five minutes feels like an hour, but somehow the whole day disappears.”
I nodded.
“Yeah. It’s like your brain doesn’t know what to do with waiting.”
He looked at me.
“You’re good at explaining things.”
“I overthink things,” I corrected.
“Same difference.”
I huffed a small laugh.
Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt… shared.
Then he suddenly leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“Okay, serious question.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That’s always dangerous.”
“If you were a terrible hospital snack, what would you be?”
I blinked.
“…What?”
“Important. Life-changing question.”
“You are in the middle of a crisis.”
“And yet, here I am, prioritizing the important things.”
I shook my head.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
I paused.
He looked at me like he already knew the answer.
“…Fine. I don’t,” I muttered.
He grinned.
“Progress.”
I crossed my arms.
“And for your information, I’d be… crackers.”
He gasped.
“Excuse me? That’s exactly what I got earlier. You’re insulting both of us.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s harsh.”
“You asked.”
He nodded like that was fair.
“Okay. I’d be instant coffee.”
I made a face.
“That’s worse.”
“Wow.”
“I’m just being honest.”
“I feel attacked.”
“You should.”
We both laughed softly.
And for a moment, it almost felt normal.
Like we weren’t in a hospital.
Like nothing was wrong.
Like this was just another random night where two people talked about nonsense to avoid everything that actually mattered.
But reality doesn’t disappear just because you ignore it.
A nurse walked past us again.
Aidan’s eyes followed her instinctively.
Always checking.
Always waiting.
I noticed.
“You can go in, you know,” I said gently.
He shook his head.
“They said she needs rest.”
“And you don’t?”
He gave a small, tired smile.
“I’ll survive.”
I studied him for a second.
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s usually true.”
“Usually,” I repeated.
He didn’t answer.
That silence said enough.
—
A few minutes passed before I spoke again.
“Are you scared?”
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He froze.
Just for a second.
Then he leaned back slowly.
“…Yeah.”
Not defensive.
Not pretending.
Just honest.
“I am.”
I nodded.
Because that was enough.
No need to fix it.
No need to make it lighter.
Sometimes people don’t need solutions.
They just need space to admit things.
He looked at me after a moment.
“Are you?”
I didn’t even think about it.
“Yes.”
He frowned slightly.
“Of what?”
I hesitated.
Because there were a lot of answers.
Too many.
But only one felt honest right now.
“This,” I said quietly.
He tilted his head.
“This?”
I gestured between us.
“This… whatever we’re doing.”
He went still.
The air shifted.
Not heavier.
Just more real.
“I knew it,” he said softly.
I frowned.
“You knew what?”
“That you’ve been thinking about it.”
“I always think about everything.”
“Exactly.”
I sighed.
“Don’t make this sound like a personality flaw.”
“It is,” he said lightly.
“Rude.”
“Accurate.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t look away.
Because this mattered.
More than I wanted it to.
“I just…” I paused, searching for words. “I don’t do this.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“Do what?”
“Let people in this easily.”
“You didn’t,” he said.
I blinked.
“What?”
“You didn’t let me in easily,” he continued. “You made me work for it.”
I scoffed.
“That’s not true.”
“Lia,” he smiled faintly, “you looked like you wanted to report me to the police the first time we met.”
“That’s because you were suspicious.”
“I’m still suspicious.”
I almost smiled.
But then I shook my head.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
I looked down at my hands.
“The point is… I don’t know where this is going.”
There.
Said it.
The thing I’d been avoiding.
He was quiet.
And for a second, I thought maybe I’d ruined everything.
Then—
“Me neither.”
I looked up.
He wasn’t panicking.
Wasn’t pulling away.
He just looked… calm.
Honest.
And that somehow made it worse.
“You’re okay with that?” I asked.
He shrugged lightly.
“I don’t think everything needs a direction right away.”
“That sounds like something people say before things fall apart.”
He smiled a little.
“That sounds like something someone says when they’re trying to prevent that.”
I crossed my arms.
“I like knowing what I’m getting into.”
“And I like figuring things out as I go.”
“Exactly,” I said. “That’s the problem.”
He studied me for a second.
Then his voice softened.
“Or maybe that’s the balance.”
I didn’t respond.
Because I didn’t know if he was right.
And that scared me.
—
Another silence.
But this one felt different.
Less safe.
More… aware.
Then he nudged my arm lightly.
“Hey.”
I looked at him.
“You’re overthinking again.”
“I’m always overthinking.”
“Yeah, but this one’s loud.”
I sighed.
“Can you blame me?”
“No,” he said quietly.
And just like that—
the tension eased.
Because he didn’t argue.
Didn’t dismiss it.
He just… understood.
And I was starting to realize how dangerous that was.
—
“Tell me something,” he said after a while.
I narrowed my eyes.
“That usually ends badly.”
“Trust me.”
“I don’t.”
“Fair.”
I waited.
He leaned back, looking at the ceiling.
“What do you want?”
I blinked.
“That’s vague.”
“No,” he said. “It’s simple. What do you actually want? Not what you planned. Not what people expect. Just… you.”
I stared at him.
Because no one asked that.
Not really.
People asked about goals.
Dream jobs.
Future plans.
But not—
what do you want?
I looked away.
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
“Okay.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“That’s enough.”
I frowned.
“You’re not going to push?”
He shook his head.
“You’ll figure it out.”
“And if I don’t?”
He looked at me.
“Then you’ll learn to.”
I swallowed.
Because for some reason, that felt like trust.
The kind I wasn’t used to receiving.
—
A doctor walked out of the room down the hall.
Aidan immediately stood up.
Instinct.
Hope.
Fear.
All at once.
“Excuse me,” he said, walking quickly.
I followed, a few steps behind.
They talked quietly.
I couldn’t hear everything.
But I saw his face.
The way it tightened.
The way his shoulders tensed.
The way he nodded like he was trying to stay strong.
When the doctor left, he stood there for a second.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Just… processing.
I walked up slowly.
“Aidan?”
He exhaled.
“They’re keeping her for observation.”
I waited.
“They said it’s serious,” he added quietly.
There it was.
The truth.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
I didn’t say anything right away.
Because what could I say?
There are no perfect words for that.
So instead—
I reached out.
And gently held his hand.
He froze.
Just like before.
But this time—
he didn’t pull away.
He held on.
Tighter than I expected.
And for a moment—
neither of us said anything.
Because we didn’t need to.
Some things are louder in silence.
—
After a while, he looked at me.
“Why are you still here?”
The question wasn’t harsh.
Just… confused.
Like he genuinely didn’t understand.
I met his eyes.
“Because you need someone.”
His grip tightened slightly.
“I didn’t ask.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
I took a breath.
Because this answer mattered.
“Because I wanted to stay.”
That was it.
No overthinking.
No hiding.
Just truth.
He stared at me for a long second.
Then—
“You’re dangerous.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you make it hard to pretend I’m okay.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
So I just smiled softly.
“You don’t have to pretend.”
He looked at me like that was both comforting and terrifying.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem.”
—
We sat back down after that.
Closer this time.
Not by accident.
Not by coincidence.
Just… naturally.
He rested his head back against the wall.
“You know what’s funny?”
“What?”
“A week ago, you barely tolerated me.”
“I still barely tolerate you.”
He smiled.
“Liar.”
“Maybe a little.”
“Progress,” he said again.
I shook my head.
“You say that like this is a project.”
“Everything is a project.”
“Spoken like a true overthinker.”
“Don’t turn this on me.”
“Too late.”
I smiled.
And he noticed.
Of course he did.
“You do that more now,” he said.
“What?”
“Smile.”
I looked away.
“It’s not that special.”
“It is to me.”
My heart did something stupid again.
And I hated that it was becoming a habit.
—
Hours passed.
Or maybe minutes.
I couldn’t tell anymore.
But at some point, my head started to feel heavy.
My thoughts slower.
My eyes tired.
And without realizing it—
I leaned slightly against him.
Just a little.
Just enough.
I froze.
He froze.
Neither of us moved.
Then slowly—
carefully—
he relaxed.
And stayed.
“Comfortable?” he asked softly.
“No,” I said immediately.
Pause.
“…Maybe.”
He laughed quietly.
“Honest.”
“Rare moment.”
“I’ll take it.”
We stayed like that.
Not speaking.
Just existing.
And for the first time in a long time—
I wasn’t thinking about the future.
Or the consequences.
Or what this meant.
I was just…
there.
With him.
And somehow—
that felt like enough.
—
Before I fell asleep, I heard him say something.
So soft I almost missed it.
“Stay,” he whispered.
And this time—
I didn’t hesitate.
I already had.
- Writer
