my head was a warzone that week.
family shit I couldn't sort through.
dad's health.
my sister crying.
mom pretending everything was fine like she always fucking does.
and I didn't want to go home.
didn't want to go to Iris either.
so I texted you.
like I always do.
simple.
"are you around?"
you replied two minutes later.
"coffee?"
and just like that,
we were at that little spot you liked.
corner table. low light. bitter espresso.
you didn't even ask what was wrong.
you just waited.
I talked.
you listened.
and I don't mean you listened like people usually do—
with sympathy in their eyes and distraction in their phones.
you listened like
my words were music,
like my breakdown was a melody you'd heard before.
you didn't try to fix me.
you just said,
"you don't always have to be the strong one, Grey."
I didn't reply.
I just looked at your fingers wrapped around that chipped coffee cup,
your rings clicking against ceramic.
you looked so unbothered.
so calm.
and I thought—
god, maybe I need this kind of friend in my life.
that's what I told myself.
friend.
just a friend.
so instead of thank you,
instead of you make everything feel less heavy,
instead of please don't ever leave me,
I said—
"you should release a book."
"you're good with words."
"people would want to read you."
you smiled.
sipped your coffee.
and said,
"that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
but it wasn't.
the nicest thing I ever said to you
was the one I never said at all.