Cielo makes a decision one morning.
Not dramatic.
Not announced.
Not even fully conscious.
—
She simply chooses silence.
—
Not the peaceful kind.
Not the healing kind.
—
The avoidance kind.
—
When Jessa asks, "Did you dream again?"
Cielo answers too quickly.
"No."
—
Jessa stares at her.
"That was not a normal 'no.' That was a 'please stop asking questions about my emotional life' no."
—
Cielo drinks her coffee.
"I don't have an emotional life. I have a schedule."
—
Jessa leans back.
"That schedule is haunted."
—
Cielo does not reply.
Because if she opens her mouth too long—
something might fall out.
Something with a name she refuses to use.
—
So she becomes careful.
Careful with words.Careful with silence.Careful with sleep.
—
Because sleep is where things slip.
—
At night, she lies on her side, eyes open in the dark.
She tells herself:
No dreams tonight. Just rest. Normal human rest. Like someone who has no unresolved cosmic attachment issues.
—
But sleep never listens.
—
Lee returns anyway.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
Just… as if he has always been there waiting for permission.
—
He doesn't speak at first.
He only looks at her.
Like silence is also a conversation.
—
"You're avoiding me," he says softly.
—
Cielo frowns in the dream.
"I'm not avoiding anyone. I'm resting."
—
He almost smiles.
"That's what avoidance calls itself when it grows up."
—
She wants to argue.
She always wants to argue with him.
But in dreams, logic behaves differently.
It bends.
It listens too much.
—
"I don't know you," she says instead.
—
This time, the words feel heavier.
—
Because they are not entirely true.
And not entirely false.
—
Lee steps closer—but not enough to break her space.
Just enough to make her aware of it.
—
"You know me in the only place you allow yourself to be honest," he says.
—
Cielo's throat tightens.
"That's not real."
—
He looks at her gently.
"Then why does it feel more real than your waking life?"
—
She wakes up before she can answer.
Heart uneven.
Breath controlled too tightly.
—
And the silence in her room feels like it is waiting for her reaction.
—
Morning comes like nothing happened.
As always.
—
Jessa is already awake, frying something that smells like survival and questionable optimism.
—
"Eggs are expensive again," Jessa announces.
—
Cielo nods.
"Then we shall emotionally reduce consumption."
—
"That is not a real solution."
—
"It is in my economy."
—
But even humor feels thinner now.
Like it is losing its job.
—
Cielo starts avoiding sleep more intentionally after that.
Not insomnia.
Strategy.
—
She reads random manuals.
Counts ceiling patterns.
Reorganizes drawers that do not need reorganizing.
—
Anything to delay the moment her mind becomes… somewhere else.
—
But bodies are not built for escape.
Eventually, sleep wins.
Every time.
—
And the dreams change.
—
Not softer.
Not kinder.
Just clearer.
—
As if something is trying to come into focus.
—
One night, she hears him say something different.
Something that does not feel like memory or imagination.
—
"I found you before you learned how to disappear properly."
—
Cielo's breath catches.
—
"That's impossible," she whispers.
—
He looks at her.
"Is it?"
—
She wakes up with tears she did not agree to.
Again.
—
But this time—
she wipes them away faster.
Like erasing evidence.
—
Because she has started doing something new.
—
She has started choosing silence even from herself.
—
She stops writing in her notebook.
Stops documenting thoughts.
Stops naming feelings.
—
Because naming them makes them real.
And real things demand responses.
—
—
Jessa notices.
"You're getting quieter."
—
Cielo shrugs.
"I'm efficient now."
—
"That's not efficiency. That's avoidance with better branding."
—
Cielo smiles slightly.
It does not reach her eyes.
"I'm fine."
—
Jessa sighs.
"That sentence again."
—
Days pass.
Sunlight becomes slightly less threatening.
Dreams become slightly more persistent.
And Cielo becomes slightly more distant from everything she cannot control.
—
Even herself.
—
One afternoon, she stands outside.
Umbrella in hand but not opened.
The sun hits her skin.
Warm.
Uninvited.
—
She waits for pain.
For rash.
For collapse.
—
But it is smaller now.
Less certain.
Like her body is forgetting how to obey old rules.
—
She whispers:
"…Why are you changing?"
—
No answer.
Only wind.
Only light.
Only life continuing without permission.
—
And somewhere inside her, a dangerous thought begins to form:
—
What if silence is not protection?
What if it is just delay?
—
That night, she does not sleep immediately.
She sits by the window instead.
Watching darkness settle like ink across the province.
—
And for the first time in a long time—
she does not try to stop the dreams.
—
She only waits.
—
Not because she is ready.
—
But because she is starting to understand:
—
Silence is not absence.
—
It is a choice.
—
And every choice eventually asks to be answered.
—
End of Chapter: Choosing Silence