Chapter 38: When Silence Speaks
Adrian didn't sleep again after reading the letter.
He held it for a long time, tracing the lines of Evelyn's handwriting as if the shape of her words could somehow explain the space that had grown between them. She busied herself with making tea, not because either of them needed it, but because she didn't know what else to do with her hands.
Neither of them spoke.
But the silence wasn't heavy this time. It wasn't sharp or angry or thick with things left unsaid. It was gentle. Careful. Like both were afraid of breaking something that was still being rebuilt.
When Evelyn finally sat beside him, he was staring out the window, the letter folded neatly in his hand.
"I don't know how to reply to this," he said, not looking at her.
"You don't have to," she answered.
He looked at her then. "But I want to."
She smiled faintly. "Then just talk to me. Not with letters. Just… talk."
There was a long pause.
"I kept your first note," he said. "The one you left on the piano at the studio."
Evelyn blinked. "That was years ago."
"I know. I folded it into my wallet. It's still there. I couldn't throw it away."
She looked at him carefully, uncertain whether to feel sad or softened. Maybe a little of both.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she asked.
"I was scared," he admitted. "Of the way you saw me. Of not living up to the version of myself you believed in."
"I never needed perfect," she whispered. "Just honest."
He lowered his gaze, ashamed. "Then I failed you."
She hesitated. "Maybe. But I failed too. I expected you to always understand me without asking for it. I thought you'd just... know."
They sat in silence again, but now it was different. Reflective. Real.
Evelyn turned toward him. "So what now?"
Adrian met her eyes. "I don't know. But maybe we can stop writing letters to the versions of each other we remember. And start talking to the ones we're becoming."
A pause, then a slow smile broke across Evelyn's face.
"You always were better at conclusions."
"And you," he said, nudging her shoulder, "always had the best beginnings."
For the first time in a long time, they laughed. It wasn't loud. It wasn't wild. It was the kind that filled a room and made it feel like home again.
And maybe—just maybe—that was a beginning worth choosing.