After 7 Months Of No

Susan shuffled down the narrow corridor of the college hostel, her bag swinging lightly against her hip. The evening air was warm, carrying faint scents of fried plantain and damp clothes from the floors above. She had just returned from a long day of lectures, group discussions, and library sessions, craving nothing more than a quiet corner where she could sit, sip her tea, and forget the world for a little while. As she turned the corner near the common room, her eyes caught a familiar figure sitting on one of the wooden benches. For a moment, she froze, certain her mind was playing tricks on her. But no—it was *Trust*, her hostel mate from the opposite wing. He looked just as calm and composed as she remembered, his posture relaxed, yet there was an unspoken intensity in his gaze. Susan felt her heart skip a beat. Seven months had passed since they had last exchanged more than a casual greeting. Those seven months of “no”—no messages, no calls, no private conversations—had kept them in separate worlds, yet strangely, she had always been aware of him. Their interactions had always been limited: a shy smile in passing, brief laughter during group gatherings, or casual comments when mutual friends were around. They had never exchanged numbers, never shared secrets, never even sat down to talk alone. And now, seeing him here, in their hostel, it felt like the universe had thrown them back together, just to test their patience. Trust’s eyes lifted as she approached. There was a flicker of recognition, subtle but unmistakable. He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Hey, Susan,” he said softly, his voice calm yet carrying something unspoken, something that made her stomach flutter. “Hey,” she replied, her voice catching slightly. She had expected a casual greeting, but this felt heavier, loaded with memories and unsaid words. Her mind raced with flashes of their few shared moments—the times he had cracked a joke in their group discussions, the way his eyes would find hers even in a crowd, the subtle warmth she felt when he laughed at something she said. For a moment, they just stood there, two hostel mates who had shared the same roof yet had never truly known each other. Around them, the corridor buzzed with life. Students walked by, chatting, laughing, carrying trays of snacks or books. Yet for Susan and Trust, it was as if the world had slowed, leaving only the two of them suspended in time. Finally, Susan found her voice. “You’re back from class early?” she asked, trying to sound casual while her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her bag. Trust leaned back against the bench, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Yeah. Finished early. Thought I’d come down here… maybe catch a bit of the evening before it gets too late.” She nodded, though her mind was spinning. Why now? Why here? Seven months of silence, and now they were in the same space, and every unspoken feeling seemed to rush back with the force of a tidal wave. A comfortable silence settled over them for a few seconds. Neither wanted to break it, nor did they know how. Susan felt the pull of familiarity and the sting of distance all at once. Trust’s presence was calming, yet it made her restless. She couldn’t stop noticing the small things—the way his hair fell slightly over his forehead, the soft curve of his smile, the confident way he sat, hands loosely clasped together. “You… you’ve changed,” she finally said, half-teasing, half-serious. Trust raised an eyebrow, a small smirk forming. “Oh? How so?” “Umm…” She paused, unsure how to explain the subtle shift she felt in him. “I don’t know… you just… seem different. More… I don’t know, confident maybe?” She laughed lightly, hoping to ease the tension she felt in her chest. Trust chuckled softly, that deep, warm sound that had always made her heart flutter. “I guess… time changes people,” he said simply, his eyes meeting hers for a fleeting moment. There it was again—that silent conversation through glances, the unspoken acknowledgment of seven months of distance, of “no,” of missed chances. Susan felt heat rise to her cheeks. She looked away, pretending to check her phone, though her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She caught a glimpse of his smile lingering just for her before he looked down at his notebook, pretending to be busy. Memories of the past—fleeting moments of laughter in small group gatherings, quiet smiles exchanged during hostel activities, the way he had always seemed aware of her presence—flooded her mind. Seven months of no communication, yet it felt like nothing had changed. The spark was still there, subtle but unmistakable. “You… still remember that debate we had in Prof. Williams’ class?” Trust asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Susan blinked, surprised by the change of topic. “Oh, um… yeah, I do. You were impossible to argue with,” she teased, a small laugh escaping. He grinned, that confident, knowing smile. “Impossible? Maybe. Or maybe I just knew when to listen,” he said softly, his tone carrying a warmth that made Susan’s heart skip again. For a few moments, they talked—small things, trivial observations, the way they always had in group gatherings—but every word, every glance, seemed to carry more weight. Around them, the hostel continued its usual hum of life, but Susan and Trust existed in a bubble, where seven months of distance and unspoken feelings pressed close, reminding them both of what had always lingered beneath the surface. As the evening deepened, Susan knew one thing for certain: this simple meeting, a few words exchanged in passing, had already started to unravel the walls they had both built. Seven months of “no” was coming to an end—slowly, subtly, in ways they couldn’t yet predict. And somewhere deep inside, she felt a flutter of anticipation for what was coming next The 7 months of No why??