UNSAID YET FELT

The April 11

By Tate :

I remember that morning vividly, though it started like any other. There was no hint that it would be the kind of day I'd hold onto long after it ended. I woke up early, as we’d planned, the excitement buzzing quietly in my chest. I called him—Colen Wells, my neighbor—and even over the phone, his voice was soft, muffled by sleep. "Mmm, morning," he mumbled. A part of me didn’t mind being the one to wake him up.

A few minutes later, he called back, sounding much more awake this time. “I’m ready.”

I smiled at the phone, not that he could see it. I hurried outside, my heart racing faster than it should’ve been, and waited just below his place. When he finally appeared, Colen was dressed in his usual black hoodie and pants, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking effortlessly comfortable. His hoodie strings had slipped to the back, and without thinking, I reached over and tugged them forward. He gave me a curious glance but didn’t say a word, just one of his small smiles that always made me wonder what he was thinking.

We started walking down the lone road, the morning still fresh and quiet. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft light on everything around us. I asked him about his family, trying to keep the conversation going even though I could already feel the familiar warmth spreading in my chest.

“So, who wakes up first in your house?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.Colen looked ahead, his expression relaxed. “My momma, for sure. She’s always up before everyone. By the time I get out of bed, she’s already done cooking. It’s kind of nice, you know? Waking up to breakfast ready.”

I smiled at that, imagining the scene. “And your sister?”

“She sleeps in later than me, if you can believe that,” he said, shaking his head with a small laugh. “But she gets away with it. She’s the youngest.”

I nodded, feeling a slight pang of envy at the simplicity of his life. “Your mom sounds amazing.”

“She is,” he agreed, his voice softening. “I don’t say it often, but I should.”

The conversation felt easy, natural. We talked about my family, too, though I left out the parts that would make it heavy. I didn’t want to darken the lightness of the moment. We shared more than just words; there was an understanding between us, even in the silences.

As we continued down the road, the sky gradually turned pink, like a watercolor painting spreading across the horizon. We both stopped to admire it, letting the moment linger. I caught myself looking at him, standing there with his hands still in his pockets, the morning light softening his sharp features.

There was something peaceful about him in moments like these, something that made me want to stay close, to keep walking beside him. But he didn’t know that, and I wasn’t about to tell him. Not yet.

We walked back home, our steps steady and slow, stretching out the time as much as we could. No big revelations, no dramatic words. Just us, sharing a morning, and me with a heart full of things left unsaid.

It wasn’t a grand moment by any means. There were no dramatic confessions or sudden realizations. But as we walked side by side, something inside me shifted. Colen Wells would never know what that walk meant to me. Or perhaps he would. But for now, the secret was mine alone.

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