The silence after what she said wasn't empty at all. It just hung there, full of something I couldn't quite place.
We were under those streetlights, the ones that buzz softly and flicker like they might quit any second. Our shadows kept stretching out on the pavement, breaking apart and then coming back together as we stepped along. I listened to our shoes mostly, how they almost matched up without us even trying. That part felt nice, I guess.
Usually I don't know what to say. Words don't come easy to me; that's just how it is. But tonight there wasn't any pressure to talk, which was weird. She didn't look over expecting anything. Didn't slow down or anything. Just kept walking, hands in her sleeves, staring straight ahead.
I started thinking about how long it's been since I walked with someone and didn't feel like I had to act a certain way. Like perform or whatever.
Past those closed shops with the metal shutters down, covered in old posters that were peeling off. The bus stop was empty, the bench still wet from the rain earlier. Up in one of the apartments, a window was lit up faintly. Someone woke up there. There's always someone.
She broke the quiet then. "I usually turn here," she said, pointing to a side street. Her voice sounded calm but careful too, like she was trying out the words.
"Oh," I said. "Okay."
I slowed down, ready to stop. I'm used to endings. You say something polite, then go back to being alone. That's easy for me.
But she didn't turn. Hesitated a second, dropped her hand.
"Actually, I can walk a little further."
I nodded like it was no big deal. Even though my chest tightened a bit. I pretended it didn't.
We went on. The road got narrower, buildings closer, like they were paying attention or something. A car sped by, too fast for the street, wind hitting my jacket quick and then gone. She flinched, just a little. Same as outside the store earlier. I noticed it now; I tucked that away for some reason.
"You live around here?" she asked.
"Yeah," I said. "A few blocks."
She hummed and didn't push. I liked that more than I should, maybe.
"I do too," she said after a bit. "Close enough."
"That's close enough" sounded like something she had settled for, you know.
At the crosswalk, the light was red. No cars, but we waited. Habit, I suppose. Or rules that don't need explaining.
I stared at the red figure on the signal, stuck mid-step. Wondered if it ever got tired of that.
"Do you always walk this late?" she asked.
"Most nights. It's easier."
"Easier than sleeping?"
I almost laughed, but it stuck.
"Something like that."
She nodded and didn't ask more. Like that was enough.
The light changed. We crossed.
Walking made me notice everything. Cold air on my face, legs starting to ache a little. Breathing steady, not forced. It was unsettling, being that aware without wanting to vanish.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
I tensed up right away. Those words usually mean personal stuff. No easy answer.
"Sure," I said, wishing I hadn't.
"Why do you come out at night?"
Not mean or prying. Just real.
I tried for something simple.
"I think it feels like the world forgets about me for a while."
She looked over, open. Not quick or careful.
"I get that."
Just that. No more. It sat there between us, heavy.
Another block, then she stopped. For real this time.
"This is me," pointing at the apartment building, lights dim, entrance looking worn out.
"Right."
We stood there a moment. Night holding still, waiting.
"Well," she said, shifting, "thanks for walking with me."
"Yeah. Thanks for not minding the quiet."
She smiled. More than before, but still small. Real, though.
"Same time tomorrow?" Then paused. "I mean, if you're around."
I thought about hesitating. Keeping things routine, empty. Safer.
But I said, "I'll be around."
Her smile eased a bit, and she nodded.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
She headed in, the door closing behind. I stayed, staring at the spot. Longer than I needed to, like something else might happen.
Finally went home.
The room felt smaller. Silence inside is thicker than outside. Sat on the bed, hands still cold.
Tomorrow.
That word stuck in my head, loud and new.
Lay down in the dark, eyes open, city humming far off. Sleep closer than usual, but not easy.
When I closed my eyes, it hit me. Chest tightening again.
First time in forever, already thinking about going out tomorrow night.
That part gets messy in my mind, I think. Like, what if it's not the same? Or maybe it is.