[▶] for safekeeping.

sketch

• short story ○

"Nice, huh?"

She stayed quiet, hair falling so I couldn't see part of her face, fingers threading through the grass beneath us. I didn't know what to think, not really. I rarely even knew what she thought anymore.

She shuffled a little, allowing a small breath to escape her lips. The shakiness of it was deafening, here, miles away from the town, so that it was reduced to a mere myriad of assorted lights, glowing in place, serving to illuminate only for a little while longer before they were shut off, and more and more of the town went to sleep. We stayed watching as the lights flickered off one by one, the ones above us gradually becoming our main source of light, albeit being just tiny sparkles of luminescence.

"I, uh...you look nice tonight," she attempted a smile, but her eyes betrayed otherwise. It wasn't that they were never warm, no - they used to beam so brightly with love and heart. It was just that they now seemed so cold and dead - like you had slipped a blank slide into a projector, and it no longer showed you anything. It was nothing. It felt like her eyes had been closed off to me, and all the thoughts that had once been privy to me were no longer mine to know.

I returned her smile. It felt like every single fiber of my being was calling out on the cool and calm exterior I tried to maintain, screaming to her that this was all a facade, that my behaviour was a lie. "Thanks - you look nice too, you know," I told her, pushing back a lock of my fringe that had fallen into my face once again. She gave me a small smile, but her eyes were concentrated on the grass, her fingers fiddling with some of the blades and twirling them in circles.

"So, funny story - my mom went out the other night with her boss and a few of her colleagues to dinner, and her boss offered to drive them all to the place," I began, sitting up and brushing off my clothes. She glanced up in acknowledgement, that small smile still on her face, indicating her listening. I hope she was. She never really did much of that anymore.

"So, he walked them all the way to the carpark, and they were right in the middle of all the other cars when he suddenly turned around with this ridiculous look on his face. That's when he revealed that he'd actually forgotten that he'd sent his car in for servicing that day and had taken public transport to work, so he couldn't take them to dinner - they ended up taking the bus together instead!" I concluded, and clapped my hands together, laughter escaping my lips - though, admittedly, it was partially forced. It had been this way for a while - I'd tell her something I thought she'd find funny or interesting, and attempt to break through the thick fog that always seemed to cloud around us and interfere with any sort of comfort we had nowadays - but now, it never seemed to have any effect at all. She would just purse her lips a little in an attempt at a larger smile, but she would say nothing. She used to laugh along with me and immediately ask me more questions, before bringing up a tale of her own, and we'd go back and forth for ages just like that.

But now,  it was just awkward silence that hung in the air between us. My laughs died down to small, awkward ones, and we slipped into silence once again. I let out a sigh, hoping it came off as one of mere tiredness, and stretched my arms, laying back into the grass. It seemed like it could have been just me, my eyes tracing the constellations above in the sky, while I lay alone, in the quiet. However, her presence was almost suffocating despite the vast openness of the hilltop, and too much to possibly ignore. She made no sound, and I didn't know what else to do.

"You know, we can't keep doing this."

For the first time that night, she turned back to look at me. I knew she knew what I was talking about. Her eyes, although empty, were full of understanding and regret. And it hurt. Maybe a little too much.