Chapter 1
The Language of Silence
People always assumed that silence meant I had nothing to say. That I was simple, predictable, or unfeeling. They were wrong. Silence was never emptiness it was full, crowded with memories, unspoken thoughts, and feelings I didn't know how to release.
My name is Sade, and for most of my life, I had perfected the art of staying quiet. Not because I didn't care. Not because I didn't feel. But because life had taught me that the fewer expectations you set, the fewer disappointments follow.
I worked at a small media firm in Lagos. Not glamorous, but steady. I liked it that way. I showed up. I did my work. I smiled when I needed to. And then I went home. There was a rhythm to it. Safe, predictable, quiet.
Until Ethan came along.
He arrived one Monday morning, late but not flustered. He carried himself like someone who had learned patience in the hardest way possible. There was a calmness in him that seemed to contrast sharply with the chaos of the office.
When our manager introduced him, our eyes met briefly. Something passed between us a fleeting understanding that startled me. I looked away quickly.
Over the next few weeks, Ethan became unavoidable. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just present. He greeted everyone by name, remembered small details, and noticed things others didn't.
"You don't take sugar in your tea," he said one afternoon, handing me a cup during a long meeting.
I blinked. "How do you know that?"
"You always stir, then pour some out," he shrugged.
That was the first time someone noticed me not the version I showed to the world, but the version I kept tucked away.
We began talking, little by little. Not about heavy emotions. Not about love or heartbreak. Just small conversations that felt easy. Music. The latest series everyone was watching. Random observations about our coworkers. He never pushed. Never pried.
And yet, over time, I began to look forward to him. To his presence. To the way he would glance at me across the room, subtle but deliberate. To how he would walk me to the bus stop after long days, even though it wasn't on his route.
I didn't want to admit it. But slowly, quietly, I was starting to care.
Chapter 2
A New Presence
Ethan's presence in the office felt like a quiet shift in gravity. People noticed him not because he demanded attention, but because he didn't.
One afternoon, he approached me as I reviewed some designs. "Mind if I sit?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Sure."
He didn't say much at first. He looked over the work, made a small suggestion, then leaned back.
"I like how focused you are," he said softly.
I laughed, lightly. "Thanks. Focused… or just avoiding office drama?"
He smiled. "Maybe both."
It was that simple easy banter, nothing more. And yet, every exchange added a thread between us, invisible but strong.
Ethan had a quiet understanding of people. He asked the right questions. He remembered the small details. He noticed when someone was having a hard day. And slowly, he noticed me.
Not my work, not my smile for others, but me.
Chapter 3
Noticed
Small moments became larger than I expected.
One morning, he brought me a cup of tea before I even arrived at my desk. "Thought you might need this," he said.
I stared at him. "You don't even drink tea," I said.
He shrugged, a gentle grin playing on his lips. "Not for me."
And just like that, I felt seen. Truly seen. Not the version I presented to the world, but the quiet one I kept buried.
We began sharing small routines: lunch breaks together, walking to the bus stop, joking about coworkers. Nothing too serious. Nothing that screamed romance. But each small interaction held more weight than I realized.
I didn't notice when my thoughts began to wander toward him. Or when my chest felt lighter in his presence. Or when I began to wait for his messages, counting the hours between them.
It was happening. Slowly. Softly. And I didn't know what to do.