Nora

He was different today. Not dramatically. Not obviously. But something was.. off.

Less sharp around the edges. Less guarded.

It wasn’t the way he looked, he always looked the same, tired, serious, like he’d rather be anywhere else.

It was in the way he spoke. The fact that he did speak.

“Morning,” he’d said.

Just one word. But it felt heavier than it should’ve. Like he had to talk himself into saying it. Like he was trying.

That was the weird part.

Why was he trying at all?

He didn’t owe me anything.

We weren’t friends.  

We weren’t anything.

I sat on the edge of my bed, turning the cup in my hands like it might offer answers if I stared long enough.

There was no reason for my heart to beat faster when I thought about him. No reason for me to notice the way his voice dropped a little when he spoke. The way he looked at me like he wanted to say more, but didn’t know how.

And maybe that’s what bothered me the most.

Because if he was pretending, he was doing a good job. But if he wasn’t… That was worse. Because then I’d have to admit that I didn’t want him to mean it. Because if he meant it, I’d have to feel something. And I wasn’t ready for that. I wasn’t ready to hope.

I’d spent so long convincing myself I didn’t need anyone. That I could handle things on my own.

But he was making it hard to believe that now.

Even his silence felt different. Less dismissive. More like he was holding back things he didn’t know how to say. And I hated the way that made me curious.

I got up, paced the room, opened and closed the closet door like it would do something other than creak in protest.

I shouldn’t be thinking about him.

He wasn’t kind. Not really. He wasn’t soft. He didn’t smile when he passed me in the hall.

But he looked.

Like I was something he was trying not to want and I didn’t know what to do with that.