SAYING IT WITHOUT SAYING IT
829 Words
Chapter 6 – Say It Without Saying It
Kaira told herself she was done caring.
She told herself this as she braided her hair that morning, as she ignored three notifications from Selena asking if she was okay, and again as she walked into school wearing a navy sweatshirt two sizes too big, sleeves covering her hands like armor.
She wasn’t going to bring it up again. Zion could do whatever he wanted. Tasha could twirl around him all she liked. Kaira was over it.
That was the lie she fed herself on repeat.
But when she walked into the media room for another campaign shoot and saw Zion already there, leaned against the desk, spinning a basketball on his finger like everything was normal—her chest tightened anyway.
He looked up. His face didn’t shift, not even a flicker of recognition. “Hey.”
Kaira shrugged and walked past him, barely making eye contact. “Hi.”
That’s all. Just one syllable. Not cold. Not friendly. Just… distant.
She hoped he would notice the difference.
Zion turned back to the equipment bag, his tone too casual. “Ms. Rivera said we need to refilm the intro. Some admin lady didn’t like the lighting.”
Kaira nodded, eyes on the camcorder. “Okay.”
He glanced at her. “You good?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She said it too quickly. Too lightly.
Zion raised an eyebrow, sensing something off. “No reason. You just seem… I don’t know. Kinda off.”
“I’m fine.” She fiddled with the tripod knob, trying not to fumble. “Just tired.”
Zion watched her. Quietly. Almost suspiciously.
Kaira didn’t look up. She couldn’t.
She wanted him to ask. Not just the polite “you good?” But the real kind. The one that dug deeper. The one that admitted something had changed. She wanted him to say, “I know I hurt you, and I want to explain.”
But all he said was, “Cool.”
Cool.
That word hit her harder than she expected. It was like watching a door close in slow motion—and realizing he wasn’t even looking back to see if she was still on the other side.
Zion turned toward the table, organizing scripts. “So we still doing your part first?”
Kaira’s lips tightened. “Sure.”
She could feel his eyes on her now. Like he knew she was holding something back. Like he was waiting for her to say it out loud. Why are you pretending nothing happened? Why did you bring her? Why didn't you care?
But she wouldn’t.
Her pride had built a new wall overnight—and she was clutching it like a shield.
Zion leaned on the desk beside her, the distance between them suddenly feeling like inches instead of miles. “You’ve been weird since yesterday. Did I do something?”
Kaira didn’t move.
“I mean,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “I don’t get what changed. One minute we’re good, and the next you’re talking to me like I stole your cat or something.”
She let out a laugh. It wasn’t warm. “That’s funny.”
He frowned. “What is?”
“You really don’t know.”
Zion stared at her for a beat. “I don’t.”
Kaira looked away.
Her face said everything she refused to voice. Her eyes shimmered with something unspoken, sharp and fragile all at once. She bit her lower lip like it might stop the truth from falling out.
But Zion—blind, proud, and a little too self-assured—didn’t take the hint.
Instead, he scoffed. “Okay. Cool. If you’re not gonna tell me, I guess it’s not that deep.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Right. Not that deep.”
And that was it. The second rejection.
He turned back to the lights and wires, like they mattered more than her heart silently shattering right behind him.
They filmed her part in near silence. Kaira nailed every line, voice steady, eyes clear—but beneath the surface, she was drowning. Every glance she threw in his direction was a plea he refused to read.
And the worst part?
He still made her laugh once. Just once. A joke about the school mascot’s creepy smile. She cracked, just barely, and hated herself for it. Because even now—especially now—Zion still had a piece of her she hadn’t meant to give.
When they wrapped, he offered to carry the tripod to the storage room. She waved him off.
“I got it.”
“You sure?” he asked, like nothing was wrong.
“Yeah.”
She didn’t look back when she left.
But if she had, she might’ve seen him standing there, still frowning—still confused. Still not understanding why silence could hurt more than words ever could.
- Writer
