The corridor outside Isabella's sister's room was quiet again. Not sterile and stiff like most hospitals, but quiet in the way that silence could sometimes feel like a blanket. One that covered the awkward, the raw, the uncertain, wrapping itself around two people who weren't quite sure what to say or do anymore.
Alex and Isabella had pulled away from the hug minutes ago, but neither of them spoke. She sat on the edge of the metal bench, her shoulders slouched, head leaned lightly back against the wall, eyes closed like she was trying to block out everything for just a second. As if breathing itself took effort now.
Alex sat beside her, arms resting on his knees, hands hanging loosely. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. Sometimes it was better to just let the silence be what it was. Sometimes words made things worse.
