The Pause Between Words
A vignette from my writing desk
She didn’t answer right away.
Her fingers tightened around the rim of the mug, heat seeping into her palms long after the tea had stopped steaming. Across the table, he waited. Not impatiently, not pushing, but just still enough to make the silence noticeable.
The kitchen clock ticked. Once. Then twice.
She stared at the thin crack in the tile by the sink, the one she’d meant to fix months ago. It felt safer than looking at him. Safer than saying the thing that had been pressing against her ribs since he asked.
It wasn’t that she didn’t know what to say. It was that saying it would change the shape of the room.
She’d learned, the hard way, that some words couldn’t be taken back. They didn’t dissolve once spoken. They stayed…rearranging conversations and often times redefining what came next.
Her thumb traced the faint chip in the mug’s glaze. A nervous habit… more like a stalling tactic.
He shifted slightly in his chair, the soft scrape of wood against tile breaking the quiet just enough to remind her this moment wasn’t happening inside her head alone.
She inhaled, slow and deliberate. This time, she wouldn’t rush toward comfort.
Wouldn’t soften the truth to make it easier to receive. Wouldn’t trade honesty for peace she didn’t actually have.
She lifted her eyes.
And in the space before the first word left her mouth, everything still felt possible.
Some moments don’t ask to be resolved.