Chapter 16 – The Language of Almost
David had never realized how loud silence could be until Amelia stopped talking to him.
She was still there, technically. Still in class. Still showing up to rehearsals. Still doing her part when Ms. Parker assigned them scenes.
But she wasn't there.
Not with him.
Not in the way she used to be.
The space between them had become this invisible wall—thin enough to see through, thick enough to bruise yourself if you reached for her.
He wanted to apologize. God, he did.
But every time he tried to say something, his chest locked up. Because he hadn't just violated her trust—he'd stolen something sacred.
And how do you say sorry for that?
How do you look someone in the eye after you cracked them open and say, "I didn't mean to bleed you"?
So he didn't speak.
Instead, he watched.
Carefully. Quietly.
The way her shoulders tensed when he stepped into the room. The way her eyes skipped over him in roll call. The way her laugh—real, full-bodied, warm—never made an appearance anymore.
He hadn't just betrayed her.
He'd taken her smile.
And that felt worse than anything.
---
Ms. Parker gave them a scene to work on. Something quiet. Something internal. A two-person piece with barely any dialogue. It was about two people sitting at a bus stop—one holding onto a secret, the other trying to forget one.
David didn't need to ask who was who.
She gave him the script at the end of class with a look that said, Don't screw this up.
He nodded.
---
That evening, David sat on the edge of his bed, the script in one hand, a pen in the other, his journal lying open beside him like a silent witness.
The lines blurred together.
It wasn't hard to relate to the character. A boy who wanted to say something but kept swallowing it. A boy who waited for someone who didn't know if she wanted to stay.
He scribbled a note at the top of the page.
> "Do not fix her.
Just sit next to her until she stops shaking."
He didn't know if that was what Amelia needed, but it was what he wanted to offer.
The next day in drama class, he tried something small.
A peace offering.
He left a folded paper in her locker. No name. Just four words in messy ink.
> "I read your smile."
He didn't know if she'd read it. Didn't even know if she'd recognize the handwriting. But it felt better than pretending nothing had happened.
During rehearsal, she didn't speak to him.
But she didn't walk away either.
Progress, in inches.
---
At home, Amelia stared at the note.
She'd found it stuffed between her books like it was scared of being found. She knew the handwriting. It wasn't perfectly neat like hers. It slanted slightly to the right, like the words were leaning forward, eager, unsure.
It was David's.
And it hurt.
But not in the way it did last week.
It wasn't anger anymore. It was... weight. A kind of heavy tenderness. Like the ache of pressing on a bruise and knowing it was healing because it stung less.
She placed the note in her journal. Pressed it flat. Didn't write anything underneath it.
She just stared at it and whispered, "Me too."
---
When they ran the scene for the first time, Ms. Parker didn't direct them.
She just watched.
The room was silent. No music. No background. Just David sitting on the far end of the bench and Amelia sitting on the other, both holding invisible burdens and saying nothing.
At first, it felt too real.
Too raw.
But somewhere between line three and four, something shifted.
David glanced at her like he was asking a question without asking.
And she looked back.
Not with forgiveness.
Not yet.
But with softness.
He said his line—"I'm not good at talking."
She answered without looking at him—"Then sit here quietly until I believe you mean it."
The class was silent. Breathless.
Ms. Parker didn't clap when it ended.
She didn't need to.
Some scenes deserve silence.
---
After school, David waited by the courtyard steps. He wasn't sure why. Maybe he hoped she'd pass by. Maybe he just wanted to say "hey" without it meaning something else.
She saw him.
Slowed.
Paused.
He stood up, awkwardly brushing his hair back.
"Hey," he said.
She didn't answer.
But she didn't walk away either.
She sat down next to him, a few inches of space between them.
They didn't talk.
Didn't need to.
The wind did the speaking for them, brushing past the trees, whispering over the concrete. Students passed by in clusters, laughing and teasing and living.
And the two of them just… sat.
"I'm not gonna ask if you're okay," David said finally. "Because I know that's a dumb question."
Amelia smiled, faint. "It's not dumb."
He looked at her. "Still not gonna ask."
She tilted her head, eyes tired but clearer. "Thanks."
Then she stood up, brushing off her skirt. For a moment, David thought that was it—that the wall would go back up and this little pause would disappear into nothing.
But before she turned to leave, she said, "I don't hate you, you know."
His breath caught.
"I thought I did. For a second," she added, "but I think I just… hated that it was real."
He didn't ask what "it" meant.
She didn't explain.
They weren't ready for that.
But this?
This was something.
---
That night, Amelia pulled out her journal and began to write.
> *Today, I forgave a boy.
Not because he earned it.
But because he saw me broken and didn't flinch.
And maybe that's enough.*
She slept with the window cracked, the cold brushing her skin like a whisper of something beginning again...
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Author here...Please tell me what you all think about the story so far...am confused.....am i doing good or what...lemme know in the comments